31 20 5655 https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/6dd29e13aacd9a83d531689880ea20ce.mp3 1ee3e1f42e5cdf0d828a040265e7d8a2 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 St. John's College Lecture Recordings—Santa Fe Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Meem Library Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Santa Fe, NM 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.) 2:20:04 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 Tutor Panel on Photography Description An account of the resource Audio recording of an online panel with panelists David Carl, David McDonald, and Krishnan Venkatesh. The panel was held on September 25, 2020 as part of the Dean's Lecture & Concert Series. The Dean's Office has provided this description of the event: "How do we respond to a photograph as a work of art rather than as visual document? How do photographs move us aesthetically? How can we learn to look at photographs—learn to see what they have to show us and to think about what they might conceal? This panel will consider some of the historic, aesthetic, philosophic and cultural implications of photography in contemporary society. Three tutors will offer three diferent ways of thinking about these and related questions, while refecting more broadly on the status of photography, the visual arts, and aesthetic education as part of the St. John’s Program. " Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Carl, David McDonald, David Venkatesh, Krishnan 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 Santa Fe, NM Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2020-09-25 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Meem Library has been given permission to make this item available. 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 Photography Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context SF_CarlD_et_al_Tutor_Panel_on_Photography_2020-09-25 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/1d9b732d1c2e97f1aaee38d5f2a2894b.mp3 3fb35c2059ee2e26cc83e95a0b82943b 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 St. John's College Lecture Recordings—Santa Fe Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Meem Library Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Santa Fe, NM 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 M4A Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:56:47 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 Gertrude Stein and the End(s) of Literature Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture given by tutor David Carl on January 24, 2025 as part of the Dean’s Lecture & Concert Series. The Dean’s Office has provided this description of the event: “Tender Buttons is a kind of love story which leads us to ask, “What do we love when we love to read?” Is it a certain meaning or truth that reading can help us achieve, or is it the experience itself—the act rather than the end of reading? And if the latter, how important are meaning and truth to this activity of reading? Tender Buttons is a work of radical literary experimentation, which in its relationship to signification, representation, truth, and meaning is unlike anything we encounter on the St. John’s program (or perhaps, closer to the works we encounter in the music tutorial than to the books we read together in Seminar). This work provides us with an occasion, and a virtually unique perspective from which to investigate our relationship to reading, truth, meaning, beauty, and pleasure. At the very gateway of our introduction to philosophic reflection (Plato’s Republic), Socrates refers to “the ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry.” What is this quarrel? Is it a tension between truth and beauty, which poet Keats insisted were one and the same? Must a book’s relationship to truth be mediated primarily through the category of meaning, or is it an experience beyond meaning (perhaps more closely related to a certain kind of (aesthetic) pleasure?) How do we understand the difference between reading as a means to an end (such as truth and understanding) and reading as an end in itself (a certain kind of experience we desire for its own sake, as Aristotle says of happiness)? Using Tender Buttons as an opportunity to reflect on these questions, we will consider the importance (if not the meaning) of a literary work that stands at the beginning of an era of avant-garde aesthetic practices that led to fiction without plot, music without notes (John Cage’s 4’33”), and paintings that consist entirely of black canvases (Ad Reinhardt). Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Carl, David (David G.), 1967- 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 Santa Fe, NM Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2025-01-24 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Meem Library 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 Subject The topic of the resource Stein, Gertrude, 1874-1946. Tender buttons Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context SF_CarlD_Gertrude_Stein_and_the_Ends_of_Literature_2025-01-24 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/a52b443686b48d429ad6c3326dad17b0.mp3 30b18400f8b12b1899b083a328c7e2ec 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 St. John's College Lecture Recordings—Santa Fe Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Meem Library Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Santa Fe, NM Sound A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 01:04:40 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 intermittencies of the self : philosophic and poetic inquiries into the nature of selfhood (Or : Is literature the most important activity a human being can engage in, and should you dedicate your life to it?) Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture given on September 15, 2017 by David Carl as part of the Dean's Lecture and Concert Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Carl, David G. 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 Santa Fe, NM Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2017-09-15 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Meem Library 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 Subject The topic of the resource Schopenhauer, Arthur, 1788-1860 Pessoa, Fernando, 1888-1935 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 20014383 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/284b54b84f10c8281a9edc1ddb904b6f.pdf de604215e7381b6d7c4e4cd0ee1f4b30 PDF Text Text EARLY WRITINGS AN ACADEMIC JOURNAL �! �Early Writings: An Academic Journal St. John's College Graduate Institute Santa Fe, New Mexico 2013 STJOHN’S College ANNAPOLIS . SANTA FE This project is dedicated to Susan Olmsted, a fisher of like-minded souls, who with her gentle steadfastness and quiet kindness helped each of us to make St. John's College our home. ��Early Writings: An Academic Journal St. John's College Graduate Institute Santa Fe, New Mexico 2012 Publishers Casey Carr Jeff Ondocsin Editors Casey Carr Brian Connolly Jeff Ondocsin Jesse Wilhite Matthew Zehnder Selection Committee Chelsea Allen Elliot Bernstein Brian Connolly Thomas Conroy Kevin Cowling Jeffrey Ondocsin Eduardo Vera Joan Marie Wood Matthew Zehnder Cover Design Alycia Smith ��Contents: A Note About Our Project Casey Carr and Jeff Ondocsin vi Sweet Showers, Sweet Breath Joan Marie Wood 1 Antinomian Sentiment in the Bhagavad Gita, Book II Elliot Bernstein 7 The Death of Kings: History and the Individual in Shakespeare's Richard II William Leavy 12 Seeing-Time April Olsen 22 Life Experience by the Books, or How to Read Nabokov’s Speak, Memory Grant Wycliff 33 �Searching for Geometrical "Truth" in Einstein's Relativity Jules Mancini 44 Nietzsche's Philosopher: The Antagonistic Redeemer Mary Creighton 54 Prince Myshkin's Beautiful Horizon: Exploring Death and the Infinite in Dostoevsky's The Idiot Kevin Cowling 65 A Proposed Atlas to the On-ramps and Off-ramps of the Road to Serfdom Jesse Wilhite 86 The Faith of the Poet Anthony Eagan 97 The Two Prakrtis Jeff Ondocsin 111 Chaucer's Grisild: Constreyned by Maistrie Leah Weed 116 IV �i’l- 5?? V �A Note About Our Project Early Writings: An Academic Journal 2013 marks the third edition of this project in the Graduate Institute at St. John’s College, Santa Fe. This unique collection of essays reflects the various ideas and texts that our graduate students encounter in both the Liberal Arts and Eastern Classics programs. Why do we study Great Books? The fact is that the pursuit of knowledge edifies not only the mind, but also the soul. We read carefully and rely on involved discussion with one another to work through the implications of the texts. This is not an attempt to be authoritative; we leave that province to the rest of the academic world. Our graduate students ask questions only to find that the process of asking questions of our authors begets yet more questions. Mastery is not the goal. We are interested in letting the books speak to us without imposing preconceived ideas or prejudices upon them. In this way, we attempt to explore the ideas of the authors for the pleasure and reward of inquiry itself. This, the third edition of the Journal, features such questions as: What happens when a king places love of himself above duty to country? Can a return to once abandoned values save a crumbling political system? Why is the philosopher necessary for society? What is the consequence of a theological doctrine that does not bind salvation to adherence to a specific moral code? Is there only one kind of knowledge that gives man access to God? Our questions are not strictly limited to political or theological matters. How does Chaucer’s general prologue presage the rest of the tales? How is understanding achieved through confounding the reader’s experience of both being and time? How do the truth and beauty of human experience manifest themselves in the various literary devices of both fiction and autobiography? What role can geometrical truth play in modern mathematics? Is experience transmissible between individuals? Does the poet make the poem or does poetry make the poet? What does the telling of the same story in two different moral systems tell us about the authors and their societies? Our design for this project is not only to showcase the efforts of our graduate students and the St. John’s program itself. VI �but also to invite the reader—whoever he may be—to use these essays as a springboard to embark on his own quest toward knowledge. It is therefore our pleasure to present you with the 2013 Graduate Institute Academic Journal. As with the first and second editions, this edition of the Journal was crafted according to a specific set of selection and editing standards. By means of these we aim to preserve the integrity of our project. A selection committee received anonymous submissions from our graduate student body to review for content, style, and coherence. Using a numerical rubric system, the committee voted on those essays which most conformed to our standards of academic writing and the St. John's process of inquiry. Those who submitted essays and were also part of the selection committee forfeited their right to vote on their own work. Upon selection, a smaller group of editors carefully combed the selected essays for necessary grammatical and syntactical changes. It is important to note that this editing, however thorough, was performed with great caution. It is our foremost aim to ensure that the original intention and style of the authors are preserved. Next, the publishers put together the actual design and format of a manuscript that was then sent to the press. We would like to thank all of the students who have contributed to this important project, as well as our Graduate Director, Mr. Carl. Early Writings would not be possible without the seriousness and sincerity of the St. John's College community. Your Publishers and Executive Editors, Casey Carr Jeff Ondocsin Jesse Wilhite �Vlll �Sweet Showers, Sweet Breath Joan Marie Wood Whan thatAprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth 5 Inspired hath in every holt and heeth Tendre croppes, and theyonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halve coursyronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye w (so priketh hem Nature in hir corages); Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages. And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To feme halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; And specially from every shires ende 15 OfEngelond to Caunterbury they wende. The hooly blisful martirfor to seke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seekeJ The first eighteen lines of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales may be presumed to set a context for the Tales, and, moved by a mysterious delight, 1 have found myself repeatedly drawn back to them. 1 propose to consider these lines in detail, with the goal of deepening my understanding of why Chaucer chose to begin his epic this way. First 1 will give an overview of this passage, and then 1 will take a look at each line in order to tease out some of the richness that Chaucer offers us. We start at the beginning—of the epic, of the journey to Canterbury, of the series of Tales. Beginnings are portentous: it is a launch time, a time for alertness, excitement, and perhaps, a time of openings, of new possibilities. These beginning lines, which comprise one very long sentence, can be divided into three 1 �sections. Each has progressively more focused content, and each is marked off from the others with a semi-colon (though there is an additional semi-colon after line 4, allowing Chaucer to begin line 5 with another “Whan," thus emphasizing the time element]. Lines 1 through 11, "Whan that April. . .nature in hir corages;" tell us that the season of this epic is spring, when warm rain produces flowers and new crops come forth. In this first section, Chaucer uses natural images2 and pagan references^; there are no overtlv Christian references. ^ Lines 12 through 14, "Thanne longen folk . . .in sundry londes; are a general response to lines 1 through 11- "Whan" it is this particular season, "thanne" folk long to go on pilgrimages. Here we have the first Christian reference in the word "palmers" returnees from the Holy Land, for whom spring, apparent^, refreshes the wish to wander to foreign shores as pilgrims. These three lines narrow the focus to the longing provoked in "folk"—in many people, we may presume—in response to the spring's quickening; specifically to Christians, including those who have been on pilgrimages before. Lines 15 through 18 bring us to a specific place and kind of Christian pilgrimage: that of persons who have been sick, and are now traveling from every shire in England to Canterbuiy. Presumably they travel to visit the shrine of the Catholic martyr Thomas Becket, as they have vowed. The following lines detail that the narrator himself has been on a pilgrimage to Canterbury and like thanne longen folk" can be presumed to understand why one would do so. And we are off ^ The first word. Whan repeated at the beginning of line 5, is a temporal signifies oes this indicate that time will be important in this epic? I cannot elp but make a parallel here with the first word of the Iliad wrath an emotive word around which that epic hinges. Aiournev takes place over time; it takes time to tell a story. But soecificallv With this 'man" Chaucer singles out the season'of early sS""' crucially important for the existence of the urge to go on a pilgrimage, or at least the kind of pilgrimage he will present Jhe first line reads: "Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote. On the literal level April brings showers that soften and 2 �moisten the soil for planting. That Chaucer uses the word "soote," meaning "sweet," intrigues me; why not "warm" or "fresh?" Looking back in the line to "Aprill," we see that at that time, astrologically speaking, April was in the sign of Taurus, which is ruled by Venus, the goddess of love. "Soote" connotes delectability, sensuous delight, and by extension, desire. Since astrological signs are important throughout the Tales, it seems that Chaucer signals in this first line that love, and perhaps especially erotic love, will be of major purport in this epic."^ In the second line, "The droghte of March hath perced to the roote," I am struck by the word "droghte." Literally, one could say there has been no rain, though perhaps slushy snow, in March, and the ground, still icy, has begun to thaw into mud. But why a drought? There is water left over from melting snow, but no water falls from the sky. Nothing grows yet, last year's root cellars are depleted, and humans, their resources exhausted, look to the signs of replenishment which spring brings. Astrologically speaking, March is the month of Mars, the god of war, who is also the lover of Venus. Here is something quite interesting: The sweet (erotic) rains of April "perce to the roote" the drought of March. This is an opposite image to the obvious one connoted by the word "perce," with its association of masculine penetration. Instead, the feminine water penetrates the masculine drought. 1 am still confused by the meaning of the word "droghte." Could this be a drought of life, i.e. Mars is a killer, or a drought of spirit? Is the sweet rain of quickening time penetrating physically or spiritually exhausted life forms? Line 3, "and bathed every veyne in swich licour," gives us an image of dessicated tissues being revitalized by moisture, and dormant desires moistened into presence. Furthermore, in line 4, "Of which vertu engendred is the flour" Chaucer presents us with the result of the activity detailed in the first three lines: the flower, something beautiful, a stage on the way to fruiting, attractive to insects and humans. The blooms emerge because the natural world is refreshed by sweet rain, or, seen metaphorically or astrologically, a drenching which produces the juices of desire. The flower image also connotes maidenhood and youth, times of sexual potency and urge. 3 �The next seven lines complete this first section underscoring and extending the theme of erotic desire. Zephirus the Greek god of the West Wind that blows In spring, has -s^ete" breath and quickens new growth.^ The image of sweet breath signifies erotic intimacy as well as the warmth of spring To experience the “sweete" breath of another we need the kind of closenGss associated with desire. Chaucer's first direct astrological reference, the Ram indicates the month of March, ruled by Mars. The "yonge sonne"' has passed out of Ram, which means into Taurus, the time of Venus, n the next three lines, Chaucer gives us the image of small birds singing, who sleep all night with open eyes. It continues, "so priketh hem nature m hir corages." What does this mean? If one sleeps with open eyes, one is restless. Does this mean one is worried? Or rather, since the birds have been singing, is it not likely that they are possessed by a distracted delight, as when a lover is first falling prevents one’s eyes from uttmg In this line Chaucer seems to suggest something inescapable about being a living being—that all of us will be kept up some nights because of erotic desire, whether we want it or not rniv^v- ? ^*”6, these images of nature and natural desire minate in the somewhat surprising statement, "Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages." As a practical matter, it would make sense that those moved to keep a vow to the saint who has helped them would choose to travel in the spring. Chaucer has emphasized the bursting forth of life, however, using images and symbols of erotic desire. This opens up the question, in what way is the longing to go on pilgrimages predicated on the quickening^of nature and the flow of erotic desire? In other words what is the rromres?'’ “ "longen" seems particularly Significant. Is Chaucer nviting us to consider the various motives that induce "folk" to participate m a pilgrimage? What might the motive be, if not the eepmg of a promise? Could these motives include the wish to find? ^ establish a reputation nd a wife or husband? Alternatively, if folk are "priked by nature’’ to keep a vow ii. spring, could Chaucer be inviting us to poXr 4 �whether the renewal of desire in springtime is providential, i.e. it aligns with the urge to keep a religious promise? Whatever the case, Chaucer seems to suggest that as readers we must keep our eyes open, for people who take pilgrimages, and this one in particular, may not be what they seem. The specific "folk” mentioned in the last six lines of this text are palmers. They hail from every shire’s end in England and are going to Canterbury to visit St. Thomas Becket, the saint and martyr. "That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke." One wonders why Chaucer devotes two lines out of eighteen to palmers, who visit "straunge strondes, to feme halwes, kowthe in sondry londes." One might call palmers, who are fulltime wandering votaries, professional pilgrims. If the palmers are professional pilgrims, how do they make money to support their wanderings? Perhaps they beg. On the other hand, there are many other ways of making money, licit and not. Here Chaucer may be inviting us to consider what spring’s rejuvenating pulse has to do with making money, and thus what it is to be any kind of professional, especially a religious professional. Finally, people from all walks of life come from every part of England to this Canterbury pilgrimage. These pilgrims, as the narrator makes explicit, are journeying to fulfill vows made when they were sick. Their illnesses, if indeed they existed, are not mentioned very often. The impetus for going on this pilgrimage, then, is not focused primarily on recovering from an illness, but rather the fulfillment of a religious vow. These first eighteen lines link the urge to go on pilgrimages to other natural [especially erotic) desires, yet presumably pilgrims travel due to a promise that they have made. Chaucer invites us to ask how we might live in a world of natural desires, a world in which we are able to make promises that often conflict with these desires. Desire, as a natural phenomenon, is like the sweet showers, the sweet wind, and the young sun that Chaucer speaks of in the first eight lines. It is basic, ancient, and inescapable. This being the case, could desire also be part of divine providence? If the renewal of the world through springtime is providential, then we are led to consider a paradox: human desire moves us to do things that are 5 �outside of our human agreements. How do we inhabit such a world? If the spring rains are filled with the spark of divinity, do we not need to find some way to honor both natural desires and our need to fulfill religious promises? Because Chaucer begins the Prologue with eleven lines of natural images, he seems to say that natural, erotic desires are a given, and must be attended to and respected. Because Venus is a goddess, and because she appears as Aprill" in the first line, this may suggest to us that we must look to women to discover how human desires should be honored. Returning to the mysterious delight that has drawn me back repeatedly to consider the beginning of the Prologue, the strongest images are those of water soaking the dry, cold earth into vernal juiciness, the wind encouraging new shoots, and the birds awake all night. Chaucer begins with natural images that can be taken literally, images familiar to everyone in all times. Yet, implicit in every line are resonances from the world of astrology, the realms of the gods of antiquity and, later, from the Christian world. The simple, natural renewal of springtime has cosmic significance. That erotic desire arises and challenges human promises is to be expected, and in fact, welcomed. The tensions that ensue are ours with which to come to grips. In choosing to start his epic this way Ch^aucer has opened the door for us to contemplate this paradox when, as readers on our own thoughtful pilgrimage, we begin our journey through these Canterbury tales Endnotes 1. Chaucer. Canterbury Tales. A. C. Cawley, ed. New York: Eveiyman’s Library, 1992. 1-18 2. Shoures, droghte, roote, ’ “flour,” “sonne,” “fowles.” 3. The god “Zephirus ” the astrological terms “Ram” and by extension April and March 4. See for example, The Wife ofBath's Tale and The Merchant's Tale 5. In the Odyssey, Zephirus starts the fruits, and later brings them to ripeness. [Book 7:118] Primary Texts Chaucer, Geoffrey. Canterbury Tales. Edited by A.C. Cawley Everyman’s Library. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. 1992. 6 �Antinomian Sentiment in the Bhagavad Gita, Book II Elliot Bernstein Therefore shall ye keep mine ordinance, that ye commit not any one of these abominable customs, which were committed before you, and that ye defde not yourselves therein: I am the Lord your God. —Leviticus 18:30 (KJV) In the West we often talk of the separation between the nomian and antinomian^ streams of a given religion. This breakdown does not necessarily apply to every tradition present all over the world— it would be hard, for instance, to imagine an antinomian version of Confucianism or Judaism, or a nomian version of Shinto— but in the case of the two major religions emerging from South Asia, viz. Hinduism and Buddhism, this dichotomy is extremely relevant. The second book of the Bhagavad Gita, in my opinion, is an antinomian programmatic for Hinduism. This sentiment is most famously summed up by the last pada of sloka 18.63, yathecchasi tathd kuruf which of course occurs much later. To read consequent books as being more nomian is quite easy as well, and there is an argument that will be considered throughout that the antinomianism of Book 11 is merely an attack on the Vedas and those who follow them as hidebound and ridiculous— not that law is not in effect. One of the antinomian themes presented in Book II is a degradation of the Vedas. Buddhayo 'vyavasdyindm are bahusdkhd hyanatds ca (2.41)3; bahusdkhd is a common epithet of the Vedas, whose various parts are described as branches.^ The chief complaint of the Gita appears to be the superfluous nature of the Vedas:ydvdn artha udapdne sarvatah sarnplutodake/ tdvdn sarvesu vedesu brdmanasya vijdnatah (2.46).3 The image of the well overflowing is a potent statement of this particular criticism— 7 �presumably a wise man would be able to simply take the water from anywhere and not need to go through the labor of drawing from the well. Here we also see that the person who doesn’t need the Vedas is a vijanatah. This term has an overly literal interpretation of something like "totally wise," from the root ina know plus the vi preverb, "away from," here used as an intensifier. This is echoed elsewhere in Book II; for example, where Krishna admonishes Arjuna that apvipascitah / vedavMarantah I ■ presumably a vijdnan would not enjoy such things. The Veda-bound are described as bhogaisvaryaprasaktdh r2 4417 indicating perhaps that the Gita does not reject that the Vedas do what they are stated to do, but does reject those goals as worthwhile. As is written just a little further down: traigunyavisaya veda nistraiguno bhavdrjuna C2.45),8 which is to say any goal involving the three gunas or the worlds they create cannot be considered worthwhile. The Gita goes on to elaborate on the condition of nistraigunah with nirdvandvo nityasattvastho niryogaksema dtmavdn [ibid.],’^ putting the various qualities in apposition to each other and giving the reader the information that a^d the^resV" equivalent to nirdvandvo The prefix nir-, "without," recurs in sloka 45, which was just quoted, four times, but one of those occurrences is false because niryasattvasthah does not actually include this morpheme, but simulates It no doubt intentionally, with nityah, which means eternal. In 2.45 we see the author of the Gita refer to the desirable state for a heroic individual as nistraiguno, which clearly parallels with the other nir- words, and the undesirable as traigunyavisayl The desirable state is summed up as dtmavdn. Without [nir-] all these other things, we see that the person is finally left with dtman and nothing further. This line of reasoning would be picked up by the non-duahst or Vedantist schools of Hinduism, e.g. in the writings of Gaudapada. ^ In light thereof, the antinomian interpretation of the Gita does not go unqualified. Obviously, being guna-less is good and bemg en-guna-ed, as it were, is bad. So there is some kind of law here, and in fact m various places the Gita uses the word dharma to 8 �refer to it. However, it is not what we would normally think of as a ritual requirement, in recognition whereof, the Gita often uses prajfia to refer to this ethical ideal. At times this begins to approach Stoicism or Taoism in its insistence on passively “going with the flow" and on the influence of the internal state of the person on their outward actions, such as where it is written: tasmdd yasya mahdbdho nigrhitdni sarvasah / indhydnmdriydrthebhyas tasya prajnd pratisfhitd (2.68).io But there is another character to this; it is not mere immobility but ascesis, as the Gita recommends: svadharmam api cdveksa... dharmydd dhi yuddhdcchreyo 'nyat (2.31).^^ That is to say, do not merely be content with withdrawal but find your svadharma and obey it. Many commentators insist that svadharma means something like "caste obligations," as it does elsewhere, but it seems to me that this interpretation might be missing the point. The prefix sva- indicates properness— proper, almost invariably, to an individual, not to a group. Each person has an internal law in the conception of the Gita. But Arjuna’s svadharma must involve battle because of his status in the ksatriya varna [ibid.). It is not merely whatever one wishes, but rather that one's wishes will, having been cleared of all obstructions, come into line with the caste law! Often salvation in an antinomian system is achieved through some kind of feeling or grace; in the Gita we see Krishna say that srutivipratipannd te yadd sthdsyati niscald / samddhdv acald buddhis taddyogam avdpsyasi (2.53).^^ Samddha somehow leads to the attainment of yoga— a word that literally means "yoke," but here is perhaps being used for ironic contrast with the nomian position, since there is no "yoke" as one would typically think, but instead one’s inner feeling. The justification given for antinomianism is simple: nothing can actually change; therefore no action can be forbidden. In 2.18, we seeya enarp vetti hantdrarp yascainarp manyate hatam / ubhau tau na vijdnito ndyarp hanti na hanyate^^; presumably this would apply to other actions as well. If nothing can ever change, what is the sense in acting, or in not acting? Arjuna has to go ahead with his pre-determined course, his path of least resistance, as it were, because that is the lawful thing to do. His downhill course, fashioned by his nature and the circumstances of his life, can be 9 �fought, but there is no sense in it. A man who has withdrawn totally into himself, detaching himself from his senses, simply rolls down his svadharma without resistance, knowing that whatever he is about to do would not be so easy if it were not foreordained by the Bhagavad. This answer is somewhat unsatisfying to the Western mind. If the path of least resistance is the optimal one, would that not justify any kind of crime, any kind of theft or violence? This objection can be answered by insisting that we look at the cultural context of Classical India, or of any pre-modern civilization. Each person was born into a given role, and was expected to absolutely follow that role to its bitter end. Who was born a stonemason lived a stonemason and would die a stonemason— not only that, but his sons would do the same. In a sufficiently stratified society, the path of least resistance is one that is at least moderately productive. Attempts to apply this philosophy to the modern world, where the individual is expected to find his svadharma without any hint given to him by the surrounding world, have proven unanimously disastrous. One attempting to follow the course of least resistance— an imperative common to many ancient and Eastern philosophies— in the United States in 2012 will find himself shuffled off to a housing project or incarcerated, which are increasingly popular options. A vine follows the path of least resistance too, but without the lattice it simply turns into a kind of dense undergrowth. This trackless wilderness of the world of the revolt of the third estate is an aberration, and the philosophies of the past can therefore only be understood by placing ourselves in the past. The intention of the Gita was not to justify any kind of brutality or mere anarchy, but to encourage people to make use of the existing structures— without those structures, these philosophies become meaningless. Endnotes 1. "Antinomianism” is the belief that salvation, or its local equivalent, happens independently of the obedience, or lack thereof, to a certain law or moral code. Nominianism is, of course, its opposite. 2. Translated by Aleister Crowley as "do what thou wilt." 10 �3. "The wisdom of the wavering is many branched and infinite." 4. For example, in Mahabharata we see someone who is very wise described as a "master of the branches," viz., of the Vedas. Usually, each Brahmanic family was associated with a particular "branch." Each branch has its own corpus of literature and its own Upanishads to describe that corpus. 5. "So much usefulness as there is in a well when water is overflowing everywhere is there in all the Vedas for the man of God." 6. "The ignorant delight in Veda-quotations." 7. "Pleasure-and-power-bound" 8. "The vedas are of the three-guna category; 0 Arjuna, be guna-less!" 9. "Non-dual, abiding in truth, without business, full of the self' 10. "Therefore, 0 strong-arm, whose senses are withheld totally from the objects of those senses, his wisdom is established." 11. "Having apprehended your own law, because of that law, indeed nothing is better than battle." 12. "Anti-revelation is unto you; where the fixed, meditating, and unmovable intellect stands, there you will reach the yoke." 13. "Who imagines this one a slayer, who imagines this one slain— both are unknowing, they neither slay nor are slain." Primary Texts Van Buitenen, J.A.B. Trans. The Bhagavadgita in the Mahabharata. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1981. �The Death of Kings; History and the individual in Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Richard II William Leavy Is Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Richard II regarded as tragic because of what happens to Richard, the King? Or would Richard of Bordeaux, who was better loved, have been a better king, if he had ruled England in another time? Is it a tragedy because of what happens to England as a result the misrule of King Richard? If it is the case that Richard of Bordeaux would have been a good king in another time, then one must acknowledge that he is indeed an historical figure. Unlike later kings such as Henry V and Richard III, who essentially invented themselves, remaking history in the process, Richard II is depicted in Shakespeare’s play as a king acting and reacting within the historical parameters of the time in which he reigned. In other words, Richard is an historical king, whereas Henry V and Richard III are not constrained by the parameters of their time. All three kings, as they are dramatized in Shakespeare’s history plays, are individuals in the sense that they exist outside of the expectations and limitations that are imposed upon England’s sovereign by the nobility, the Church, and the royal family itself. But in Richard II s case he is both ahistorical, in the sense that he rules according to his own whims regardless of the expectations that come with the throne, and historical, in the sense that he is compelled to surrender his crown by virtue of his defiance of these concerns and expectations, sowing the seeds of rebellion through his misrule. This discussion of Shakespeare’s Tragedy of Richard II will examine the sense of the tragic from the perspective of King Richard as an individual in his own time. Additionally, I will examine how the idea of Richard, as such an individual, intersects with England, Christianity, divinity, nature, paganism and sex. 1 shall begin the discussion by examining Shakespeare’s tragic individual and his relationship with time. In his only soliloquy in the play, Richard reflects on his life, saying, "I wasted time, and now doth time waste me."i What are we 12 �to make of this king who, now imprisoned, reflects on neither how he has wasted the resources of his kingdom to fight a war nor on his wasted chance at greatness? Richard remarks instead, in what seems to be the closest he shall ever come to feelings of remorse, that he has “wasted time." But to waste time, in this case, is not a reflection on the corporeal, outer world, but rather a reflection on the consciousness of the man, the self. To Richard, the kingdom over which he had ruled before his deposition was never truly his realm. Instead, Richard’s empire is Richard himself, as well as the world that he perceives from his own vantage point. If we regard the essence of tragedy as that which inevitably happens when an individual arrives on the scene and fails to live up to the role of a god, then Shakespeare's Tragedy of Richard // differs from Greek tragedy as to the root cause of its inevitability. Unlike the tragedies of Aeschylus and Sophocles, in which the protagonist is inevitably destroyed by fate, Richard II is inevitably destroyed by his ego, or by his idea of himself. Richard’s sense of self is not grounded in the way the king is regarded by the rest of his kingdom, and it wastes time to such an extent that fate never has any need to intervene. His ego, in the sense of his individuality, inevitably brings about his downfall. That Shakespeare’s Richard is inevitably a tragic figure because of his ego, rather than as a result of fate or the gods, might explain why Richard bemoans the loss of time, rather than the loss of England’s wealth and reputation. Richard II is isolated in time by his historical context. He understands while he is incarcerated that he is an historical figure and not an ahistorical one: the tragedy, therefore, is that while still the King, Richard has acted as though he were an ahistorical king, when in reality, history and time [in and of themselves) reduce Richard to an historical figure. Only too late does Richard acknowledge that he "wasted time, and now doth time waste me.’’^ Does Richard of Bordeaux feel guilt in Shakespeare’s play? Is he merely ashamed that he has been deposed? Unlike his rival Bolingbroke, who became king well into his adulthood, Richard was a king long before he became a man; he was still a boy when he was crowned. Richard, therefore, as king, never had any higher authority to which he was compelled to answer. By virtue of the 13 �doctrine of the Christian Church, which declared him sovereign through God, Richard never had any occasion to learn guilt. Richard the man is incapable of experiencing feelings of guilt; he can only experience a sense of shame. This, Shakespeare reveals to his audience, is an essential facet of Richard the individual, one that condemns him to the role of a tragic player in England’s history. Richard is a stranger to guilt, but he embraces his shame. The ego in this case may have decided in hindsight that it was fated to be deposed. Shakespeare, however, asserts through his portrayal of Richard as wasteful, overreaching, and imprudent, that the inability of the self to feel guilt is characteristic of tragedy. Richard, as has been mentioned, is an historical figure: he is a king who reacts to, and is shaped by, time. He does not invent his ego successfully in the same sense that Henry V and Richard III would later invent theirs. But as a tragic figure, Richard H isn’t starcrossed; he "pluck[s] a thousand dangers"^ onto his head, in the words of his uncle, the Duke of York. The individual that is Richard of Bordeaux is dramatically, as well as historically, "we” rather than "I," referring of course to the royal "we" of England. Hence, in the early acts of the play Richard speaks of "our justice’’^ and alludes to himself as the Lion, the emblem of the kings of England. The royal "we," however, is not limited to Richard, but rather is shared by all of England’s monarchs. The "I” that is Richard himself, who attempts to rule the kingdom as an individual, forsakes the counsel and advice of his uncles and other older, wiser heads. He wishes to be an ahistorical king. Richard is unaccountable and unconcerned with the welfare of England. After all. King Richard speaks on behalf of England, so why should he spend time concerning himself with what his England happens to think? Richard is king by divine right. He does not, therefore, have to maintain the approval of his subjects to claim legitimacy. Rather than the "we," it is this "I” that plucks disaster down onto his crown, and not fate. This suggests that Richard is a tragic king because he is an ahistorical ruler at a time in history that demands an historical one. Perhaps it is this sense of the needs of history that Richard understands, only too late, when he laments that he "wasted time.” 14 �Richard looks like a lion and plays the role of the lion, but he has neither the favor of the nobility nor the popularity with the commoners that his successor enjoys. The "I” who is King Richard wastes time that should have been devoted to winning the loyalty, admiration, and love of his subjects. As a result, England rebels, so that the royal "we” of Richard’s sovereignty is reduced to the "I” of a solitary subject when Richard is dethroned. In this regard, it is not surprising that Richard orders a mirror with which to look at himself at the moment he loses his kingship. If this incident is an invention of the pla3Avright, it is revealing of Richard’s character that he is more concerned with his own welfare than that of his kingdom. Richard loves Richard—as long as Richard sees England when he looks in the mirror. When England is no longer seen in the reflection, as is the case when Richard surrenders his crown, Richard smashes the mirror, and the illusion. Richard, as Shakespeare shows, is a vain individual, and the young king indeed has the preoccupations that are the province of most young men. Sex, at first read, does not seem to figure as prominently in Richard II as it does in the other history plays, but the sexual relationships that are intimated in the play should cause the reader to think again. Richard’s marriage to his young queen, Isabella, in what appears to have been an arranged marriage, is opposed to that of Henry V’s pursuit of Kate in a later play in the cycle. In Richard II there is a tender scene of parting in Act V when Richard is led off to prison and Isabella is sent back to France. However, Richard’s lack of progeny, his seeming lack of interest in producing an heir to the throne, and the language used in this scene, "set forth in pomp / She came adorned hither like sweet May," suggest a platonic relationship with the queen, devoid of heat or lust.5 The implication, then, is that Richard prefers the company of his favorites. Bushy, Bagot, and Green. In the eyes of both the nobility and the commoners, the "natural" relationship between Richard and Isabella has been replaced with an "unnatural” relationship. When Bolingbroke condemns two of Richard’s favorites. Bushy and Green, in Act III, he accuses them, among other offenses, of destroying the marriage between the king and his queen: 15 �You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him. Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs...^ Here, Richard is able to put the interests of his favorites ahead of his kingly duties and conjugal obligations without any qualms. He is never made to feel ashamed about his illicit affairs with Bushy, Bagot, and Green, nor about his neglect of Queen Isabella. It is the Earl of Northumberland, however, who describes the harmful effect Richard’s extra-marital affairs are having on the realm. "The King is not himself, but basely led / By flatterers.”'^ Inside his closet, his personal quarters, Richard’s self comes before the responsibilities of the Crown. The ego who is Richard sees no schism between himself, the Crown, and the Church. To engage knowingly in such a relationship with one’s favorites is a mortal sin in the eyes of the Church, the institution that validates Richard as King of England. While he is still king, Richard shows no remorse for calling on God to have John of Gaunt die quickly so he can seize his wealth to pay for his military campaign in Ireland. Lastly, it is Bishop Carlisle who has to remind the king, when they have returned from Ireland to face rebellion at home, that the "Power that made you king/Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.”^ The Bishop voices this opinion after King Richard has revealed his pagan sensibilities in response to the threat of rebellion. The reminder works, momentarily, at least, as Richard concurs: Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord...^ By contrast, after Richard surrenders his crown, he is content to play the role of the martyr, going so far as to liken himself to the Redeemer, particularly in the deposition scene: 16 �Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands. Showing an outward pity, yet you Pilates Have here deliver’d me to my sour cross. And water cannot wash away your sinA^ Unlike Richard 111, whom Shakespeare depicts as someone incapable of self-pity, Richard 11 raises self-pity, with the absence of guilt, to a biblical level: "So Judas did to Christ; but He, in twelve, / Found truth in all but one; 1, in twelve thousand, none."ii Although these divine sentiments, expressed upon his abdication, clash with his pagan sensibilities, this new martyr role is consistent with Richard’s inability to feel guilt over his inadequate rule, and he instead attempts to place the source of his shame on those who are forcing him to step down. Self-pity typically makes it difficult for the individual who engages it to have pity for others. Such is the case with Shakespeare’s Richard II. The self has a divine right to be king, and when that is no longer the case perforce, it reserves the right to be the wronged late king. Richard does allow himself, while imprisoned in Pomfret Castle, to contemplate what role his ego ought to play. In the aforementioned soliloquy, after meditating on divinity, Christianity, and the seemingly inherent contradictions in Scripture, he comes to the conclusion, "But what e’er I be, / Nor I, nor any man that but man is, / With nothing shall be pleas’d, till he be eas’d / With being nothing.’’i2 This is a reversal of Richard’s ego which was inextricably identified with his role as king. The power to be nothing is power nevertheless. Time and the ego’s destruction result in the movement of the ego through a series of successive states: nihilism succeeds power, and power, albeit in a new, spiritual form, succeeds nihilism. Shakespeare has ascribed an arc to Richard’s individuality, revealing with this new facet of his character why the role demands such great range from actors. The character of Richard is one of the most complex and seemingly contradictory in all of Shakespeare’s plays. Richard, the individual, is as conflicted and full of factions as is his kingdom. Richard never vacillates more in emotion and in identity than when he returns home from Ireland in Act III. Faced with the 17 �news of the rebellion, Richard, the Christian king, calls upon the earth to “[f)eed not thy sovereign’s foe."i3 This speech, directed towards nature and earthly things, is filled with pagan sentiment: But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way. Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower. Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder. Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.^'’^ As a result of expressing such language, the king is rebuked by the Bishop and reminded by his friends that he is both a Christian and the King, which Richard seems to appreciate. But Shakespeare again reveals Richard as an individual who will uncrown himself, as the next piece of information the king receives discourages and disheartens him. Richard ultimately falls into such despair that he exclaims, "By heaven. I’ll hate him everlastingly / That bids me be of comfort any more.’’^^ Richard has given up, and he seems to prefer this new state of despair over one that would have him continuing to fight to hold onto his crown: Let’s talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs. Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. When Richard invokes heaven, it is to surrender himself to the rebellion as its sacrifice. When he defies the rebellion, he invokes the earth to destroy his enemies. Richard’s sense of divinity is more pagan than Christian. Other characters in the play invoke metaphors of nature to describe the King, such as the language that Richard’s uncle John of Gaunt uses to describe Richard’s recklessness: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last. 18 �For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small show’rs last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder; Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. Consuming means, soon preys upon itselfd^ Richard’s despairing uncle compares him to animals (cormorants, horses] as well as to the elements (storms, fires]. His tempestuous disposition is regarded similarly by another uncle, York: "Deal mildly with his youth, / For young colts being rag’d do rage the more.’’!^ The kings uncles reveal sensibilities that are natural in origin, but not necessarily pagan. There is no appeal to divinity involved. Instead, these are observations of an appetite that is out of control and unnatural in its gluttony. "Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made.”^^ The natural result is dissolution. Perhaps it is this conception of nature and appetite that sees Richard equate loss of power with loss of abundance: "Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, / And make a dearth in this revolting land."2o For it is in such language that Richard realizes that he has lost his power: 1 live with bread like you, feel want. Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus. How can you say to me I am a king?2i Richard’s pagan sensibilities contrast with his previous remark concerning the rebellion: "Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend, / They break their faith to God as well as us.’’^^ Richard’s ego is pagan when it suits him, and at other times Christian to suit his pleasure. Divinity serves Richard, not the other way around. Shakespeare’s Richard sees his crown as his identity, instead of his office. It is his privilege, not his duty. He is outraged that anyone could be so bold as to mount a rebellion against him. The notion of revolt taints his England as though the land itself were a disloyal subject or an unfaithful lover: "Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, / Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs.Although "this traitor’’^^ Bolingbroke maintains that he 19 �has returned seeking only his inheritance and not the crown, Richard realizes that if one of his subjects can amass sufficient power to force him to give back what he has taken from him, then he is no longer the King. This is both a political realization as well as an emotional one: Richard’s ego has been humiliated and shamed into the loss of sovereignty. But along with the shame of losing the crown, Richard still manages to retain his personal pride and regal bearing, even as he accedes; "Now mark me how I undo myself.”25 He is thus able to revolt against the rebels, by retaining the identity of a king even as he is undone. Having examined Shakespeare’s tragic rendering of Richard II as an individual who attempted but failed to become an ahistorical king, this discussion finally raises additional questions about how the playwright expects his audience to think about Richard. The story ends in the last act of the play, but his deposition results in a series of civil wars and discord throughout the kingdom for the next eighty-five years. Shakespeare foreshadows the decades of ensuing bloodshed in speeches he gives to the Bishop of Carlisle as well as to Richard. Richard II becomes a prologue to the civil wars, plots and power struggles dramatized in the subsequent plays in Shakespeare’s history cycle. The question remains, does Shakespeare see the wasteful and riotous rule of King Richard II as the tragedy that befell England, or rather, is it the ensuing violence and war that results following Richard’s deposition that is England’s tragedy? Which is the more tragic; the division of a king, or the division of the kingdom? Endnotes 1. Shakespeare. The Riverside Shakespeare: The Tragedy ofRichard II. Evans, Blakemore, ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1974. V.v, 79 2. Ibid., V.v, 49 3. Ibid., Il.i, 893 4. Ibid., I.iii, 535 5. ibid., V.i, 78-79 6. Ibid., Ill.i, 11-15 7. Ibid., Il.i, 241-242 8. Ibid., Ill.i, 27-28 9. Ibid., Ill.i, 54-57 10. Ibid., IV.i, 239-242 11. Ibid., IV.i, 170-171 12. Ibid., V.v, 38-41 20 �13. Ibid., Ill.ii, 12 14. Ibid., Ill.ii, 14-22 15. Ibid., Ill.ii, 207-208 16. Ibid., Ill.ii, 145-147 17. Ibid., Il.i, 33-39 18. Ibid., Il.i, 69-70 19. Ibid., Il.i, 84 20. Ibid., Ill.iii, 162-163 21. Ibid., Ill.ii, 175-177 22. Ibid., Ill.ii, 100-101 23. Ibid., Ill.ii, 6-7 24. Ibid., Ill.ii 1455 25. Ibid., IV.I, 203 Primary Text Evans, Blakemore, Ed. The Riverside Shakespeare: The Tragedy of Richard II. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1974. �Seeing-Time April Olsen With the first sentence of Uji, Dogen gives the reader a gloss of the repeated phrase found in the ancient Chinese poem which introduces his essay, and in that same opening sentence he summarizes the meaning of the entire essay itself: "'For the time being’ here means time itself is being, and all being is time.”i Dogen recognizes that many people will misunderstand "for the time being," so he must clarify the definition of time-being in the sentences that follow. Yet every subsequent sentence is the opposite of a clarification. As one reads Uji the simple statement that time is being and being is time becomes more and more complicated. Why does Dogen attempt to explain the meaning of time-being by confounding the reader's understanding of both time and being? Our everyday understanding of time and its relationship to the beings we see around us is the great obstacle to a complete and true understanding of time-being. We do not see time, as we see beings, but we should. According to Dogen, time's "glorious golden radiance” can be seen once one realizes that "the sixteen-foot golden Buddha body is time."^ In other words, seeing time means seeing time's beauty, and one is able to see time's beauty when one understands that time itself is not separate from the radiant being of the Buddha, or any other being. Dogen insists upfront that time and being are not separate, but simply stating such an identity is not sufficient to dispel our everyday understanding of time as something separate from us. One may hear and repeat the words "time is being and being is time” without understanding them, seeing them merely as a conceptual relation represented by the term time-being. As Dogen offers more complex reiterations of time-being, it becomes increasingly difficult for the reader to swallow the concepts and spit them back out. Once one progresses past the first sentence of Uji, it is impossible to hear the words Dogen uses to explain time-being without either dismissing his explanation as nonsense masquerading as wisdom or dismissing one's own 22 �unquestioned assumptions about the experience of time. Therefore, perhaps the most important aspect of Dogen's essay, at least for an ordinary being such as myself, is his proof that our everyday understanding of time is mistaken. Uji problematizes our notion of time in order to clarify the meaning of time-being. But even this "in order to" is misleading. The essay does not offer clear premises and conclusions, and attempting to pull out such a philosophical argument from Dogen's writing may destroy the teaching meant to be transmitted through it. On the other hand, as in many of Dogen's essays, he directs the reader to examine, investigate, study, and reflect upon the instruction he has offered. Uji presents our everyday understanding of time as a problem for us to examine, and that examination should lead us to confirm that time is being and being is time. Before the reader understands "for the time being,” she must first realize that the simplicity of time-being is not simple in the ordinary sense. Ordinarily we think of time as an obvious occurrence and of being as an obvious existence, and it is a mistake for the ordinary person to understand time-being as simply the equation of these two obvious thoughts. The obvious occurrence of time separated from being and the obvious existence of beings separated from time are both mistaken, so any understanding of time-being that attempts to preserve these two abstractions by merely conceptually combining them will fail. The absence of doubt can be the greatest obstacle to understanding because the reader will have no reason to examine closely an experience that is obvious and free from doubt. Hence Dogen must first provoke his reader to doubt the "obvious” experience of time. "Even though you do not measure the hours of the day as long or short, far or near, you still call it twelve hours. Because the signs of time's coming and going are obvious, people do not doubt it. Although they do not doubt it, they do not understand it.”^ Dogen points out that the ordinary person's lack of doubt regarding time is not based on some deep understanding of time, but rather on the superficial acceptance of obvious evidence. The "signs of time's coming and going” are taken to be time itself. People do not doubt the fact that time comes and goes because they 23 �accept obvious signs as proof of their limited understanding of time. One aspect of time is taken to be all of time. (The section on the lack of doubt regarding time is immediately followed by a discussion of time's relation to the self and to the entire world. For the time being, I will skip an examination of this.] When one begins to doubt the superficially obvious experience of time, the doubt itself does not guarantee that one will come to understand time-being. The ordinary person may still mistakenly simplify the expression "for the time being” by imagining it to say "for a while I was [one thing] ... for a while 1 was [another].The ordinary person who is beginning to doubt time will still think of time as a crossing or passing; "This is like having crossed over rivers and climbed mountains. Even though the mountains and rivers still exist, 1 have already passed them and now ... those mountains and rivers are as distant from me as heaven is from earth.”^ This seems to be a reasonable account of time. If 1 travelled here from San Diego, crossing the Cuyamaca mountains and the Colorado River during my journey, then now, as I sit here in Santa Fe, 1 can say that the time of my traveling and the place of those mountains and that river are distant from me. In feet, this account of time already acknowledges a relationship between time and being. Both the moment when I crossed the Colorado River and the place where the river flowed under my car are described as distant from me here and now. Thus the beginner's understanding of time-being does equate the abstract occurrence of time with the abstract existence of a being; they are identified in that they both occupy some distant when and where from my present when and where. Hence an ordinary person succeeds in accepting that time is not fundamentally separate from being, but gets stuck in thinking that the self occupies one specific time-being while other time-beings occupy places at varying distances to the time-being of the self here and now. "It is not that simple. At the time the mountains were climbed and the rivers crossed, you were present. Time is not separate from you, and as you are present, time does not go away.”^ The distance imagined in the ordinary person's account of time is only possible if time is understood to be passing away. We 24 �experience the present moment, and imagine that past moments, having flown away, are now far from us. If this notion that time flies away is maintained, then one's understanding of time-being will not be complete. "Do not think that time merely flies away. Do not see flying away as the only function of time. If time merely flies away, you would be separate from time. The reason you do not clearly understand the time-being is that you think of time only as passing."^ Dogen admits that flying away is one function of time, but he insists that understanding all of time to be embodied in that one function is a great mistake. When an ordinary person blindly accepts the obvious evidence of time's coming and going in the everyday signs that we measure, then time becomes understood as merely a flying away of moments. Time ends up being only experienced in the present moment and all other moments are distant from the present self. One can rectify this misunderstanding by rejecting one of the consequences of thinking about time as flying away; namely, the separation of your self from time. We imagine that time flies away because we imagine that we are separate from time, so in order to understand that time does not merely fly past, we must understand that time is not separate from us. This is confusing. Here is an alternative translation of the first quotation cited in the previous paragraph: "But the true state of things is not found in this one direction alone. At the time the mountain was being climbed and the river being crossed, I was there [in time]. The time has to be in me. Inasmuch as I am there, it cannot be that time passes away.”® The simplistic understanding of time makes the mistake of looking for time in one direction only. When I think about my travels over the mountains and across the river, if I only look back and measure time-being from my present moment and place, then I arrive at the conclusion that those mountains and that river are distant from me and that time must have passed away in order to make that separation possible. Finding time in that one direction alone ignores the fact that the mountain was climbed and the river crossed by me while 1 was in the present. Somehow, in order for that to be the case, time must be in me rather than passing away outside of me. Time must be passing through me, but without passing into me or passing out of 25 �me. "As I am present” or "Inasmuch as I am there [in time]," time cannot pass away. If time were passing away, then I could not find myself in the present moment. Since I find myself in the present moment, time should not be understood as merely passing away. There appears to be a necessary relationship between the existence of the present self and time's not merely passing away, but the reason for this necessity is still unclear. Here is the alternative translation of the second quotation cited above: "You should not come to understand that time is only flying past. You should not only learn that flying past is the virtue inherent in time. If time were to give itself to merely flying past, it would leave gaps. You fail to experience the passage of being-time and hear the utterance of its truth, because you learn only that time is something that goes past.”^ The ordinary person fails to hear the truth of "for the time being” and fails to experience the passage of being-time within himself because he imagines that flying past is the functional virtue of time and that as time's virtue, the function of flying past is the best understanding of time. Now where Tanahashi translates, "If time merely flies away, you would be separate from time,” Waddell and Abe render the same characters, "If time were to give itself to merely flying past, it would leave gaps.” The latter makes it sound as if time itself would have gaps, while the former results in a gap between oneself and time. Both accounts may say the same thing. If time were merely flying past, then there would be a gap (the distance) between myself and time, and if there is a gap between me and time, then time itself would have gaps (the distances between the times of my past). If time has gaps, then it cannot be unified and would merely be the scattering of isolated times that have flown past. If time is not unified then it would not have the opportunity to fly past in the first place. Therefore, in order for time to be one, without gaps, time must not be separate from myself. Now is a good time to return to the section that was skipped earlier. After criticizing the ordinary person's unexamined understanding of time for its inability to doubt the "obvious” evidence of time's passage, Dogen somewhat abruptly makes a few strong assertions about the self: "The way the self arrays itself is the form of the entire world. See each thing in this entire world as a 26 �moment of time. Things do not hinder one another, just as moments do not hinder one another ... Thus the self setting itself out in array sees itself. This is the understanding that the self is time.''io So, in the explanation for why one should not understand time as passing away, Dogen argued that such an understanding makes time's unity impossible. Now, Dogen explains that because the self is what it is, and time is what it is, the self and time are one. This is the meaning of time-being. One cannot understand time­ being while maintaining the separate occurrence of time, the separate existence of beings, nor the separate experience of the self. Time and being, while never actually separated, appear to merge in the self as the ordinary person comes to understand time­ being. Because the self arrays itself, the entire world has the form that the self sees; in turn, because the self arrays itself as the entire world, the self is able to see itself; and finally, because the self is time, then as the self arrays itself it is able to see time. The self arrays itself, and the self that examines this truth is able to see the entire world, see oneself, and see the glorious golden radiant illumination of time. Time, the world, and the self are all time-being. That last sentence appears to be stuck in another swallowing up and spitting out of mere concepts. This essay began with the simple and misunderstood equation: (time) + (being) = (time-being). Now, rather than foolishly adding the abstract concepts of time and being together in an attempt to understand time-being, such an understanding is supposed to be reached through a series of equations; (time-being) = (time) = (being) = (self). It all appears to be equal, and yet what Dogen teaches us about time-being feels like more than a simple "all is one, one is all" doctrine. Or even if such a brief statement is true, Uji at least shows the reader that memorizing a trite formula is not enough. So once again, rather than regurgitating the simple idea that time is the self is the world, one must investigate this further. Dogen goes on to say, "Each moment is all being, is the entire world. Reflect now whether any being or any world is left out of the present moment.”ii This reflection could be the self seeing itself in its array. Whenever Dogen urges the reader to reflect, examine, investigate, study, etc. he may be referring to this 27 �character of the self. But this arraying is more than a "character” of the self; the self is what it is because it arrays itself so that it can see itself as the entire world, as each moment. Conceptually this sounds beautiful, albeit confusing, but what does it mean for the self to see all beings and all times, and thus see itself in its array? The self-array section is translated by Waddell and Abe as follows: "We set the self out in array and make that the whole world. We must see all the various things of the whole world as so many times. These things do not get in each other’s way any more than various times get in each other's way ... We set our self out in array, and we see that. Such is the fundamental reason of the Way—that our self is time.’’^^ The first person plural makes this arraying appear to be a project which many people engage in rather than the functioning of some abstract individual self. Moreover, the "that” which we "see” when we array the self may be either the sight of the formed world or the sight of the active arraying. Or perhaps both of these sights are aspects of the same thing: the world is not merely a passive object to be observed, nor is the self merely the action of arraying; both are time. "The way the self arrays itself is the form of the entire world” or "We set the self out in array and make that the whole world.” Although the self array forms or makes the world, this is not an account of its creation. Because time is being and being is time, Dogen is not concerned with figuring out when this world began, as if the moment of the world's creation were as distant from the present moment of the world as those moments of climbing and crossing are from me now. Inasmuch as the world is right now, and inasmuch as 1 am my present self, this moment is the moment of the world's "creation” because the forming of the world is the arraying of the self. But even this may be saying too much. Insisting on an account of the beginning of the world is already limiting one's understanding of time-being. It is separating the beginning of the world from every other moment of the world and each of those moments from each other. The "self arraying itself is a strange concept. One might imagine the self as a projector that radiates time to make objects appear around it, or the self as a ghostly spirit that drapes itself with the ornamentation stuff of the world, or the self as a great 28 �conglomeration that breaks itself up and arranges the pieces to create the order of the world. And then one can also imagine Dogen objecting to each of these visuals. Is the self an agent? Does the understanding of time-being give one greater control over the arraying? Can the enlightened self radiate, ornament, or arrange the world at will? No, there does not seem to be much of a "will” behind this arraying of the self. Nor is the self array a kind of instrument that an ordinary person can learn to use more skillfully. In this section on the self array, Dogen does not imply that we should stop understanding time as passing away and begin understanding the self as time so that we can take control of the world through this self array. Therefore the realization that the self is time and that the self array makes the world does not give the self greater world-creating powers, but it does enable the self to see what is being arrayed and to identify with it. In order to see, one needs to make distinctions. If the self and time and the world are all just one undifferentiated time-being, then there can be no real sight. Somehow the self is time, is the world, in such a way that the self is able to see itself as the world because it has time. The self can make the necessary distinctions in its array because things "do not hinder one another.''^^ Ordinarily I like to think that I see separate objects around me because they are independently lined up next to each other, and the fact that my eyes can detect their edges allows me to see the world truly. "Not hindering one another" would be a silly way to describe this ordinary person's understanding of objects. However, the ordinary person's view of the world runs into trouble when one examines those obvious edges between objects. The world ends up with spatial gaps in the same way that time ended up with temporal gaps. Therefore, we must "See each thing in this entire world as a moment of time” because "Things do not hinder one another, just as moments do not hinder one another.If we do not see things as times, then we end up with gaps in time and space, and we continue seeing superficially because we blindly accept partial (obvious] evidence as the whole truth. According to Dogen, the whole truth is this: "In essence, all things in the entire world are linked with one another as moments. Because all moments are the time-being, they are your time-being. 29 �The time-being has the quality of flowing ... Because flowing is a quality of time, moments of past and present do not overlap or line up side by side.”i5 The fact that all things are "linked” as moments, solves the problem of gaps in between objects in space while preserving our ability to see distinctions in the world. Moments are able to provide this linkage that distinguishes things from each other without separating them because they are time-being within me. My time-being holds together time so that it does not suffer gaps, and time's unity allows for the unity of the world. In that sense both times and beings are "created" by my self arraying itself. The array is the perfection of arrangement because things and moments neither overlap with each other nor do they separate in a row. This is the flowing of time that allows the world to appear as it does. Before one begins to doubt time, the world's appearance may be taken for granted and the self is able to separate being and time from each other, and one thing from other things, and one moment from other moments, not realizing that if such separation were true then there would be no unity with which to see at all. The ordinary person sees, but also fails to see what makes seeing possible. "Altbough the views of an ordinary person and the causes and conditions of those views are what the ordinary person sees, they are not necessarily the ordinary person's truth. The truth merely manifests itself for the time being as an ordinary person. The ordinary person's assumptions about time and being are not untrue because even the limited understanding of time-being is made possible by the truth of time-being. Similarly, in the section on doubt discussed above, Dogen claims, "When sentient beings doubt what they do not understand, their doubt is not firmly fixed. Because of that, their past doubts do not coincide with the present doubt. Yet doubt itself is nothing but time.'’^^ Seeing the obvious signs of time's coming and going without doubt, or seeing those "obvious" signs with doubt, or seeing times as beings and beings as times with doubt, or seeing the truth of time's flowing without doubt—all of these ways to see time are time-being. Even when one is merely swallowing up words and spitting them back out, this is also time-being. In fact this way of understanding truth is similar to the understanding of time's flowing: "Does this time-being not swallow up the moment when you climbed the mountain [and the 30 �moment before you were doubting time and the moment when you simply regurgitated Dogen's words]? Does it not spit them out?”i8 Thus the ordinary person's truth is not separate from enlightened truth, just as time and self and being are not separate from each other. Truth must flow in the same way that time flows. There is no separation between one's unenlightened self and one's enlightened self; they do not overlap nor do they line up side by side. You should see the glorious golden radiance of time, and you should also see that radiance in yourself because each ordinary person is the sixteen-foot golden body of the enlightened buddha. "Because you think your time or your being is not truth, you believe that the sixteen-foot golden body is not you. However, your attempts to escape from being the sixteen-foot golden body are nothing but bits and pieces of the time-being. Those who have not yet confirmed this should look into it deeply."!^ Although getting rid of the distance that separates yourself from the Buddha, and the distance that separates the present moment from the moment of enlightenment, may seem like an unconditional boon, we must also get rid of the self that we imagine to be outside of time and separate from other beings. An ordinary person may want the reflection of the self arraying itself to instill some greater world­ controlling power on the self, but to reflect on this truth one must no longer see oneself as entering time from outside in order to act in the world. Increased control makes no sense if there is no separation between self and time. Rather than accept this, the ordinary person refrains from doubting in order to escape reflecting about the self that arrays itself. Yet even this "escape” is time-being and therefore no escape at all. Once the ordinary person begins to doubt the obviousness of everyday experience [possibly with the aid of Dogen's essay], he should continue to look deeply, to examine, to see time-being in order to make his understanding of it firm. That confirmation of time-being must be in the second half of Uji. For the time being, I will content myself with this half-examination of Dogen's essay. 31 �Endnotes 1. Dogen. Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings ofZen Master Dogen. Kazuaki Tanahasi, ed. New York: North Point Press, 1985. 76 2. Dogen. The Heart ofDogen's Shobogenzo. Trans. Norman Waddell and Masao Abe. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002. 48 3. Tanahashi, 76 4. Ibid., 77 5. Ibid., 77 6. Ibid., 77 7. Ibid., 78 8. Waddell and Abe, 8 9. Ibid., 51 10. Tanahashi, 77 11. Ibid., 77 12. Waddell and Abe, 49 13. Tanahashi, 77 14. Ibid., 77 15. Ibid., 78 16. Ibid., 79 17. Ibid., 77 18. Ibid., 78 19. Ibid., 79 Primary Texts Dogen. Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings of Zen Master Dogen. Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed. New York; North Point Press, 1985. Dogen. The Heart of Dogen's Shobogenzo. Trans. Norman Waddell and Masao Abe. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002. 32 �Life Experience by the Books, or How to Read Nabokov's Speak, Memory Grant Wycliff Because not all artists offer their audience a proviso detailing which elements of their work to pay attention to or declaring a specific method for consumption, 1 see no reason for this to be a requirement for artists. In fact, the popular consensus seems to be quite the contrary: individuals are allowed and even encouraged to engage art and interpret it however they please. Despite this we often do look to certain authorities, whether they be academics or contemporaries of an artist, in an attempt to gain greater understanding of that artist concerning both generalities and particulars. Although balancing one's approach to art between these tensions is not usually problematic, 1 find it difficult to decide what to make of Vladimir Nabokov’s Speak, Memory. This book is an autobiographical work he initially describes as "a systematically correlated assemblage of personal recollections" that, while initially published serially, has been rearranged from its sequence of publication to be read as a proper way to interpret Nabokov’s life "from August 1903 to May 1940. The specific difficulties 1 have in interpreting this book stem from my need to discern whether this should be read according to the approach laid out in Nabokov’s essay "Good Readers and Good Writers,” and what the various implications of understanding Speak, Memory are based on whether these two works are read as complementary or exclusive.^ That essay, written as a preface to selected lectures on his literature, holds advice that can clearly be applied to fiction writing in general. At the same time, the essay waffles in its disposition between concern for readership of fiction and readership in general. Speak, Memory espouses a similar vagueness of identity: while ostensibly maintaining a fidelity to autobiography insofar as he attempts to accurately represent his life, Nabokov does not actively admit of any difference between how this art form and fiction ought to function, even going so far as to say that "The following of... thematic designs through one’s life should be, 1 think, the true purpose of autobiography.”^ The 33 �objectives of this paper are twofold: to determine whether Nabokov intends for the reader to apply the principles in "Good Readers and Good Writers" to his or her understanding of Speak, Memory, and to reflect on Nabokov’s understanding of how closely an autobiographical project ought to resemble the major aesthetic qualities of prose fiction. While I will evaluate his autobiography, I will do so holistically, only referring to particular moments of Nabokov’s life as he describes them in order to illustrate larger points about his approach to autobiography as a discipline. Ultimately the goal of this paper is to explore Nabokov’s understanding of human experience by abstraction, and to identify important elements of experience that are made available in these two works in ways that his fiction might neglect. Anyone familiar with Nabokov’s fiction would find his arguments in "Good Readers and Good Writers” hardly surprising; they are dogmatic yet convincing, focusing heavily on writers who are highly concerned with art and readers who take literature to be a very serious enterprise. Among the many aphorisms he offers, one is immediately relevant to the problem I seek to confront. After describing a division between "writers of genius” and "minor authors,” Nabokov offers a rule he considers highly pertinent: The art of writing is a very futile business if it does not imply first of all the art of seeing the world as the potentiality of fiction. The material of this world may be real enough [as far as reality goes] but does not exist at all as an accepted entirety: it is chaos, and to this chaos the author says 'go!’ allowing the world to flicker and to fuse.^ The first relevant element of this view is that it appears to apply to all writing, not fiction writing exclusively. This means that for all writers, even those who are pursuing a project as personal as autobiography, there is something about the art of writing that naturally distorts "reality,” transfiguring our world of experience and recreating it for the reader in a more palatable form. But while the author does offer the reader the chance to make sense of the world in a way that would otherwise be simply unavailable, he 34 �seems to do so at the cost of breaking down the boundary between truth and fiction. This is not to say that I think writing cannot accurately report the facts of reality according to this Nabokovian principle; I am confident that Nabokov accurately represents the objective truths of his history to the best of his ability. However, maintaining that writing is futile without treating the world as "the potentiality of fiction" does two things to autobiography: It paradoxically encourages the writer to willfully misrepresent the world in order to furnish greater understanding of the world, while forcing the reader to accept these rather subjective interpretations of reality from the author. In Chapter 8 of Speak, Memory we find Nabokov recalling a series of tutors he had as a child. Several instances of reflection in this chapter stand out as examples of Nabokov admitting to the troubles that arise in attempting to convert the "chaos” of reality into writing, either directly or through the aforementioned misrepresentation of facts for the reader’s sake. Nabokov relates several short recollections of one tutor he had called Ordo, and admits that in his attempt to recall one particular memory of the man, he may have unintentionally transferred the detail of Ordo's wearing a particular cloak from a previous experience. Nabokov is rather self-aware in admitting to potential inaccuracy in this passage, saying, "It seldom happens that I do not quite know whether a recollection is my own or has come to me secondhand, but in this case I do waver.On the basic level of his attempting to recall this specific person there is nothing problematic; he has shared these memories of Ordo while supplying the necessary caveats. What this passage illuminates is the set of tendencies we all share in memory recollection. No matter what the causes might be, it is a widely documented phenomenon that we often do revise our memories and filter them in a way that fails to accurately recall our actual experience. This problem is one that every autobiographer faces, for memory is really the only means by which one can know oneself. But Nabokov only seems to treat this as a problem in this particular instance; the rest of the book is written with a complete confidence in the accuracy of his recollections. It should not be surprising that Nabokov does not continually address the issues 35 �related to memory because confidence in one’s assertions is not only necessary for this sort of project, but also for being able to maintain a sense of self. While the basis for his having selected many of the memories we read in this book remains mysterious, it is particularly puzzling that he would limit the discussion of this major issue to something as trivial as the recollection of a tutor he had only briefly. Another kind of misrepresentation occurs soon after this one in the series of his childhood tutors we meet. Nabokov tells us about two tutors he had who appear to have been renamed by him for the purposes of this book. The first one is a medical student, described as having a resemblance to a French actor named Max Linder, whom he proceeds to call Max. The second tutor, who seems to have been quite important to Nabokov as he is discussed at length, appears to have been assigned a false name as well. Nabokov merely says "he will have to figure here under the name of Lenski.”^ He has no problem telling of his personal experiences with these characters, nor does he have an issue with furnishing plenty of background details about the tutors independent of his experience with them. In my view, these issues in Speak, Memory— his refusal to accurately name these two tutors as well as his lack of explanation for why he would rename them—are not symptoms of a failure of memory. 1 imagine that while writing this book he did have many failures of memory, but that in most cases those failures entailed omission of certain stories rather than their modification. A more reasonable explanation for his justifying such behavior is that Nabokov’s sense of human experience is quite similar to the model of artistic sensibility described in "Good Readers and Good Writers.’’ In addition to treating the world as pregnant with artistic meaning and possibilities for storytelling, writers and readers alike should experience it with imagination. Nabokov did not name the tutor for Max Linder because the man’s parents wanted to name their child after the actor, but because it enabled the "artistic harmonious balance between the reader’s mind and the author’s mind’’ that Nabokov determined to be most appropriate for gaining understanding of his life in that setting. While it seems unfair to consider that tutor’s full life as trivial, the emphasis on Nabokov’s experience of him seems far more relevant 36 �to the autobiography. That he would arrange this instance, as well as the structure of the entire book, in this manner seems to stem from his attitude that "everything that is worthwhile is to some extent subjective.”^ Reading Speak, Memory with the imaginative, subjective disposition encouraged in his essay should help the reader to make sense of two topics Nabokov treats early on in the book: his understanding and valuation of time, and his condition of synesthesia. To understand time for Nabokov it is worth first looking at the book's overall trajectory. Clearly it differs from most autobiographies, which begin with the author’s early years and proceed chronologically; they often make a point of identifying early foundational trends in the author’s life that might produce the distinctive habits and skills which would later earn that person a publishing deal. Speak, Memory does not conform to this model of storytelling at all; it is even debatable whether this book functions as a traditional story at all. Nabokov clearly has no desire to describe or justify his current circumstances as they relate to his maturation and upbringing. What he has offered is a set of recollections bolstered with beautiful language and interspersed with reflections on life as experienced. Given these loose outlines for preparing his account of himself, it makes perfect sense that Nabokov would begin to address the issue of time in the opening pages of the book. His view that "the beginning of reflexive consciousness in the brain of our remotest ancestor must surely have coincided with the dawning of the sense of time”^ seems to be the genesis for the entire project. For, given the role of memory in the project, what is an autobiography but an extended exercise in reflexive consciousness? As mentioned earlier, Nabokov states in the foreword to Speak, Memory that the series of recollections he is presenting begins in August 1903, despite his having been born before that time. This is attributable to the description he offers of walking in a park with his parents where, upon conversing with his parents and discovering their ages relative to his own, he felt that he had undergone "a second baptism" where he was "plunged abruptly into a radiant and mobile medium that was none other than the pure element of time.”^ While he describes this recognition 37 �of time (and his existence relative to it) as being a moment so pivotal in his life as to be considered a rebirth, it seems that the penchant he would later develop for indulgence in aesthetic bliss would largely take the form of attempting to reject and stand outside of time, eventually leading him to his present perspective from which he tells the reader, “I confess I do not believe in time."i° Maintaining an existence outside of time would likely be the pinnacle of experiencing life on a subjective basis. The progress toward this pinnacle is embodied early on by Nabokov with his condition of synesthesia and the behavioral inclinations it entails. He does not merely mention his condition, but instead describes to the reader in detail what that experience is like for him. Nabokov could, perhaps, be paying heed to the relative obscurity of that condition for most readers, but it primarily seems to be a clever way of compelling the reader to begin accepting the Nabokovian standard of writing. The reader at once is forced to accept the author as someone whose experience is inestimably different than their own, while being given the chance to imagine what the synesthetic experience is like. Nabokov's fiction often works in a similar way. The protagonist of Lolita is afflicted with pederasty, and uses his narrative platform to entice the reader into accepting him as a likeable, charming man before actually having to witness the horror of his ways. In a similar way, the "editor” of Pale Fire portrays himself as a relevant authority whose commentary is necessary for understanding the poem, and leverages that position in order to relate numerous bizarre and dubious stories concerning himself I found similarities between the narrative voice in the two books and Nabokov's actual voice not only because of the brilliant use of the English language in each, but also in the shared psychological tendencies between them. The utility of subjectivity in Nabokov's writing clearly is not limited to its power to enable aesthetic bliss as an end in itself Subjectivity and imagination in writing, combined with his view that "a major writer combines these three - storyteller, teacher, enchanter,” are rather effective means towards that end.^i The power of literature for Nabokov lies in creating an entirely new world with which the reader is forced to engage, not merely in crafting beautiful prose for the reader to 38 �read. The payoff in reading a book like Lolita does not rest only in the beautiful composition of the last pages or the finding of any sort of resolution; it is the journey on which Humbert Humbert takes us, where we find enchantment and bewilderment within his universe, that creates such pleasure for the reader. This is one of the first lessons about which we are cautioned when learning how to be good readers, according to Nabokov: We should always remember that the work of art is invariably the creation of a new world, so that the first thing we should do is study that new world as closely as possible, approaching it as something brand new, having no obvious connection with the worlds we already know.12 Thus far it seems that the benchmarks for good readership of fiction have coincided with an appropriate reading of Speak, Memory. Nabokov clearly has treated the world of this book in ways rather similar to the worlds we witness in works of fiction As it is related to the reader, Nabokov's personal universe has been crafted according to his view of life as a subjective experience rather than according to a strictly focused fidelity to the facts of his development and the people involved in it. And, while we are enticed to enter that world and be entertained by his nostalgic meanderings about growing up as an aristocrat and all of the indulgences such a lifestyle afforded him, there is something highly problematic about applying this last maxim of "good readership" to non-fiction, and particularly autobiography. Although Nabokov says "the work of art is invariably the creation of a new world," in the case of autobiography that statement seems to be false. Even if we accept that autobiography is a personal account of one’s own life that could serve any number of purposes (whether validating his accomplishments or simply following the thematic designs of his life), we have to further probe the nature of subjectivity both in prose and in life as experienced to determine whether the autobiography creates a veritably new world. That it is impossible for me to fully understand anyone else’s experience seems obvious - in this respect 1 agree with 39 �Nabokov’s assertion that "to be quite objective in these matters is of course impossible.”^^ Our everyday lives, however, seem to suggest that, as far as human beings are concerned, it is quite possible to approximate an understanding of one another’s experiences. Many of the foundations of society, including art, take this as a given: that we all share roughly similar life experiences and have the ability to identify with each other accordingly. This is how Nabokov’s art can even function in the first place. Although I can certainly appreciate Humbert Humbert’s universe being quite different from my own, Nabokov relies upon conventions like language, empathy, and morality to relate Humbert’s position to the reader. While this fictional universe and countless others should necessarily be treated as distinct from our own, Nabokov’s universe in Speak Memory does not seem to deserve this treatment at first glance. No matter how different his subjective experience is from the reader’s, it has at the very least taken place (much to Nabokov’s disappointment) in the same space and time dimensions as the reader’s. He admits this much in the foreword, where he describes the reactions to the book that close family and friends had. Many of them disputed the factual basis of certain recollections, arguing that he had transferred details from one memory to another (reminiscent of the aforementioned reflections Nabokov offered in Chapter 8). If we concede that someone other than Nabokov has the right to make claims on the realities of the world in Speak, Memory, then we can rightfully treat the book as taking place in a world not entirely apart from our own. But given that we have already accepted Nabokov’s contrary premises concerning the similarities between autobiography and fiction, there seems to be a need for compromise within his views on writing. We can preserve the notion that certain books should be treated as creating universes with no connection to our own (and that readers must treat them as such), and let that set of literature be referred to as fiction. At the same time, it is possible to consider treating all of the universes created by the art of writing as occurring on a continuum, where certain sorts of prose are intended to be congruent with our world. Thus, rather than marking a strict distinction between fiction and non-fiction, readers may respect the right of an author to ground 40 �himself in our world while maintaining a great degree of subjectivity in interpreting that world. This mode seems to be precisely the one that Nabokov seeks in Speak, Memory. While he clearly wishes for the reader to understand this work as an account of his life taking place in our world, it is a personal one where the reader must embrace Nabokov's tendency to present his experience of our world as pursuant to a subjective, highly aesthetic worldview on par with the experience of characters we find in fiction. This is not to say that Nabokov’s disposition is necessarily unique, but the combination of his upbringing, literary talent, and particularity concerning art are unusual enough to make him seem that way. Trying to place Nabokov’s autobiography on this literary continuum recalls the notion that autobiographies seem to generate their own value, which varies according to the author’s motivation in writing an account of his own life. Speak, Memory is probably as close to a fictional aesthetic as autobiography can get, because Nabokov’s primary motivation is to engage the reader with life recollections that he finds important primarily because they contribute to his profile as a lover of beauty. While he presents memories like the pursuit of an especially rare butterfly to show his ability to appreciate beauty in the world, there are plenty of complementary moments where Nabokov simply discourses on his opinions. Rather than always relying on a real moment in time to illustrate his views, he finds utility in simply explaining things like his distaste for sleep: "1 simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me.’’^^ It is statements like this one that help to ground a story that would otherwise be practically surreal. This latter objective—grounding his account in reality— seems quite important to Nabokov. While it would be sufficient for his private life to simply enjoy the pursuit of beauty and only interface with memory when a certain memory would generate the pleasure he seeks, that clearly is not all that he wishes to present to the reader. For the writer is not just an enchanter and storyteller, but a teacher as well. To that end, Nabokov’s decision to write an account of his own life must have been in part spurred by a belief 41 �that he could teach his reader something with these recollections that he could not do with his fiction. Because he seems to be concerned with teaching about the human condition, it is fitting that autobiography is distinct in certain ways from fiction. For although we often find great comfort in lessons learned from novels, depending exclusively on fiction to understand ourselves might be an unhealthy sort of escapism. While Nabokov does seem to partake of practices like catching butterflies, writing literature and espousing a rejection of time that might seem to be escapist, he hardly uses these as a way of avoiding life’s unpleasantness (in a Schopenhauerian sort of way). Nabokov’s embrace of aesthetic beauty is instead a positive one, where he finds these sorts of pursuits to be life affirming. Speak, Memory is the autobiography of a man who is truly content with life, and who proves it by describing all of the pleasures he has enjoyed despite the typical condition of man described in the opening lines of the book: "The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.With this line Nabokov has effectively primed the reader to "read with his spine.Having framed the proceeding account of his own life in this context, Nabokov demands that the reader appreciate the autobiography in the same way that Nabokov appreciates aesthetic beauty: as an experience that fortifies life’s luminescent moments against the dark abyss surrounding them. Endnotes 1. Nabokov. Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited. New York: Vintage International, 1989. 9 2. Bowers and Nabokov. Lectures on Literature. San Diego: Harcourt, 1982. 3. SM, 27 4. GRAGW, 2 S.SM, 156 6.SM, 159 7. GRAGW, 4 8.SM,21 9. SM, 21 10. SM, 139 11. GRAGW, 5 12. GRAGW, 1 13. GRAGW, 4 14. SM, 108-109 42 �15.5M, 19 16. GRAGW, 6 Primary Texts Nabokov, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited. New York, NY: Vintage International, 1989. Nabokov, Vladimir Vladimirovich, and Fredson Bowers. Lectures on Literature. San Diego, CA: Harcourt, 1982. �Searching for Geometrical "Truth" in Einstein's Relativity Jules Mancini Einstein begins his combined work on the special and general theories of relativity with a consideration of Euclidean truth. His first chapter, titled Physical Meaning of Geometrical Propositions, points out our tendency to determine the truth of an idea via its connection to a real object in the physical world. According to Einstein, however, "Geometry is not concerned with the relation of the ideas involved in it to objects of experience, but only with the logical connection of these ideas among themselves. He challenges the reader, who is no doubt steeped in Euclid, by asking, "What, then, do you mean by the assertion that these propositions are true?" A distinction is drawn between truth as a result of the human habit of thought, relegated to some senseobject, and truth as the internal consistency of a series of propositions. If mathematical truth is ultimately limited to the internal consistency of some set of ideas, what bearing does mathematics have on physical phenomena? What bearing does "pure” mathematics have on the theory of relativity? Expressing the truth of physical phenomena ultimately seems to rely on mathematics. How, then, are physical phenomena placed in relationship with geometrical ideas? While unpacking the general theory of relativity, Einstein convinces us to abandon the world of Euclidean geometry. We also discard the rigid body of reference and the Cartesian coordinate system. We take the fork in the road that leads to non-Euclidean geometry, non-rigid reference-bodies, and Gaussian coordinates. What is at stake here? What changes mathematically between the special and the general theory? Minkowski's four-dimensional quasi-Euclidean space works for the special theory of relativity and, Einstein says, "without it the general theory of relativity would perhaps have got no farther than its long clothes.How does Minkowski’s quasi-Euclidean world simultaneously function as a culmination of the special theory and as a foundation for the general theory? 44 �Einstein first speaks of Minkowski’s four-dimensional spacetime continuum at the end of his explication of the special theory of relativity. Prior to introducing Minkowski, Einstein speaks of the limits of the Cartesian system of coordinates, saying, "Every description of events in space involves the use of a rigid body to which such events have to be referred. The resulting relationship takes for granted that the laws of Euclidean geometry hold for 'distances.’"^ Given this language, the reader is dubious from the outset that the Cartesian coordinates will provide a sustainable medium for representing physical phenomena. Nevertheless, Einstein grants the reader the privilege of experiencing the trajectory of growth from three-dimensional Euclidean space to four-dimensional Euclidean space, and ultimately to four­ dimensional non-Euclidean space. Minkowski’s mathematical equations allow for a four­ dimensional space-time continuum, which resembles Euclidean three-dimensional space. What is a four-dimensional Euclidean space and what purpose does it serve? A given point in threedimensional Euclidean space lies at the intersection of three perpendicular coordinates x, y, z. This random point lies among indefinite, infinitely dense points and, therefore, moving from one to the next can constitute a continuum as opposed to requiring a jump. Minkowski’s four-dimensional world is likewise a continuum, though one comprised of space-time coordinates x, y, z, as well as t for time. Simply adding t moves us from three-dimensional space to four-dimensional space-time. However, how does this new four­ dimensional world retain quasi-Euclidean properties? Replacing t with the imaginary number ct removes the distinction between space and time coordinates and "the time coordinate plays exactly the same role as the three space coordinates...these four coordinates correspond exactly to the three space coordinates in Euclidean geometry.How does the imaginary number accomplish this important task of blurring the lines between space and time? Einstein says, "If we choose as timevariable the imaginary variable ct instead of the real quantity t, we can regard the space-time continuum - in accordance with the special theory of relativity - as a 'Euclidean’ four-dimensional 45 �continuum.'’^ There is a marked difference between having three space coordinates plus a time coordinate and having four spacetime coordinates. Making the time coordinate indistinguishable from the space coordinates allows Minkowski's space-time to behave identically to Euclidean space. Minkowski’s four­ dimensional world, in which time is represented by an imaginary number, can fit into a three-dimensional paradigm. Put mathematically, equations A and B below are functionally equivalent. As Einstein says, "The analogy [between the equations] is a complete one.”^ ,1 Equation A: X, Equation B: X, a , ,2 , ,2 4- X2 -|- X3 , ,1 -l- X2 , 2 = X, ,2 . -h X3 '2 , 2 , -X2 +X3 4 2 , -I-X4 =x, -1-X2 + X-, H-X, It seems impossible to talk about Minkowski without reference to the Lorentz transformation. Still, given the scope of this paper, 1 am going to avoid delving into the construction of the Lorentz transformation. Suffice it to say that the shift from the generalized Lorentz transformation to Minkowski’s world looks something like this: Lorentz; + y'^ + z'^ - c^t'^ ^x^+y^+z^- cY Minkowski: xf + x'2 + xf -h x'^ - Xj^ -I- X2 + X^ -V X^ The Lorentz coordinates turn into the Minkowski equation. Where the Lorentz transformation has for time, Minkowski’s time coordinate takes on exactly the same appearance as the space coordinates. In fact, Einstein goes further, asserting, "...'time’ enters into natural laws in the same form as the space coordinates.’’^ Minkowski himself said, "Henceforth space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve any independent reality.’’^ Minkowski’s quasi-Euclidean world is a necessary culmination of the special theory because time is no longer absolute but 46 �dependent on the reference body, as seen in the example of relative simultaneity. Time is embedded in space and relative to it. The general theory of relativity also needs this blurring of the lines between space and time. How does Minkowski’s world prove foundational to general relativity? Einstein’s approach to space-time under the general theory hinges on Gaussian coordinates. Einstein introduces the Gaussian coordinate system, most simply characterized as a more general version of the Cartesian one, as necessary to the general theory of relativity. Gaussian coordinates can apply to non-Euclidean continua, and this seems to be why the general theory needs this new system. Einstein says, "the description of the time-space continuum by means of Gauss coordinates completely replaces the description with the aid of a body of reference, without suffering from the defects of the latter mode of description; it is not tied down to the Euclidean character of the continuum which has to be represented.’’^ However, Gaussian coordinates only apply to nonEuclidean continua when they are small enough to behave like their Euclidean counterparts. What is the nature of this freedom if it relies upon shrinking the non-Euclidean domain down to the actual point where it behaves like the Euclidean one? Gaussian coordinates can accommodate non-Euclidean four­ dimensional space-time, whereas Cartesian coordinates only apply to quasi-Euclidean four-dimensional space-time. Once Einstein establishes that the space-time continuum is necessarily nonEuclidean, we are left with no choice but to abandon the Cartesian coordinates in favor of those better able to represent the variations present in non-Euclidean spaces (such as gravitational fields and variably heated marble slabs]. In the case of the marble slab, measuring rods are no longer directly reliable units of measure, as the surface varies. In the case of the gravitational field, inertial motion and the constancy of the velocity of light are challenged by the deflection of light around a body such as the sun. Somehow, Gaussian coordinates come to the rescue. Einstein says, "We assign to every point of the continuum four numbers, x,,X2,X3,X4 (coordinates], which have not the least direct physical significance.’’^^ It does not even matter which of the four represents time. But this blurring of space and time was introduced earlier, 47 �with Minkowski, under the special theory of relativity. What is new here? The ability to accommodate the non-Euclidean is significant and seems to begin when we free ourselves from the rigid reference body, the external "real" object alleged to behave in a Euclidean manner. Physical phenomena in the general theory cannot correspond to rigid reference bodies because "in gravitational fields there are no such things as rigid bodies with Euclidean properties."^! In fact, rigid bodies in general become a kind of fiction. The Cartesian coordinate system corresponds to rigid bodies of reference whereas the Gaussian one relates to nonrigid reference bodies. Ultimately, Gaussian coordinates go further and do away with reference body altogether. This change in coordinate systems essentially replaces the rigid with the arbitrary. No system based on rigid bodies can directly give us position or time. Therefore, we "refer the four­ dimensional space-time continuum in an arbitrary manner to Gauss coordinates."!^ There seems to be some subtle difference between placing our unit of measure in the surface as opposed to on the surface. Einstein, in a footnote, speaks of the problems of using Cartesian coordinates on the marble slab, saying, "The surface is not a Euclidean continuum with respect to the rods, and we cannot define Cartesian coordinates in the surface."'^^ Perhaps there is a shift away from expressing a relationship between the coordinate system and some surface and toward expressing the relationship of one part of a surface to another part of it. Is one of these approaches truer? If geometry only concerns itself with the ideas internal to it, then the second option, in which points simply encounter points, seems to better fulfill the requirements for geometrical truth. Regardless, given the constraints implicit in Cartesian coordinates, it is clear that we need a new coordinate system. Einstein declares, "The Gauss coordinate system has to take the place of the body of reference."!^ The coordinate system/measuring body replaces the rigid reference body. Einstein continues, "The following statement corresponds to the fundamental idea of the general principle of relativity: 'All Gaussian coordinate systems are essentially equivalent for the formulation of 48 �the general laws of nature.’"'^'^ Does this mean that geometry has, in some sense, absolute physical meaning? Special relativity required us to perform the Lorentz transformation on its equations because all reference bodies were not equally valid for the formulation of natural laws (only rigid bodies of reference were suitable]. However, under the general theory, equations simply lead to equivalent equations. No Lorentz transformation is necessary. All transformations are reduced to transitions in the coordinates themselves, as all coordinates are equally valid for the general laws of nature. There is no need to calculate a new value to account for rotation; in fact the coordinates themselves aren’t even “real" values. The general laws of nature must persist regardless of which coordinates are chosen. Still, I am struggling to see the freeing of space-time from the rigid body of reference in the Gaussian equations themselves. What is the radical difference between the two equations below? ds^ =dx^~ +dx2 +dx2 -^dx^ ds^ = g, I+ Ig^^dx^dx^ + gjit&Z + Ig^^dx^dx, + g^^dx^ + Ig^^dx^dx^ + g^^dx^ The first equation is an example of a Euclidean continuum in which Cartesian coordinates would hold. It requires that the u-curves and v-curves are straight lines. However, the idea of a straight line has lost all meaning.^^ Further, "according to the general principle of relativity, the space-time continuum cannot be regarded as a Euclidean one."i^ The second equation reflects a curved space-time continuum in which Euclidean geometry no longer holds. The g numbers are magnitudes corresponding in a "perfectly definite way” to u and v (here simply dxi and so on] (80].These g magnitudes also "determine the behavior of the rods relative to the u-curves and v49 �curves.”!^ Perhaps splitting the g magnitudes into two categories will help. The magnitudes show up when we are simply dealing with the same point twice, as it is squared in the equation. However, ^12’^23’5^34 show up when we are dealing with the value (still "perfectly definite"] that lies between gi and g2. Instead of squaring a single point, we multiply adjacent points (for example for gu we would multiply dxi and dx2]. Given that the g values determine the behavior of the rods, calculating ^22 allows us to know the relationship of the surface between two points, which thereby allows us to determine distance. Einstein offers a summary, saying, "Gauss invented a method for the mathematical treatment of continua in general, in which ‘size-relations’ ('distances' between neighboring points] are defined.”i5 Prior to introducing Gaussian coordinates and nonEuclidean geometry, Einstein says that "we are not in a position to define exactly the coordinates x,y, z relative to the disc by means of the method used in discussing the special theory, and as long as the coordinates and times of events have not been defined, we cannot assign an exact meaning to the natural laws in which these occur."20 We are seeking exact definitions, which will in turn provide us with the exact meaning of natural laws. The Gaussian solution seems to lie in defining the coordinates and times of events arbitrarily, in such a way that they are internally consistent and fully adaptable to endless variations, as opposed to being relegated to an external, rigid sense object. This shift returns us to the introductory chapter’s exploration of geometry and physical meaning. Are Gaussian coordinates, given their internal relationship to one another, somehow a truer geometrical expression? Can this internal relationship of one arbitrarily numbered point on the surface to another one really convey any physical meaning? According to Einstein, physical meaning always boils down to encounters involving the space-time coincidence of two events. Under special relativity, encounters relied on having two distinct entities - a reference body (as a sort of base to which events are referred] and a means of measuring the coincidence of events (clock, rod, coordinate system, etc.]. General relativity, on the other hand, abandons the reference body, and encounters occur between 50 �points themselves. The coordinate system functions as both reference body and system of measurement. Einstein speaks at length about such encounters, saying, The only statements having regard to these points which can claim a physical existence are in reality the statements about their encounters. In our mathematical treatment, such an encounter is expressed in the fact that the two lines which represent the motions of the points in question have a particular set of coordinate values, Xl,X2,X3,X4 in common. After mature consideration the reader will doubtless admit that in reality such encounters constitute the only actual evidence of a time-space nature with which we meet in physical statements...Every physical description resolves itself into a number of statements, each of which refers to the space-time coincidence of two events A and B. In terms of Gaussian coordinates, every such statement is expressed by the agreement of their four coordinates Xl,X2,X3,X4?^ Points replace the body of reference in the Gaussian system and we can make physical descriptions of events simply by stating their coincidental coordinates. Gaussian coordinates accomplish a monumental task by freeing geometrical expressions from external sense objects, which in turn enables physical meaning to operate on itself mathematically, with an internal logical consistency, and without reference to any "real" object lying outside of it. The geometrical expressions themselves become statements with physical meaning. Ironically, it is as though freedom from the physical is ultimately what lays the foundation for articulating physical meaning. Einstein, in the final chapter, speaks more generally about geometry and physical meaning, saying, "According to the general theory of relativity, the geometrical properties of space are not independent, but they are determined by matter."22 Thus, if we are to have anything logically sound to say about the universe, we must 51 �regard matter as knowable. At first glance it seems as though we are back to the logical fallacy of the opening chapter, in which we are tempted to refer truth to sensible objects. However, perhaps something different is at work here. If geometrical properties are dependent on matter, then it either seems as though there are few, if any, absolute geometrical truths or that matter is everywhere the same. Could one interpret this to imply that geometry is relative?23 After completing his work on the general theory of relativity, Einstein wrote an essay titled Geometry and Experience. In this essay Einstein says that "as far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain, and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality...yet on the other hand it is certain that mathematics generally, and particularly geometry, owes its existence to the desire to learn something about the behavior of real things.”34 p[as Einstein found a way, with Minkowski’s four­ dimensional world and Gauss’ coordinate system, to retain the certainty of geometrical propositions while also referring those ideas to physical descriptions? Minkowski and Gauss take steps away from experience, blurring the lines between space and time and abandoning rigid reference bodies, respectively. The end result seems to be a self-contained geometrical whole, which is both an internally sound theory, and also, at its core, a set of physical descriptions. Geometrical propositions are only concerned with the "logical connection of these ideas among themselves,” and yet the connection of those ideas—here as coordinates—directly describes the physical world. Endnotes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. Einstein. Relativity: The Special and General Theory. Nevk^York: Penguin, 2006. 8 Ibid., 54 Ibid., 12 Ibid., 54 Ibid., 84 Ibid., 112 Ibid., Ill 'Space And Time’, a translation of an address delivered at the 80th Assembly of German Natural Scientists and Physicians, at Cologne, 21 Sep 1908. 9. Relativity, 87 10. Ibid., 86 52 �11. Ibid., 89 12. Ibid., 86 13. Ibid., 14. Ibid., 78 15. Ibid., 75 16. Ibid., 85 17. Ibid., 80 18. ibid. 19. Ibid., 82-82 20. Ibid., 75 21. Ibid., 86 22. Ibid., 103 23. Matter determines geometrical properties and geometrical properties in turn determine natural laws, as all Gauss coordinates are equivalent for the formulation of natural laws. Thus it seems that geometry is relative to the matter in question and yet, if all coordinates lead to equivalent natural laws, there must be some absolute geometrical truths. Does geometry somehow accommodate the infinite variations in matter by limiting the laws of nature? 24. Pesic, Peter. Beyond Geometry: Classic Papers from Riemann to Einstein. Dover Publications, 2007.147-8. Primary Texts Einstein, Albert. Relativity: The Special and General Theory. Penguin Classics, New York: 2006. Minkowski, Hermann. 'Space And Time,' a translation of an address delivered at the 80th Assembly of German Natural Scientists and Physicians at Cologne, September 21,1908. Pesic, Peter. Beyond Geometry: Classic Papers from Riemann to Einstein. Dover Publications, 2007. Pages 147-8. 53 �Nietzsche's Philosopher: The Antagonistic Redeemer Mary Creighton 10[175] Hatred of Mediocrity is unworthy of a philosopher: it is almost a question mark over his right to 'philosophy.' Precisely because he is the exception, he must take the rule under his wing, must help everything average to keep up faith in itself Nietzsche's recurring insights into the 'herd' and the 'mediocre' in his Writings from the Late Notebooks inform us that a "desperate," "dangerous," and "irreversible mediocratisation" has befallen 19* century European culture. Nietzsche postulates "everything we in Europe today are used to admiring as 'feeling for humanity,' as 'morality,' 'humaneness,' 'sympathy,'" etc., is "nothing other than the diminishment of the whole human type.''^ It is a phenomenon in which man "sinks" and gives rise to the "herd animal." Nietzsche continually refers back to this notion of the mediocre as a diagnosis of European man - so much so that it becomes a highly charged term in his entire telos, if in fact he can be said to have one. However, on page 203, a peculiar passage arises in which he describes the archetypal figure of the philosopher. Standing apart from the "superman" or "oversoul"^ who is described as the antithesis and redeemer to the mediocre, Nietzsche introduces the philosopher as the "exception" to the mediocre. Nietzsche writes in Note 10[175]; Hatred of Mediocrity is unworthy of a philosopher: it is almost a question mark over his "right" to philosophy. Precisely because he is the exception, he must take the rule under his wing, must help everything average to keep up faith in itself.^ In this passage, the characterization of the philosopher as "exception" implies that there is a kind of intellectual position taken in the method of his philosophy that somehow circumvents his falling prey to mediocrity. This essay will explore what makes 54 �hatred unworthy of the philosopher, what exactly his "right” to philosophy entails, and how he must take the rule under his wing to help the average keep up faith in itself Mediocratisation: The Sleepless Sphinx Nietzsche’s "suspicion, which keeps returning; [his] concern, which never lies down to sleep . . . [his] sphinx, alongside which there is more than one abyss," refers to the phenomenon of "mediocratisation” that has proliferated among the European nations in the 19* centuryMediocratisation is marked by a subscription to values that weaken and soften "powerful [and] fundamental drives.”^ These powerful and fundamental drives are replaced by drives prescribed for the masses rather than drives that emerge organically within an individual. Nietzsche’s favorite examples of such weakening drives are due entirely to the influence of European Democracy and Christian morality, most aptly embodied in the moral values of "selflessness” and "equality.” While the powerful and fundamental drives are the mark of one’s will to power, impulses toward values like selflessness and equality are self-negating and self-diminishing. To posit that all men are equal, as democracy does, inspires men to accept their position as no better or worse than their fellow citizens. To instill such beliefs in the heart of man is to teach him to suppress all that is unique about him. In doing this, man reduces himself holding the conviction that he is only as valuable as his neighbor. Furthermore, "selflessness,” a Christian moral virtue, encourages a similar phenomenon whereby one denies or sacrifices themselves for the sake of another. If everyone sacrifices their self for another, no one has the capacity to rise to greatness and demonstrate strength of character in any of its awe-inspiring forms. With such values, whence does greatness burgeon? Ultimately, Nietzsche finds any value that suppresses the individual for the sake of the masses to be one that encourages a "herd” instinct. Furthermore, Christian morality, "the illusion of the species,’’^ establishes one system of right behaviors, right desires, and right existence that applies to such masses. This attempt to 55 �establish the "right" desires for the masses is at odds with the very heart of Nietzsche's notion of the individual. These systems "cultivate” and "develop the herd animal in man” and "push back those other and opposite virtues which give rise to a new, higher, stronger” species.^ Furthermore, these values instill an "instinctive conspiracy of the whole herd against everything that is shepherd, beast of prey, hermit and Caesar, to preserve and elevate the weak, the oppressed, the mediocre.”^ It is important to consider that the shepherd, the hermit, the Caesar, etc., are not distinct from the herd simply because they are not characterized by "feeling for humanity,” "morality,” "humaneness,” or "sympathy,” but because they deviate from the status quo, or the "herd.” Their distinction is characterized by the fact that they hold a blind allegiance to the behaviors of the general public. The latter mark the masses or the herd; the former mark the individual(s3 who stands apart from it. Why Hatred is Unworthy of the Philosopher: Hatred as a moral position Hatred, for Nietzsche, is "a mob pose”^ because it takes a moral position against another. On page 243 of Writings from the Late Notebooks, Nietzsche claims, "Hating is a value judgment ruled by revenge.”!® Revenge and resentment are in direct opposition to one’s will to power in that they transfer responsibility for one's personal sufferings onto another. To say this in other words, one would not hate if one could change one’s situation oneself. This explains why such emotional responses are a "mob pose.” It is the manner of the mob (the "quiescent herd”] to resent and hate the ruling "superior” class. Because the ruling or superior class is more powerful than he, the common man has systematically deemed that which is powerful to be dangerous.!! Thus, the lower class hates and resents the dangerous powerful class of "superior” men. With this pattern in mind, we can understand why Nietzsche defines such moral and emotional responses as characteristic of the common man. Hatred must in fact be a moral position because it implies that the mediocre (the potentially "hated” in this case) could not be otherwise. This is to say that there is no free will on the part of the 56 �mediocre insofar as they are unable to, on account of their own willing, change their situation. To endorse the notion that there is no free will is to subscribe to the Christian postulate that man’s fate is in fact determined by a God or a divine will. To say it another way, man’s only excuse for his incapacity to change his state [as a mediocre being) is that God himself has willed it or determined him irrevocably as such. With this determinist view of nature, it would then mean that the philosopher himself was taking a Christian moral position in the act of hating the mediocre. For the philosopher to be a man who has himself ascended above mediocrity, he would in fact have to subscribe to the belief that either there is free will, or that man is without a will at all. Nietzsche does not maintain that free will is the means by which the mediocre must rise above their state. Rather, he maintains that there is no will at all. Man may alter his state by his drives, his will to power. In this sense, the philosopher could hold the mediocre in contempt for not rising to the will to power, but such hatred would be altogether irrelevant. It is unworthy because the act of hatred would reduce him to a state of moral valuation in which he becomes resigned to the powerless nature of mankind, resigned to reside in hatred, which is a moral judgment and not a philosophical position. "Hatred" looks down upon the masses because they are [helplessly] mediocre, rather than because they are allowing themselves to dwell among the herd.^^ The Philosopher's Right to Philosophy: The Exception to the rule Nietzsche considers that thus far, all philosophers have been unworthy of the title because their task has been merely a will to Truth and to moral arbitration. These men "hold fast some large body of valuations ... of previous assignments and creations of value [logical or moral ones).”!^ This "kind" of philosopher is engaged in "summarizing and abbreviating" the "present and the past" by "making all events and all evaluations up to now easy to survey, easy to think through, to grasp, to manage.’’^^ Nietzsche thinks that these "philosophical labourers" embody the mildest form of philosophy, serving almost more as historians than 57 �philosophers. Nietzsche claims that the "only way [he] still allow[s] [philosophy] to stand is as the most general form of history;"i5 such intellectual work belongs more to the field of history than to that of philosophy. Instead, Nietzsche reserves the name of philosophy for a more stalwart enterprise. Nietzsche warns his readers not to allow the term "philosopher" to be "confined to the philosopher who writes books, or even introduces his philosophy into books."i6 This historian-philosopher explicates or translates cultural and intellectual behaviors, but he himself does not does create or produce them. He is not a "legislator of valuations."i7 A philosopher who can "command and legislate" emphatically proclaims, "this is how it shall be."^^ His words do not include rococo drapery to disguise moral teachings. This "legislator of new values arises with a new and unprecedented terror"i9 because he stands outside of the previous status quo, which has adopted a purely moral interpretation of Truth. It is this type of philosopher that stands as an exception to the mediocre. For Nietzsche, the philosophic tradition, the very will to Truth (incontrovertibly, the goal that has marked the entire enterprise] has been conflated with Virtue and Happiness. This tradition has reigned since the time of the Ancients^o, as seen in the work of Aristotle who equated the notion of the "good" with the "Truth," thereby demonstrating the only path to "happiness. "21 Nietzsche sarcastically references this notion in his section of aphoristic splendors in Beyond Good and Evil when he writes, "Where there is the tree of knowledge, there is always Paradise."22 Similarly, Nietzsche claims that "nobody will very readily regard a doctrine as true merely because it makes people happy or virtuous;"23 however, these are the very conclusions Aristotle's Ethics draws. The desire for Truth is inextricably bound, for traditional philosophers, to the will to Morality; if it is not the impulse to Truth itself that drives a man to be moral, then it is the hope for life that will. In establishing the very idea of Truth as something apodictic, one finds that there are only means of behaving, of existing. Ultimately, these means are defined by whatever behaviors serve this established Truth. Our philosophic tradition has told us that "the certain is worth more than the uncertain, that 58 �illusion is less valuable than truth.'’^^ Man wants to find certainty; he wants a causa sui. Thus, Nietzsche claims, the role of God and the accompanying moral code satisfy man’s longing for such certainty. This notion is demonstrated most aptly by the Socratic teachings, whereby man finds that Virtue is in fact knowledge.^s By equating the idea of Truth with morality or virtue, there lies the temptation to assert that all impulse to Truth is in fact moral. Not only has this premise been held as impervious, but also it has been recapitulated in the work of all philosophers. On page 17 of Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche writes. The power of moral prejudices has penetrated deeply into the most intellectual world, the world apparently most indifferent and unprejudiced, and has obviously operated in an injurious, obstructive, blinding and distorting manner.26 Such moral philosophy "always creates a world in its own image”^^ because the philosopher is "secretly influenced by his instincts"28 to perpetuate a moral imperative. Previous philosophers who have attempted to circumvent such prejudices seem to fall terribly short. The "thou shall" commands of these philosophers "on no account sound to their ears like an T want,’ but rather 'only as the command of a God do they dare to discharge their task.”’^^ in this case, the philosopher’s proclamations are merely echoes of externally imposed moral valuations. This is why "this same will to blindness rules among the founders of religion.’’^^ Take one of Nietzsche’s favorite examples, Immanuel Kant: His attempt to discover a groundbreaking philosophy is for Nietzsche little more than a reiteration of the moral world order. Hidden in this moral argonaut’s^i discussion of a Categorical Imperative, Kant reaffirms the idea that there is one single system by which all men may achieve moral truths— and that this is inherent in us by means of a priori synthetic judgments. This establishes a moral code for all of mankind, implying that all people ultimately share the same valuations. This is the very basis of Nietzsche’s fear that all metaphysics thus far has served as merely a handmaiden to Theology. Similarly, we are reminded that "a virtuous man is a 59 �lower species if only because he is not a 'person' but acquires his value from conforming to a schema of man that has been fixed once and for all."^^ This "fixed" state of "once and for all” characterizes the precise nature of Kant’s Categorical Imperative. This kind of behavior amounts to little more than Christian moral cheerleading and is for Nietzsche congruent with the mediocre person’s instinct to follow the herd rather than stand outside of it and make valuations for one’s self. Nietzsche calls for a braver kind of philosopher: one who boldly stands outside this moral imperative, outside the herd. The philosopher’s "right” to philosophy is his ability to stand outside of moral philosophy as it has been practiced thus far. The right to philosophy is his because he is the exception to the rule, to the mediocre. The philosopher of exception does not make moral prescriptions a part of his intellectual pursuit. It is the courage and wisdom of the philosopher to function as a supramoral figure. For Nietzsche, this means stepping outside of moral examinations of humanity, as well as purely intellectual illuminations of it. The philosopher stands outside the mass, moral valuations, and predetermined philosophical constructs. Nietzsche describes the "heights of the soul” whereby the philosopher belongs to an "esoteric class” that "views things from above downwards.”^^ These "things” that the philosopher views are human behaviors, human "insights,” and human "follies.”^^ On page 220, our exceptional philosopher writes. One should at last put human values nicely back in the corner where alone they have any right to be: as personal little values. Many species of animal have already disappeared; if man disappeared as well, nothing would be lacking in the world. One must be enough of a philosopher to admire even this nothingness (- nil admirari For Nietzsche, if man were to disappear, and thus his moral valuations with him, there would be "nothing lacking in the world.” Implicitly stated in this is the fact there would be no goodness or evil lacking in the world either. Such moral valuations are contrived 60 �and imposed upon the world by man himself. This nothingness, this extramoral landscape, can only be admired when one has come to understand human values as symptomatic of a contrived moral system. Truth, if it exists at all, is marked by "the degree to which we permit ourselves to understand the fact" that "moral distinction is only perspectivally conditioned."^^ If the philosopher aspires to any Truth at all, it is to remove the moral lens through which men have traditionally viewed human behavior. Removing this lens, one may freely admire the view: a nothingness that merely lies lackluster under an indifferent, ever retreating horizon. The philosopher is the exception because he shares the qualities of a "stronger species.The "means by which a stronger species preserves itself' is by "granting [itself] a right to exceptional actions."^^ The exceptional action of the philosopher is the conducting of his intellectual work outside of the moral imperative. This is itself "an attempt at self-overcoming and freedom": "an ascendency in respect to one’s strength of will."^^ This is the most apt description of Nietzsche’s concept of the self­ overcoming of man. The Rule Under His Wing; The Philosopher as Antagonistic Redeemer If approaching the universe and formulating values outside of a moral world-order is "a great stretching of the limbs" for philosophers [who are "warriors of knowledge’’], so much more of a stretch must it be for the general public, whom Nietzsche regards pejoratively as "the mediocre.’’40 For the "beast in us wants to be lied to - morality is a necessary lie.’”^i Morality is necessary only insofar as our plebian lusts for an ordered world depend on it. However, what this new philosopher provides is a rousing of spirits away from such established moral systems, replacing them with the strength to formulate such valuations for oneself. In this sense, the philosopher is not only the exception to mediocrity, but a model for its abandonment. Submitting to the self-negating moral postulates of the mediocre is a "symptom of weakness" that is "incompatible with an ascending and affirmative life.’’'’^^ -The philosopher’s affirmation and ascension are seen in a "replacement 61 �of morality by the will to our goal, and consequently to the means of gaining it... [and a] replacement of the categorical imperative by the natural imperative."^^ The idea of ascension is significant because it implies a rising above that which is average to a superior position. The philosopher’s self-overcoming ascends, beckoning all others to do the same. If it were simply the responsibility of the philosopher to inspire the mere imitation of his behaviors, it would then mean that his role is to help everyone average keep up faith in themselves. However, this is not the statement that Nietzsche makes in Note 10[175]. Rather, he "must take the rule under his wing and help everything average keep up faith in itseW (italics mine). We must remember that despite the fact that the philosopher is the one that "takes the rule under his wing," he is no angelic redeemer. He is a commander, a legislator! The philosopher commands his underlings, "thou shall."'’^'^ In this sense, he is an antagonizes This antagonistic redeemer, if we may call him such, does not extend a hand to us, but "arises with a new and unprecedented terror."'^^ Such antagonistic and terror-inspiring legislation only serves to threaten the individual. In the old model, everything powerful was considered dangerous; power inspires terror. However, without moral valuations and labels ("You evil thing!”) to justify such terror, one has no choice but to react, respond, fight and command back. There is no more "considerateness, tact and forbearance, of goodnatured pause before the rights of others ... [no more] benevolent instinct of human values in general, which reveals itself in trust and credit. .. [and] respect for men."^^ This inspires the emergence of an individual whose "genesis and survival are different from those of the average man"'*^^: "Their 'knowing' is creating, their creating is law-giving, their will to truth is - Will to Power."^^ Confronted with this antagonism, the average man must keep up faith in himself in order to survive. The average thing is average no longer; rather, it becomes stronger, bolder— more individual. It is in this process that one learns how one becomes what one is: that is to say, by necessity. 62 �Endnotes 1. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Writings from the Late Notebooks. Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy, Cambridge: 2003. pp 67. 2. Ibid., 177 3. Ibid., 203 4. Ibid., 67 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., 113 7. Ibid., 68 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid., 172 10. Ibid., 243 11. Nietzche, Friedrich. Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future. Dover Publications Inc., New York: 1997. pp 128. 12. At first glance, this reasoning seems helpful and correct: The philosopher is "above" hatred because he believes in the free will of individual. Furthermore, he believes that all of the individuals that comprise what Nietzsche call the 'herd' and the ‘mediocre,’ have the free will and the capacity to rise above their state. However, true to form, Nietzsche challenges many of the intellectual traditions that we have thus far taken for granted. Nietzsche claims it is false to take two antithetical concepts and thus infer an implicit proposition from an explicit one. An example of this kind of antithetical inference is seen in the idea that "hatred of a world that makes us suffer expresses itself in the imagining of a different world” [141). In this example, one uses the fact of lament over suffering as a basis for proving that a world without suffering is also possible; otherwise, one would have no reason to lament at all. Simply put, the world could not be any other way. However, for our pioneering polemicist, this kind of deduction would be a "blind trust in Reason" (141). Such deductions set up the world as necessarily [and falsely) causal and dialectical (141). On page 141, he continues to assert that such conclusions are so instilled in man’s rational tradition; however, such tradition is not enough to "prove what is asserts" (142). With this consideration in mind, would it then be false to make the claim that hatred of the mediocre implicitly suggests that the mediocre could be otherwise. 13. Nietzche, Friedrich. Writings, 39 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid., 26 16. Nietzche, Friedrich. Beyond, 29 17. Nietzche, Friedrich. Writings, 39 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid. 20. Nietzsche's earliest examples are those of Aristotle and Plato but these were not necessarily the first. 21. Most explicitly discussed in Aristotle’s The Nicomachean Ethics. 22. Nietzche, Friedrich. Beyond, 52 23. Ibid., 24. Ibid., 3 25. This marks the most significant conclusions of Plato’s Protagoras. 26. Ibid., 17 27. Ibid., 6 28. Ibid., 2 29. Nietzche, Friedrich. Writings, 39 63 �30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. Ibid. Nietzche, Friedrich. Ecce Homo. Penguin Classics, London: 2004. pp. 71 Nietzche, Friedrich. Writings, 187 Nietzche, Friedrich. Beyond, 23 Ibid. Nietzche, Friedrich. Writings, 220 Ibid., 200 Ibid., 229 Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 220 Ibid., 69 Nietzsche, Friedrich. Ecce Homo, 98 Nietzsche, Friedrich. Writings, 146 Ibid., 39 Ibid. Ibid., 203 Ibid., 177 Nietzsche, Friedrich. Beyond, 83 Primary Texts Nietzsche, Friedrich. Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future. Dover Publications Inc., New York: 1997. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Ecce Homo. Penguin Classics, London: 2004. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Writings from the Late Notebooks. Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy, Cambridge: 2003. 64 �Prince Myshkin's Beautiful Horizon: Exploring Death and the Infinite in Dostoevsky's The Idiot Kevin Cowling Dostoevsky's novel The Idiot, through the character of Prince Lev Nikolaevich Myshkin, presents the reader with a man who claims access to knowledge of the infinite. More precisely, the Prince claims at times in the novel that he has experienced and has witnessed others experiencing moments in which they "know everything.” These are the moments that seem to inspire so much joy in the prince. They may also be to blame for his decision to act candidly with everyone in society after returning from four years in a Swiss sanatorium where he was treated for his epileptic condition, even though participating in society is somehow painful to him.i It is the decisions behind these actions—and the actions themselves—that deserve further exploration, particularly because Myshkin's character is contrasted so starkly with other characters presented in the novel, notably Ippolit Terentyev [another sick young man) and Parfyon Semyonovich Rogozhin. Each of these characters, in his own way, also faces death in the novel. Ippolit even seems to access the same type of infinite feelings that we see Myshkin describing on many occasions. What, however, differentiates their experiences from Myshkin's, making them unable to see the beauty of life as the prince does? Myshkin seems to act in order to help others find the infinite that he himself has known, but his actions do not lead these characters to see the infinite in the same way. Is Myshkin's access to the infinite fundamentally different from the experiences of those around him? It will first be fruitful to look at some examples of how Myshkin describes his experiences and conceptions of the infinite, which he discusses with Lizaveta Epanchin and her three daughters on the day he returns to Petersburg. In relating anecdotes of his experiences abroad, the prince begins to discuss the improvements brought about by his treatment and thus his increasing number of walks around the Swiss village. He then talks about an experience he had just outside the village: 65 �I kept thinking about how I was going to live; I wanted to test my fate, I became restless especially at certain moments. You know, there are such moments, especially in solitude.... Also at noon sometimes, when I'd wander off somewhere into the mountains, stand alone halfway up a mountain, with pines all around, old, big, resinous; up on a cliff there's an old, ruined medieval castle, our little village is far down, barely visible; the sun is bright, the sky blue, the silence terrible. Then there would come a call to go somewhere, and it always seemed to me that if I walked straight ahead, and kept on for a long, long time, and went beyond that line where sky and earth meet, the whole answer would be there, and at once I'd see a new life, a thousand times stranger and nosier than ours; ...And then it seemed to me that in prison, too, you could find an immense life.2 Here, in his mention of the horizon, Myshkin relates to the Epanchin girls his initial impressions of the infinite. The striking thing about this impression is that, even here, where it seems that this infinite horizon is unreachable, Myshkin's response is a positive and not a negative one. Even more can be gained from this insight if it is coupled with a quotation from the previous page: 'We came to Lucerne, and 1 was taken across the lake. I felt how good it was, but 1 also felt terribly oppressed,’ said the prince. ‘Why?’ asked Alexandra. ‘I don’t understand why. I always feel oppressed and uneasy when I look at such nature for the first time— both good and uneasy.’^ In both of these instances the prince is describing times when he was in a natural environment and how those experiences affected him. Knowing that scenes of nature make him feel "oppressed," but knowing also that they bring him a good feeling, allows for deep 66 �insight into Myshkin's experience of the horizon discussed above. It is quite likely that in looking toward the horizon and feeling a need to move toward it, into some kind of infinite space, the prince feels an immense oppression. Pair this with his solitude and the fact that he himself has a corrupt nature (his sickness), and it is clear that his feelings regarding the horizon do not appear to have been exclusively positive. If this is the case, then he made a choice about his convictions concerning this infinity that is present before him, yet not attainable. The closing lines of the initial quote of this paragraph seem to show that his choice has been made. Myshkin has chosen to think about the horizon not as a limiting factor in his life, but as something that will open his eyes to allow him to see the beauty of all of the things that surround him. Even an environment as oppressive as a prison cannot overcome the immensity of the beauty that he chooses to see in that horizon. This is just the first of many examples wherein the prince discusses his feelings regarding the infinite, and it would be unfair to say that somehow this moment sums up everything Myshkin feels on the subject. Later in his meeting with the Epanchins, the infinite again arises, but this time through anecdotes about two men who are facing their own death. It is in these descriptions that Myshkin's thoughts become entangled with questions of mortality, a theme that pervades the way characters in the novel either experience, or at least approach the possibility of experiencing, the infinite bliss that Myshkin contemplates above. The first story involves a man who is sentenced to death by firing squad, but is told only a quarter of an hour later that his sentence has been lessened and that he will not be killed. Myshkin describes a conversation with this man: He knew beforehand what he was going to think about: he kept wanting to picture to himself as quickly and vividly as possible how it could be like this: now he exists and lives, and in three minutes there would be something, some person or thing— but who? and where? He wanted to resolve it all in those two minutes! There was a church nearby, and the top of the cathedral with its gilded dome shone in 67 �the bright sun. He remembered gazing with terrible fixity at that dome and the rays shining from it: it seemed to him that those rays were his new nature and in three minutes he would somehow merge with them...The ignorance of and loathing for this new thing that would be and would come presently were terrible; yet he said that nothing was more oppressive for him at that moment than the constant thought: 'What if 1 were not to die! What if life were given back to me—what infinity! And it would all be mine! Then I'd turn each minute into a whole age. I'd lose nothing. I'd reckon up every minute separately. I'd let nothing be wasted!"^ There is a parallel here between the prince's experience with the horizon and the experience of the man sentenced to death, only the man sentenced to death seems to have added something: knowledge of his impending death. The idea of merging with the reflected rays of sunshine is almost identical to the idea of walking into the horizon; that is, Myshkin's desire to merge with the infinite and find "the whole answer" is the same feeling that the prisoner finds when contemplating his existence merging with the reflected rays. The problem is that Myshkin desires this mysterious infinity when not faced with death. The prisoner, on the other hand, feels so oppressed by the thought that he might merge with the infinite that his desire is only for life and the infinite opportunity that it seems to offer in opposition to the certainty of death. But are these two views really different? Is the prisoner's desire given the opportunity to embrace life different from Myshkin's desire to merge with the infinite? As stated above, Myshkin knows that this horizon and this infinite knowledge are somehow unattainable, but through his experience he encounters ways to glimpse this infinite. Both Myshkin and the prisoner seem to have had a glimpse of this infinite and both have decided to take the oppression that it makes them feel and turn it back on itself, using this oppression to import a positive view of the world into their everyday existence. This view seems to be further reinforced later in the conversation. After explaining the feelings of the prisoner and the 68 �fact that the prisoner was eventually pardoned, Myshkin and the Epanchin girls discuss the story: 'Did he live 'reckoning up' every minute?' asked Alexandra. 'Oh, no, he told me himself—1 asked him about it—he didn't live that way at all and lost many, many minutes.' 'Well, so, there's experience for you, so it's impossible to live really "keeping a reckoning." There's always some reason why it's impossible.' 'Yes, for some reason it's impossible,' the prince repeated. '1 thought so myself...But still it's somehow hard to believe...' 'That is, you think you can live more intelligently than everyone else?' asked Aglaya. 'Yes, I've sometimes thought so....And...l still do.'^ The prince states in this dialogue that although he has shared some sort of experience with this prisoner, he feels that he can somehow succeed where the prisoner has failed. He admits here that what the prisoner has set out to do is impossible. One cannot try to live each moment of life as if it were the most precious of moments. Even the prisoner, who faced death, could not achieve that goal. But with all of the evidence against him, the prince cannot help but feel that his convictions about the impossibility of the goal are wrong: he has the ability to "live more intelligently" than one whose convictions on the subject should, it would seem, be stronger than his. After the story of the prisoner, the prince is once again called to talk further about his ideas with the Epanchin girls. Aglaya, the youngest of the Epanchin girls, seems remarkably intrigued by his positive attitude, even in the face of the prisoner's story. She then questions the prince about what it might be like to witness an execution, an experience that Myshkin has discussed previously in the novel with General Epanchin's valet. Aglaya presses the prince to recount this moment as well, and the prince once again begins to discuss the themes of the infinite and how one 69 �can find goodness even in the most trying of circumstances. The discussion centers on the face of the man about to be executed. In the prince's opinion, this face would be a wonderful subject for a painting. He describes: ...the very moment when he had climbed the little stairway and just stepped onto the scaffold. He glanced in my direction; I looked at his face and understood everything....On the contrary the head is terribly alive and must be working hard, hard, hard, like an engine running; I imagine various thoughts throbbing in it, all of them incomplete, maybe even ridiculous, quite irrelevant thoughts...and meanwhile you know everything and remember everything; there is this one point that can never be forgotten, and you can't faint, and around it, around that point, everything goes and turns. And to think that it will be so till the last quarter of a second, when his head is already lying on the block, and he waits and...knows, and suddenly above him he hears the iron screech!...Portray the scaffold so that only the last step is seen closely and clearly; the criminal has stepped onto it: his head, his face white as paper, the priest offering him the cross, he greedily puts it to his blue lips and stares, and—knows everything For the prince, the face of the man who only has a minute to live has the same quality found in the horizon. It holds a key to understanding everything; only this time the prince is able to capture this understanding in some tangible way. He does this by attempting to live through the moments that the condemned man has just lived through, is currently living through, and will soon live through, until he ceases to live. When the infinite horizon was just that, a horizon before him that was unreachable precisely because of its constant distance, Myshkin's access to it was only possible in the form of a recognition. Here, in the experience with the condemned man, Myshkin seems to have bridged that distance by associating himself with the infinite horizon, through recognizing 70 �mortality in the face of this man. This recognition of another man's mortality has allowed the prince access to new ways of thinking about his own mortality. He perceives himself as the one about to be executed and experiences what the moments leading up to, and even the moment of, the execution must be like. Obviously, this is one of the most important moments in the prince's life. In the first five chapters of the novel he has already discussed it twice with five total strangers, and on both occasions with great veracity. It is not only significant that the prince recognizes the importance of this moment himself but also that he believes the moments before death have had a similar effect on the condemned man. It seems that Myshkin's ability to access the infinite in the face of the condemned man is contingent on the fact that the prince believes that the man is able to access this infinite knowledge in these final moments himself. The apparent qualifier for this access by the condemned man is his assurance that his death will soon occur, that he is facing his mortality in a fixed, temporal way. What is even more intriguing about the prince's thoughts here is that he feels that this image, if captured correctly in a painting, would have the same effect that it had on him when he witnessed the events. In essence, he is asserting that in facing one's own mortality, one can gain access to this infinite horizon. What one does with the knowledge of this infinite horizon is still unclear, though it seems that some insight has been gained into what the prince thinks he can do with the knowledge he believes he has received from these experiences. Of course, it would be fitting to place the discussion of Myshkin's feelings surrounding the infinite horizon and death within the context of the scene in which he faces his own mortality. Before moving to that moment, however, it is worth taking a look at a conversation between the prince and Rogozhin, the man who will eventually wield the knife against Myshkin and allow the prince to face death in a way that he never has before. Rogozhin, though the first character introduced in the novel, quickly takes a backseat to the exploits of the prince. The two seem to get along well enough in the beginning, but by the end of Part One they have locked themselves into a love triangle, both desiring the affections of the beautiful Nastasya Filippovna. After she spurns the prince's initial 71 �marriage proposal, she runs off with Rogozhin, later returning to Myshkin only to leave him once again, and the action picks up with Myshkin paying Rogozhin a visit in Petersburg six months later. During this visit the two discuss a painting that hangs in Rogozhin's home; a copy of Hans Holbein's Christ's Body in the Tomb. The painting is a very undignified depiction of Jesus' corpse. Upon pointing out the painting, Rogozhin asks the prince if he believes in God, which takes the prince by surprise. Dostoevsky then writes: ‘But I like looking at that painting,’ Rogozhin muttered after a silence, as if again forgetting his question. ‘At that painting!’ the prince suddenly cried out, under the impression of an unexpected thought. ‘At that painting! A man could even lose his faith from that painting!’ ‘Lose it he does,’ Rogozhin suddenly agreed unexpectedly. They had already reached the front door. ‘What?’ the prince suddenly stopped. ‘How can you! 1 was almost joking, and you're so serious! And why did you ask me whether I believe in God?’^ Earlier, Myshkin was describing a painting of a man before his death and how that painting could bring the notion of the infinite to others by using their empathy to explore what it would mean to face their own death. Here, Rogozhin and Myshkin are looking at a painting of the dead Christ, but not just any painting of the dead Christ. This painting shows Jesus as a corpse, and there is little, if any, divinity noticeable in the representation. Interestingly, it is the prince who points towards this when he notes that one may "lose his faith” because of the painting. He quickly discounts this thought as something of a joke after Rogozhin's surprising response, but nevertheless the question remains: if the prince is striving to see the beauty in all things, then why make such a remark? For the prince there seems to be a difference between the actuality of death and the moments of life that exist before death, and these should not be confused. To clarify: It is not the death of 72 �the condemned man that was so significant for Myshkin, but the moments leading up to death, and the feelings of infinity experienced within these moments. Of course, these moments only exist due to the knowledge of death's impending actuality: Access to the infinite exists for Myshkin when he sees the beheading because he sees a man that knows his death will come in a finite period of time. For Myshkin then, and presumably Rogozhin at some point as well, seeing the image of Jesus [who is considered both fully human and fully divine) as a corpse provokes a much different way of thinking about death. Life does not exist in this painting whatsoever, even in the face of the Christ, the bringer of eternal life. If Rogozhin stares at this painting often, as he seems wont to do, how can he bring his thoughts about mortality back into life in the same way that Myshkin has? It seems that the answer comes in the form of these few lines spoken between the two gentlemen in the passage related above. Rogozhin sees in this painting death's finality, and it has caused him to lose faith in life. Thus, he has no desire to seek out beauty in the way that Myshkin has thought to seek out beauty in life. Instead of life, Rogozhin has based his existence on death, which will become clearer when some of his further actions are explored. After the two men part, Myshkin continues to walk around the city with an uneasy feeling. Throughout the entire day he has been seeing eyes watching him wherever he has gone but it is only at Rogozhin's house that he recognizes them as Rogozhin's eyes. On some level, the prince attempts to downplay this paranoia by attributing it to a flaring up of his illness, but he soon realizes, to his chagrin, that both the eyes and his increasing feeling of illness are quite real. Here Dostoevsky gives the reader some insight into Myshkin's thoughts concerning his illness. On his walk, the prince thinks back on the experience of the moments just before his epileptic fits. The novel reads: The sense of life, of self-awareness, increased nearly tenfold in these moments, which flashed by like lightning. His mind, his heart were lit up with an extraordinary light; all his agitation, all his doubts, all his worries were as if placated at once, resolved in a 73 �sort of sublime tranquility, filled with serene, harmonious joy, and hope, filled with reason and ultimate cause....Reflecting on that moment afterwards, in a healthy state, he had often said to himself that all those flashes and glimpses of a higher self-sense and self-awareness, and therefore of the "highest being,” were nothing but an illness, a violation of the normal state and if so, then this was not the highest being at all but, on the contrary, should be counted as the very lowest. And yet he finally arrived at an extremely paradoxical conclusion: 'So what if it is an illness?’ he finally decided....lf in that second, that is, in the very last conscious moment before the fit, he had happened to succeed in saying clearly and consciously to himself: ‘Yes, for this moment one could give one's whole life!’—then surely this moment in itself was worth a whole life....’At that moment,’ as he had once said to Rogozhin in Moscow, when they got together there, 'at that moment I was somehow able to understand the extraordinary phrase that time shall be no more.’^ The above excerpt has implications for almost everything that has been previously discussed. First, it seems that Myshkin relates this moment before the fits to his gazing out at the infinite horizon and his experience of looking the condemned man in the face. The difference is that the experience being related here does not require some sort of outside, sensory experience, but rather is an introverted, psychological experience that is followed by a complete disconnection with sensory experience. Again he is faced with a choice: He can either look at this situation as one that is completely oppressive, dismissing his feelings as stemming from an illness and therefore illegitimate and not to be venerated, or he can accept that his illness can provide him with moments of extreme beauty. He concludes that the latter is the way that he would rather look at the situation. With scattered thoughts, the prince roams the city when he is overtaken by a "new, sudden idea.’’^ Though not fully explained 74 �outright, this new idea involves visiting the house where he believes Nastasya might be residing, something which he has told Rogozhin he does not plan to do. Because of this, Myshkin is incredibly conflicted. Not only is he feeling paranoid and ill, but for the first and maybe the only time in the novel, we see the prince in a morally suspect position. He not only thinks negatively about other people in these moments, but he also recognizes these moments of weakness in himself and chastises himself for it. At one point Dostoevsky writes, "It was from the fit that all this darkness came, from the fit that the 'idea' came as well!"io Clearly, this is one of the prince's darkest hours. He is close to forgoing all of his previously held beliefs. Then, in one moment, he seems to have found his way back to seeing the beauty. Myshkin thinks, "Compassion is the chief and perhaps the only law of being for all mankind. Oh, how unpardonably and dishonorably guilty he was before Rogozhin!"ii When he sees Rogozhin following him and recognizes him, however, his faith is shaken once again. At this moment, "He saw only an unhappy man whose inner state was dark but quite comprehensible.This comprehensibility is no comfort to Myshkin. On the contrary, it is so concerning for Myshkin that it allows him to lose track of the beauty inside Rogozhin. If there is no beauty in Rogozhin, then what reason is there to say that there can be beauty anywhere? Myshkin's worldview seems to be contingent upon the fact that beauty can be found in all things without exception. In the text, Myshkin confronts this question directly. Conviction—of what? (Oh, how tormented the prince was by the monstrosity, the "humiliation” of this conviction, of "this base foreboding," and how he blamed himself!) ‘Say then, if you dare, of what?’ he said ceaselessly to himself, in reproach and defiance. 'Formulate, dare to express your whole thought, clearly, precisely, without hesitation! Oh, I am dishonorable!’ he repeated with indignation and with a red face. ‘With what eyes am I to look at this man now all my life! Oh, what a day! Oh, God, what a nightmare!’!^ 75 �When combined with Myshkin's realization that his “sudden idea" stems from the fact that he knows that Rogozhin is following him and that he is violating his promise not to seek out Nastasya^^ this "conviction” arising in him now concerning Rogozhin seems to center around the violence of which he believes Rogozhin is capable. The prince, hoping against all hope that his mind could ignore this violence somehow, is ashamed that it cannot. He paints himself as an unfit judge when he looks upon Rogozhin in a negative light. For the prince, it is only appropriate to treat others with compassion. This treatment is not limited to a physical treatment, but also to the way one conceives of another. Seeing Rogozhin as capable of violence, or even as inevitably drawn to violence, as the prince does here, is not a compassionate conception. It is the opposite, and the prince, feeling that he has lost faith in his own convictions, is overwhelmed by despair and humiliation. Myshkin returns to his hotel, contemplating his shameful new outlook on Rogozhin, when he thinks he sees the man once again. On the stairs, Rogozhin suddenly emerges from a niche and raises a knife to kill Myshkin. This is the moment that should be captured in the painting Myshkin describes for Alexandra at the Epanchin household. The conviction that was discussed in the previous paragraph and the "sudden idea" seem to have led the two characters to this moment. Myshkin has known that his death is waiting here in this stairwell. Just before entering the stairwell Dostoevsky writes, "His heart stood still. 'Now everything will be resolved!' he said to himself with great conviction."^^ This is Myshkin's chance to truly live out the experience of the condemned man. The knife is raised and Myshkin, seeing Rogozhin's distorted face, calls out to him, "Parfyon, 1 don't believe it!...,”i^ before he sinks into a fit, preventing Rogozhin from going through with the murder. Dostoevsky writes, "Then suddenly it was as if something opened up before him: an extraordinary inner light illuminated his soul."i7 With his earlier conviction that the moments before his fits were "worth one's whole life," it seems that this circumstance helps bring Myshkin back to his original convictions by exposing him to the infinite, both through facing his own death and through his 76 �epileptic seizure. He was truly facing his own death at the hands of Rogozhin, but his illness prevented his death precisely at the moment when he was questioning the most basic premise of his convictions: that beauty can be found in all things in life, even the ugliest. This scene can be explored from the perspective of Rogozhin as well because he, too, faces death when he raises the knife to kill Myshkin. In a sense, he is experiencing the face of the condemned man like Myshkin had back in Lyon at the execution. But there is something much different here: notably, the conviction already present in Rogozhin when confronted with this face. Rogozhin has spent his time looking at the Holbein painting and in this image of death he simply cannot find the kind of beauty in the life that surrounds him as Myshkin is able to in his confrontations with death. While Myshkin's experience allows for some kind of empathic human feeling, the painting, and, perhaps even more strikingly, the competition that exists between the two men, have not allowed Rogozhin the same access to this experience. In fact, the competition for Nastasya allows Rogozhin to remove his experience from the prince's, building up the hatred that leads him to violence. It seems the painting has contributed to this conviction because of what it symbolizes for Rogozhin: a loss of faith. If death is the true finality, so true that even Christ cannot overcome it, then this should be the solution to the problem with Myshkin as well. No conception of human experience or of the beauty of all things can overcome the finality and the inevitability of death. Like Myshkin, Rogozhin embodies this conviction and outwardly expresses it, sharing his beliefs in the form of violence. Ironically, while trying to kill the prince to assert his faith in death, Rogozhin further entrenches the prince in his own positive outlook on the beauty of life precisely because of the existence of death. Instead of providing a solution to his problem, violence has only exacerbated it, leaving the door open for more violence. The rivalry between Rogozhin and Myshkin has created clear distinctions between the outlooks of the two characters, but these are not the only two approaches to the subjects found in the novel. One other highly developed approach comes from the character named Ippolit, a young man with tuberculosis who is 77 �able to work his way into the lives of the characters through some rather dubious circumstances. In Part Three he has his most telling scene when he arrives at the prince's dacha to read what amounts to a lengthy suicide note entitled "My Necessary Explanation." In the note, Ippolit states that a doctor has informed him that he has two weeks left to live and that this knowledge has left him with little purpose in life. If he can no longer finish anything he begins, then why begin anything new at all? In a sense, Ippolit is very much like the condemned man about whom Myshkin talks with the Epanchins, but in this instance, the condemned man is able to relate to Myshkin what he is actually feeling about his approaching death. The explanation is full of contradictory thoughts, highlighted in the story of a doctor to whom Ippolit returns a wallet. Before this story Ippolit writes, "people are created to torment each other,"!^ but during this story he ends up helping the doctor by visiting an old school acquaintance. In this visit he says: 'In sowing your seed, in sowing your "charity,” your good deed in whatever form it takes, you give away part of your person and receive into yourself part of another's; you mutually commune in each other; a little more attention, and you will be rewarded with knowledge, with the most unexpected discoveries. You will be bound, finally, to look at your work as a science; it will take in the whole of your life and maybe fill the whole of it. On the other hand, all your thoughts, all the seeds you have sown, which you may already have forgotten, will take on flesh and grow; what was received from you will be passed on to someone else. And how do you know what share you will have in the future outcome of human destiny? And if the knowledge and the whole life of this work finally raises you so high that you are able to plant a tremendous seed, to bequeath a tremendous thought to mankind, then...’ And so on, I talked a lot then.^^ 78 �While not exactly the same as Myshkin's outlook regarding the beauty of the world around him, there does seem to be some connection between the two viewpoints, namely that each regards worldviews as shareable through actions. In this instance Ippolit is discussing charity, which is similar, though not identical, to the compassion with which Myshkin seems so concerned. Ippolit does admit that actions of charity can have an effect on others, but the real insight he seems to bring to the equation is that there is no true knowledge of what effect this might have. In essence, this appears to be Ippolit's major concern, though it will take more explanation to fully bring this idea to light. The previous quote shows that at one point Ippolit had some positive feelings regarding life and how one may be able to act towards others. But later that same night, Ippolit thinks for the first time that he would be better off killing himself than living. For the moment it seems that Ippolit, when facing the infinite, has chosen the path of Rogozhin rather than the path of Myshkin. This hypothesis is further reinforced by the fact that Ippolit seeks out Rogozhin and the two discuss his suicide, which Ippolit dubs his "ultimate conviction” in the note. He writes: There was a contrast between us, which could not fail to tell in both of us, especially me: I was a man whose days were already numbered, while he was living the fullest immediate life, in the present moment, with no care for "ultimate” conclusions, numbers, or anything at all that was not concerned with what...with what...well, say, with what he's gone crazy over;...I gave him no hint of my "ultimate conviction,” but for some reason it seemed to me that he guessed it as he listened to me....I hinted to him, as I was leaving, that in spite of all the differences between us and all the contrasts—les extremites se touchent..., so that he himself might not be so far from my "ultimate conviction” as it seemed.^o Ippolit states there is a contrast between the two, and ultimately I agree with that statement, but in this moment it seems that their 79 �contrast lies only in the kind of solution they are seeking in death. Rogozhin is able to guess that Ippolit has made up his mind to kill himself simply because violence, and ultimately death, are Rogozhin's own answer to all things, in the same way that beauty is the answer to all things for Myshkin. Neither of these is the case for Ippolit, though in this moment he has chosen death for himself The difference lies in Ippolit's concern for "ultimate" conclusions, a concern that he does not see in Rogozhin. In essence, Ippolit is searching for a type of knowledge, but not the type of knowledge that Myshkin or Rogozhin may offer. Ippolit seems much more concerned with an earthly knowledge. He wants his convictions to be confirmed, not because he feels a certain way, but because they are somehow inherently true. This is why he says that Rogozhin is not concerned with "numbers.” Ippolit wants to understand in the sense of a mathematical, objective understanding, as contrasted with Myshkin and Rogozhin's beliefs, both of which are heavily based on the two characters’ subjective interpretations of experience. The desire for this type of understanding is why Ippolit may never be able to share the same convictions as either of these men, and why he is so easily able to disregard the above quote concerning charity. One can never really know the outcomes of one's actions toward another, so a conviction like Myshkin's [that compassion is the true law of mankind) is completely unpredictable and, as such, cannot be counted on as an absolute conviction. If this is indeed true, then such a conviction can never be a comfort to a mind like Ippolit's. Interestingly, Ippolit seems to understand Rogozhin's convictions during their discussion. The statement, "with what he's gone crazy over," can be read as Rogozhin's obsession with violence and death. This reading is supported by the French phrase which translates, "extremes meet," implying that although Ippolit understands that the two men seek different things, they have ultimately both chosen death. Later, Ippolit even says, "His house struck me; it resembles a graveyard, but he seems to like it, which, however, is understandable: such a full, immediate life as he lives is too full in itself to need any setting.”2i He sees that Rogozhin's existence is so engaged with death that even surrounding himself with death would not be a concern to a man 80 �such as this. It is important to note Ippolit's understanding of Rogozhin's convictions because he will later describe the Holbein painting and how it could lead a man to believe that there is no beauty in the world. He even goes so far as to suggest that if Christ had seen the picture himself, he may have decided not give himself over to be crucified.22 This understanding of Rogozhin merges with Ippolit's experience of the infinite, discussed toward the end of Chapter VI of Part Three. In this segment, he writes about a night of delirium in which he has an experience similar to the one Myshkin does when looking at the horizon. This is immediately followed by an apparition of Rogozhin. He writes: Can something that has no image come as an image? But it was as if it seemed to me at that moment that I could see that infinite power, that blank, dark, and dumb being, in some strange impossible form. I remember it seemed as if someone holding a candle led me by the hand and showed me some huge and repulsive tarantula and started assuring me that this was the dark, blank, all-powerful being, and laughed at my indignation.^^ Though this seems to be some kind of experience of the infinite horizon like Myshkin's, the two differ. This difference stems from Ippolit's "ultimate conviction.” Because Ippolit is attempting to put his faith in violence, the infinite horizon present in front of him comes in the form of a violent beast (the tarantula). Ippolit then moves from this state of delirium into a further state when he sees the apparition of Rogozhin enter his room and stare at him for a long time during the night. He later reveals that the door to his room was locked the whole night, and the door to the house as well, so it would have been impossible for Rogozhin to actually have entered his room, reinforcing the reading that the vision of Rogozhin is an evolved version of this tarantula figure.24 Rogozhin has become the embodiment of the convictions that Ippolit has 81 �recently attempted to embrace: death as the solution to the problem of the infinite. In this scene, however, Ippolit is possessed by fear and revulsion when confronted with Rogozhin. Ippolit's vision of fear and revulsion in the face of Rogozhin is a sign that he has not fully embraced Rogozhin's convictions, preventing him from carrying out his suicide. By imagining Rogozhin sneaking into his room at night, Ippolit is picturing Rogozhin as coming to face death—Ippolit as a condemned man—without fear, something that Ippolit himself is unable to do. He says after this experience that it is here that he becomes truly resolved, not out of logic, but out of revulsion.25 It seems that this is precisely why he could never have brought himself to suicide. He desires an explanation of the infinite horizon that involves logic, but his complete rejection of logic in order to embrace violence and death is in contradiction to the character of an individual who would write a document called "My Necessary Explanation." Following this story, the beliefs expressed in Ippolit's note begin to encounter those of the prince. He writes toward the end of the note; What do 1 need your nature for, your Pavlovsk park, your sunrises and sunsets, your blue sky, and your all-contented faces, when this whole banquet, which has no end, began by counting me alone as superfluous? What do 1 care about all this beauty, when every minute, every second, 1 must and am forced to know that even this tiny fly that is now buzzing near me in a ray of sunlight, even it participates in this banquet and chorus, knows its place, loves it, and is happy, while 1 alone am a castaway, and only in my pusillanimity did not want to understand it till now!^^ He cannot see that the beauty before him is there, precisely for the reason he believes it should not exist. The prince understands that his mortality is what has made coming back from the experience of the infinite horizon so glorious. He can see beauty in each thing because he recognizes in that moment that his ability to experience 82 �beauty depends on his being alive. Someday he will not be there to see the beauty of the world, or it will not be there for him to experience. Ippolit, in this quotation, says the exact opposite. How can he see the beauty, knowing that he cannot always experience it? How can the fleeting moment in time possess something glorious when he cannot understand the significance of its fullness? He is so caught up in the idea that he must understand, truly understand the things that occur around him that he does not allow himself to give in to those things, as do the fly and the prince. There seem to be at least three differing views presented in regard to the infinite horizon and death. Prince Myshkin, upon experiencing this horizon a number of times, allows this experience to bring him to a fuller understanding of the beauty of life around him. Because the infinite horizon is so closely related to death, it is mortality that allows Myshkin to brighten his life in this way. By attempting to live his life as if he were facing death at each moment, he has learned to appreciate the amazing beauty of each of the individual moments of life, and can see the beauty locked within their confines. He can even see beauty in those moments that seem devoid of all beauty. This view is contrasted with the convictions of both Rogozhin and Ippolit. Rogozhin embraces death, mostly due to his loss of faith. Furthermore, his competition with Myshkin for the affections of Nastasya drives him to extreme violence, reinforcing these deadly convictions. Ippolit seeks a solution through violence as well, but embarrassingly [or perhaps even on purpose) fails to properly load his gun before trying to kill himself. He then lives out the next few weeks of his life without becoming like Rogozhin or Myshkin, but instead living as a gossip of sorts around the other characters of the novel. As this figure, he acts as the one who knows more than those around him, which fits with his attempt to understand his place within the world. To revisit two of the original questions: Why do Myshkin’s actions not lead these characters to see the infinite in the way that he does, and is his access to the infinite fundamentally different from the experiences of those around him? The answer to the first seems to be that Myshkin’s actions are actions of empathy towards others. Though they may be considered beautiful by some, not all people see his actions as he sees them, and therefore he cannot rely 83 �on his convictions to bring out the same emotions in others. Thus, Myshkin's pity for Nastasya does not provide Rogozhin with the opportunity to see the beauty in her that Myshkin's pity is attempting to reveal, simply because Myshkin's convictions regarding the beauty of this pity cannot be interpreted in the same way by Rogozhin. In a similar way, though Myshkin sees beauty in the trees of Pavlovsk, this same beauty cannot be accessed by Ippolit. To the second question, the answer seems to be yes. But, this is only because in exploring this subject it has become clear that each character experiences the infinite horizon in a unique, personal way. To say that one’s experience of it could be shared wholly with another is likely to lessen that experience, even when talking about characters in a novel. On some level, the characters may understand one another and one another’s motivations, but their experiences are their own. Myshkin especially seems to have an extraordinary set of experiences precisely because of his illness and his lack of experience in society. Ultimately, is this what it takes to have the convictions that Myshkin has? Can one live within a society without a sickness and still believe that there is beauty in all things? Endnotes 1 Dostoevsky. The Idiot. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, trans. New York: Vintage Classics, 2003. 75 2. Ibid., 58-9 3. Ibid., 58 4. Ibid., 60-1, emphasis in original. 5. Ibid., 61-2 6. Ibid., 64-6, emphasis in original. 7. Ibid., 218 8. Ibid., 226, emphasis in original. 9 Ibid., 227 10. Ibid., 229 11. Ibid., 230 12. ibid., 232 13. Ibid., 233 14. Ibid., 231 15. Ibid., 234 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid., 395 19. Ibid., 405 84 �20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. Ibid., 406-7 Ibid., 407 Ibid., 408-9 Ibid., Ibid., 411 Ibid. Ibid., 413 Primary Text Dostoevsky, Fyodor. The Idiot. Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokohonsky. New York: Vintage Classics, 2003. 85 �A Proposed Atlas to the On-ramps and Off-ramps of the Road to Serfdom Jesse Wilhite As F. A. Hayek guides us spiraling down The Road to Serfdom in his cautionary tract, he confronts us with a number of choices, branches which, if taken one way, will continue on the path that Western civilization has mapped out for us, but another will lead toward dark places. Hayek does not spend a great deal of time examining any deep philosophical foundations that may underlie these options. He merely shows us the choices, analyzes the paths taken by others, and speculates about where we seem to be going. He seems to assume that a reasonable person, when presented with the options side by side, will choose to return to the recentlyabandoned road of traditional Western civilization and liberalism rather than to continue on a road that leads to modern serfdom, the worst of totalitarianism in both its Communist and Fascist forms. One of the great questions fundamental to this decision pertains to morals and values. What are the moral underpinnings of the traditional liberal system? What are the values one must hold to choose the abandoned road? Are they compelling, or even possible? How might they be maintained or, if they have been lost, how might they be reacquired? To a great extent, Hayek takes certain values for granted. He assumes that we understand good and evil and agree that they exist, and that there is a kind of wickedness in the realities brought about by the Nazi regime with which England was at war during the writing of The Road To Serfdom. From the beginning, he frames the drift from the abandoned road to the road to serfdom not in terms of a departure from values per se, but rather in terms of the pursuit of good intentions that reaped bad but unintended consequences. His fundamental argument is not that we have the wrong values, ideals, and morals, but that in pursuing the right ones in the wrong way we have abandoned them, changed them, and we risk losing them altogether. For Hayek, basic ideas and social order, the foundations of civilization, have evolved over time. Based historically in Classical 86 �thought and Christianity, and germinating in the flowering of the Renaissance, Western civilization is rooted in "respect for the individual man qua man."i This is the fundamental idea, the moral base Hayek assumes we share, which, along with material prosperity, he warns that we are in danger of losing altogether. This fundamental idea, this fountain flowing with morals and values, is important as a fixed point from which to view the world. In criticizing the disappearance of these virtues under socialism, Hayek asks, "What are the fixed poles now which are regarded as sacrosanct, which no reformer dare touch, since they are treated as immutable boundaries which must be respected in any plan for the future?"^ For virtue or morality to mean anything, there must be fixed points of reference, boundaries that may not be moved. Individual self-determination seems to be the foundation of the abandoned road, the sine qua non of liberalism. This individualism is not only held as an a priori axiom. "The fundamental fact on which the whole philosophy of individualism is based” flows from the fact that only limited knowledge is available to any one person about the values and needs of the multitude of other individuals; that is, only partial scales of value are possibly knowable.3 Therefore: From this the individualist concludes that the individuals should be allowed, within defined limits, to follow their own values and preferences rather than somebody else's; that within these spheres the individual's system of ends should be supreme and not subject to any dictation by others. It is this recognition of the individual as the ultimate judge of his ends, the belief that as far as possible his own views ought to govern his actions, that forms the essence of the individualist position.^ The impossibility of knowing or imagining a complete scale of values and needs means that a complete ethical code is unavailable to any central planner, which seems therefore to necessitate an individualist position simply in order to have a properly functioning economic system. 87 �Another necessity for morality or values, another fixed pole, is a respect for truth as such. Referring to relativism, Hayek says, "The moral consequences of totalitarian propaganda which we must now consider are, however, of an even more profound kind. They are destructive of all morals because they undermine one of the foundations of all morals: the sense of and respect for the truth."5 It may seem too obvious to need stating, but as we will learn later, respect for truth as truth is a fundamental principle Hayek assumes to be necessary to morality. In The Road To Serfdom we find two litanies of liberal virtues. These virtues include "independence, self-reliance, and the willingness to bear risks, the readiness to back one’s own conviction against a majority, and the willingness to voluntary cooperation with one’s neighbors,” and "independence and selfreliance, individual initiative and local responsibility, the successful reliance on voluntary activity, noninterference with one’s neighbor and tolerance of the different and queer, respect for custom and tradition, and a healthy suspicion of power and authority.’’^ The common character essential to all is a sort of self-sufficiency, not simply for its own sake but also as a supporting element in a liberal extended order. Virtue lies not only in defending oneself from coercion and in respecting the foundations of tradition, but also in openness to what is different. There are three intersections of values and morality that bear addressing in concert with one another. The values of freedom and equality intersect, as do the questions of morality as end or as means, and of morality as an individual or a collective phenomenon. As we have seen, individualism is taken to be a fundamental principle, and inherent in it is the principle that each should be free to pursue his own ends. Thus freedom or liberty is a basic tenet of liberalism. This is freedom of action within a consistent, prior framework: the rule of law. It is freedom to pursue one’s self interest, one’s own values and needs. Hayek points out the danger of the extension of this concept of guaranteed freedom to include freedom from want and material need.^ Essentially, this redefinition or extension, the expectation that government should free the individual from material need, is dangerous for several reasons. In abdicating economic responsibility to the government. 88 �the individual also abdicates power or control over all that is attached to economic needs and economic activity; in Hayek's terms, over virtually everything. The individual moves from independence to dependence. Freedom, when thus extended, ends in servitude. The liberal good of equality is subject to a similar negative extension. Under individualism or liberalism, each deserves to be treated equally as man qua man. Equal protection exists for all, without privilege for any, according to predetermined rules, known as the rule of law. This is equality before the law, equality of conditions. One of the on-ramps of the road to serfdom involves the extension of this concept of equality to include material equality, or equality of ends, an extension which necessarily cancels out equality before the law. Given different capacities, different people must be treated differently in order to achieve equality of ends. Here again a well-intentioned expansion of the range of a liberal good changes the direction of the ultimate path. One fundamental problem consists in determining where the good lies—in the ends or the means, in the individual sphere or the sphere of collective planning. In other words, do we aim at justice or some standard of good as an end, and use whatever means necessary to accomplish it, or does justice or the good lie in the means, a framework we use to allow a multiplicity of ends? Is justice a matter of ends or of means? For Hayek, a complete ethical code, one that would encompass the needs and values of each individual, is impossible even to imagine, so morality must be understood in the realm of the individual and justice must lie in a consistent framework of the rule of law rather than in some sort of requirement of particular ends, such as material equality.^ It seems simply impossible to have complete or even sufficient knowledge of needs, values and means to allow for planning in such a way that we will accomplish just ends without generating terrible, unintended consequences. Morality exists only on an individual level, because the individual is the ultimate agent of action, the only one who both knows his values and the only one who can connect those values to the moment of action. Any attempt to shift morals to a higher or prior sphere cancels them out and they cease to exist as such. Beyond this, there is a difference between the moral sense 89 �that urges us to attempt to plan for just ends and those coercive ethics that would be required to execute them on a mass scale. "The interaction between morals and institutions may well have the effect that the ethics produced by collectivism will be altogether different from the moral ideals that lead to the demand for collectivism.”^ Ultimately, justice must be understood primarily in terms of means and a consistent rule of law as a framework for individuals to pursue their self-determined ends. To attempt to accomplish specific collective ends is neither possible nor safe. We arrive at a significant question. If these ideals of liberalism and traditional morality are necessary to civilization and a liberal free market, and if we are in danger of abandoning them for a road to serfdom, how may we preserve them? Alternately, if these ideals already have been to some degree abandoned, how might we recognize and reestablish them? Hayek gives us a few clues, and we may discover a few of our own. They can be imagined as on-ramps and off-ramps of the road to serfdom. One of the first on-ramps we come to is simple impatience. Hayek identifies this as having been one of the primary and early motivations for abandoning the free market extended order responsible for the growth of civilization. As the market order was systematized and advanced in the nineteenth century on an unprecedented scale, "the crude rules in which the principles of economic policy” consisted still required development and there was "just irritation with those who used liberal phraseology in defense of antisocial privileges and the boundless ambition seemingly justified by the material improvements already achieved.”!*^ Instead of patiently developing the economic system, carefully fostering the rule of law, and essentially building upon the foundation of the advances in the free market, the temptation was to start over by fiat on a different foundation. "Because of the success already achieved, man became increasingly unwilling to tolerate the evils still with him which now appeared both unbearable and unnecessary.’’^^ Development unfolds over time, and it would seem that the maintenance of traditional morality and the free market requires a sort of patience on the part of all involved, allowing natural market processes to bring prosperity in due course, taking time to foster the rule of law, and experimenting 90 �with and adjusting the framework as necessary as it evolves over time. Another important on-ramp to serfdom is the atrophy of moral sense. Traditional morals are communal information, transmitted and inculcated in ways that we do not perhaps fully understand. But they also seem to be fostered and maintained individually through practice. One must exercise them in order to avoid the vicious cycle of the blunting of our moral sensibilities: What our generation is in danger of forgetting is not only that morals are of necessity a phenomenon of individual conduct but also that they can exist only in the sphere in which the individual is free to decide for himself and is called upon voluntarily to sacrifice personal advantage to the observation of a moral rule. Outside the sphere of individual responsibility there is neither goodness nor badness, neither opportunity for moral merit nor the chance of proving one’s conviction by sacrificing one's desires to what one thinks is right.^^ This once again speaks to the point that morals are inherently individual and disappear at the level of central decision-making. But it also implies that it is vital that the individual be called upon to sacrifice voluntarily. Where there is no opportunity to exercise this moral capacity it seems to disappear, either because the conditions no longer exist or perhaps because of a drying up of the individual moral capacity. Mere participation in political democracy is not sufficient. The periodical election of representatives, to which the moral choice of the individual tends to be more and more reduced is not an occasion on which his moral values are tested or where he has constantly to reassert and prove the order of his values and to testily to the sincerity of his profession by the sacrifice of those of his values he rates lower to those he puts higher.13 91 �There seems to be a habitual aspect to individual participation in moral choices and moral traditions: Either we use them or we lose them. A third on-ramp to the road to serfdom shows up in a somewhat odd place, in the social order itself. "It should never be forgotten that the one decisive factor in the rise of totalitarianism on the Continent, which is yet absent in England and America, is the existence of a large recently dispossessed middle class.’’^'^ The main reason this leads to serfdom is that large disaffected social classes tend to become enemies of the current regime. Those who were once materially and socially mobile, such as the middle class, tend to fight to regain the advantages they have lost. Another reason that a dispossessed middle class is especially problematic, however, is that this class will tend to expand in a liberal free market system, drawing the other classes into it. The middle class is the center of gravity of the liberal system, the class most directly involved in the economic life of a society, that which has the most vested in a free market system, and that which most reinforces free market values. Preserving the trading class, or at least not intentionally leveling it, would seem to be important to maintaining the extended order. The corruption of language is another factor in the path to serfdom. We have seen how the extension of the concepts of freedom and equality has paved the path toward collectivism. The redefinition of the word liberal from its nineteenth century meaning to its current one is another example. In the realm of propaganda, language is manipulated and words are redefined in order to move people into new ideas using redefined familiar terms.New concepts parasitize the host language such that its traditional moral content is lost in favor of new ideas aimed at transforming the people’s imagination, mores, and ultimately their direction. The greatest means to preserving the traditional liberal ideals and thus avoiding many of these on-ramps to serfdom lies in education, both formal and informal. Hayek does not spend much time addressing this issue here, but he leaves a tantalizing indication of this concept tucked away in his discussion of a 92 �potential new international order. "Nowhere has democracy worked well without a great measure of local self-government, providing a school of political training for the people at large as much as for their future leaders."!^ There is a sense in which participation in local government, which directly concerns the citizens’ immediate interests (and often takes place in small countries such as Switzerland) is a kind of informal education, a continuous internship in the necessities and limitations of political and economic liberty. It can be a breeding ground for ideas, a greenhouse for liberal traditions, and a school for habituating the young to freedom and to the society in freedom that seems to be superior to the society in socialism. Hayek echoes Tocqueville here, as he does throughout much of The Road To Serfdom. Local political life and participation in good things accomplished through free and voluntary associations can provide a vital inoculation against the bug of collectivism. It bears mentioning that there is at least one principle that is important in any attempt either to reintroduce the rule of law and liberal principles where they have been abandoned, or to introduce them where they have not yet existed. This is the voluntary submission of the powerful to the rule of law. As long as the powerful seek to aggregate or maintain privilege and position for themselves, the rule of law is impossible. The birth of such a system, therefore, must mirror its moral condition, the recognition that one's greater interest requires a voluntary relinquishment of potential privilege or advantage for the greater good of freedom and general economic opportunity. "The great opportunity we shall have at the end of this war is that the great victorious powers, by themselves first submitting to a system of rules which they have the power to enforce, may at the same time acquire the moral right to impose the same rules upon others.This essential principle is the foundation on which individualism, liberalism, and traditional western morality are built. The fact that Hayek felt the need to write The Road To Serfdom when he did and the response its publication garnered show the vulnerability of a truly free market liberal position. The fact that intellectual opinion was rapidly shifting toward socialism, mere decades after the flowering of liberalism in the nineteenth century, indicates that a truly free 93 �market might not be as fundamental as Hayek would have us believe. If the extended order of the free market survived thousands of years of the tooth-and-nail competition of ideas since the first glimmers of civilization, then it seems likely that it will continue to survive much longer. If it has really distilled the elements that make extended order possible, then traditional morality should continue as the most viable evolutionary strand. If socialism is truly built on faulty foundations, then it will eventually crumble. And yet, if this free market system is so natural and fundamental, why does it seem so vulnerable? An examination of the previously discussed on-ramps may provide a clearer view. Several, if not all of them, are deeply imbedded human characteristics. To be impatient is to be human. It is not characteristic of the mass of men to abide injustice due to the expectation of some future good. Facility in deferring gratification is not common to man. If it is necessary that we be patient to tend the garden of budding liberalism, few of us will likely be liberals. Moreover, exercise of and habituation to the moral virtues, whether imagined in an Aristotelian sense or in the sense Hayek uses them, is no simple task. In one sense we simply receive the traditional morals as given, but if exercising them is also necessary to their perpetuation, what is to guard us from simply coasting into socialism? The gutting of language seems to be a natural process that simply happens over time. Language changes, deteriorates. This constant linguistic evolution has only become greater with the technological and social advances that have come from the flowering of the free market. When language is changing so quickly, how can we imagine that old terms might not be manipulated to bear new and contrary ideas? With the great centrifugal force of national government drawing all political power to itself from the farthest local hinterlands, how long will there be places where the people may still learn democracy, independence, voluntary cooperation and how to use their freedom in the local sphere close to home? Finally, how long can we trust the strong to defer to the rule of law out of the understanding that it is in their best interest? It seems doubtful whether there is room for much optimism. If Hayek is correct, then whatever the means of the transmission of 94 �civilization are, whatever those things are that inculcate his virtues of independence, voluntary cooperation, non-interference, healthy suspicion of coercive power, individualism, and the rest, must be fostered if we are not to end up in the ash heap of history. Tocqueville saw a similar problem. "Do you not see that religions are weakening and that the divine notion of rights is disappearing? Do you not find that mores are being altered, and that with them the moral notion of rights is being effaced?”!^ His solution, however, makes a great deal of sense. "If in the midst of universal disturbance you do not come to bind the idea of rights to the personal interest that offers itself as the only immobile point in the human heart, what will then remain to you to govern the world, except fear?’’i^ Somehow, when the transmission of traditional values is failing, these ideals must be bound to self-interest as the universal driving component of human beings. One of the great difficulties of this task, in relation to the conflict between liberalism and socialism, is that the latter seems to be driven by sentiments and motivations that bind a kind of self-interest with a communal sense in a way that is often intellectual, but often visceral and deeply human. Endnotes 1. Hayek, F. A. The Road To Serfdom. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007. 68 2. Ibid., 218 3. Ibid., 102 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid., 172 6. Ibid., 217-219 7. Ibid., 77 8. Ibid., 101 9. Ibid., 158-159 10. Ibid., 71-72 11. Ibid., 72 12. Ibid., 216 13. Ibid., 218 14. Ibid., 215 15. Ibid., 172 16. Ibid., 234 17. Ibid., 235 18. de Tocqueville, Alexis. Democracy In America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. 228 19. Ibid. 95 �Primary Texts Hayek, F. A. The Road To Serfdom. Chicago; University of Chicago Press, 2007. de Tocqueville, Alexis. Democracy In America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. �The Faith of the Poet Anthony Eagan I. Midway along his journey through the afterlife toward the morning of his second night in Purgatory, having recently heard Virgil’s lecture on distorted love as the source of all sin, Dante falls asleep and dreams of a siren. He and his guide are approaching the fifth terrace, where the avaricious and prodigal expiate their monetary love. Though every progressive level in The Divine Comedy can be said to show a turning point in the pilgrim’s education as a poet, this turning point, coming as momentum shifts from the heaviness of hell to the lightness of heaven, holds special significance. The pilgrim has seen and learned from the suffering of hell-bound souls who sin and refuse repentance. Now, observing sinners who have cast off their pride in hope of seeing God, he draws closer to earthly paradise at the heights of Purgatory; soon he will ascend to true Paradise to be among souls who lived and saw correctly. In the dream, a cross-eyed and crippled hag appears. She is deathly pale, with crooked feet, stammering speech, and arms that have been amputated at the wrist. She is the embodiment of human frailty and decay. By the power of his gaze, however, Dante transforms the hag into a tantalizing woman, straightening her figure, repairing her eyesight, empowering her with eloquence, and enlivening her with charm. Her voice becomes so alluring that as she sings, Dante cannot look away. Despite her revelation that she is the "Siren who causes / sailors to lose their way,’’ Dante is transfixed and fails to heed the warning. She tells him that a night with her can provide such satisfaction and delight that no man would willingly leave her side. But when she mentions having turned Ulysses from his homeward course, the dream also changes course. A Beatrice-like figure appears, "alert and saintly," to liberate Dante from the siren’s influence.^ By their contrast, the magnificence of this new lady once again diminishes the aura and eloquence of the siren. The saintly lady calls out to Virgil, who materializes, assesses the situation, and 97 �rips the siren's clothes from her body, revealing her sex and releasing a stench so powerful that it wakes Dante. The sudden reek evokes hell, where "such a stench rose up / as usually comes from festering limbs,"^ and whose nine circles are filled with rot, feces, blood, urine, semen, muck, murk, fog, and putrefaction. Had the saintly woman failed to intervene and summon Virgil, had Virgil failed to tear the garments, the truth behind the hag’s artificial beauty would have remained concealed from Dante, and he would have been ensnared once again by the avarice and covetousness of earthly pursuits. To the dutiful reader (the only type of reader the poet wants, as will be shown], this dream reiterates what has been described in so many previous episodes and what Dante will continually emphasize throughout Paradiso; any temporal things a human may possess or seek to possess, from clerical robes to political clout, from gold and riches to reputation and physical love, are subject to time's decaying power, and will escape his grasp in one way or another. Ambition for these objects sows envy, pride, and greed, and human behavior is perverted by such blind pursuit. Sins of pursuit aside, however, even the achievement of an earthly desire by virtuous means will prove fleeting and unsatisfactory—a sort of Pyrrhic victory for the soul—igniting new and stronger desires, and degradation through avarice, since satiation increases craving. It was lust for Paolo, and the experience of momentary bliss, that fated Francesca to the second circle of Inferno, where she flutters about in a "hellish hurricane,"^ as erratic as her prior life’s whims. Similarly, an excessive love of money fated the clergy found in the fourth circle to roll stones endlessly, having lost all identity, for "the undiscerning life that made them filthy now renders them unrecognizable."^ The epicureans, and "all those who say the soul dies with the body,"^ lie in open sepulchers, fated by their shortsightedness to permanent entombment, fittingly alive in soul but dead in body. As to a siren, mortals are drawn irresistibly to the world's multiple enticements. They forget that inherent in all nature’s substances is the seed of corruption. Only that which exists outside of matter and the senses is worth pursuing, because only that 98 �which is outside of matter and the senses has the power to accurately direct human vision and behavior. Beatrice herself, the reigning authority on virtue, suggests this very point soon after her arrival in the poem, in Canto XXX of Purgatorio. In fact, all of Dante’s mistakes up to this point, both on earth and during his journey, emerged from a failure to look higher. Beatrice has come to replace Virgil as Dante's guide, and like a stern mother she immediately scolds Dante for his emotional weakness and lack of proper vision. In a symbolic gesture, Dante, upon recognizing Beatrice despite her veil, turns backward in search of Virgil, hoping to alleviate his joyful fear, and, seeing his former guide has disappeared, begins weeping. "Dante!” Beatrice says, "do not yet weep; do not weep yet," and continues her chastisement fifteen lines later, asking, "How were you able to ascend the mountain? Did you not know that here all men are happy?”^ This whole time, a throng of singing angels has been gathered about Dante and Beatrice. Now, in their song, coming to the pilgrim’s defense, the angels ask Beatrice, "Lady, why do you hit him so hard?" She answers, "Not simply by the working of Nature’s great wheels. Aiming every single seed to some end Determined by stars shining at its birth. But through the enormity of God in His grace Some will attain to altitudes so high That we no longer attract them with our eyes— And one such was this man’s new life on earth. So all good inclinations, all predictions. Should wonderfully be proved by the life he lives... For a time, the sight of my face was enough to sustain him: By showing him my youthful eyes I led him With me, moving toward a goal of goodness. But as soon as I approached the holy threshold Of my second age, and changed from that life to this. He turned away from me, giving himself to others. Beauty and virtue grew to new heights in me. But I meant much less to him, no longer pleasing. And he turned his steps to a path that held no truth. 99 �Following fraudulent idols that promise goodness, But never pay their accounts when payment is due...”^ Beatrice, on earth, guided Dante’s love. She was so stunning and pure that when Dante looked upon her he envisioned the workings and mystery of God. He saw that beneath the surface of beauty exists a power that cannot be understood, that is greater than the sum of all earth’s beautiful and not-so-beautiful entities, for it creates these entities and allows for their movement towards His good. Nothing proved the importance of the ineffable more than the face of Beatrice; nothing was more sublime and awe-inspiring; nothing instilled faith so well in the onlooker. Her death, then, should have given Dante further insight into the ineffable and elevated his poetic soul. If this most pure of human creatures is subject to suffering and death, then all things less beautiful must be transient, less worthy. Nothing lasts here on earth. My vision and poetry must seek the place where, truly, Beatrice now resides. Such should have been Dante’s thoughts. We see now why, halfway along his journey through life, Dante was in a "wood so dark.’’^ According to Beatrice’s speech, all life comes to darkness if we blind ourselves to God’s mystery. We also see now why Dante’s siren dream, halfway along his journey through the afterlife, is so deeply important. Within Dante’s mind or soul— wherever dreams are born— he has already learned the error of pursuing earthly temptation; that seed of knowledge reveals itself to him while he sleeps to dream in the ring of the avaricious. The dream is an exact parallel of what the poet describes in the opening of Inferno. His obscured, earthbound vision misleads him, projects a false value onto that which is subject to decay, and enshrouds him in error. As when Beatrice summoned Virgil on Holy Thursday, she here again intervenes, calling on Virgil to reveal truths to Dante and alert him to "the stench of paganism.’’^ The pilgrim’s dream, we see, allegorizes the poet’s larger allegory. Dante, initially enticed by human objects and concerns, is rescued by Beatrice and Virgil, and comes to see the error of distorted love and misdirected vision. But why is Ulysses mentioned in the dream? Does the siren drop his name merely as an allusion to her power? Or does the poet 100 �I [ want to evoke Inferno yet again, specifically Ulysses’ explanation there of how he descended into hell? In Canto 26, Dante and Virgil ventured to the eighth ditch of the eighth circle of sin, where the thieves and false counselors blaze in anonymity, "each sinner wrapped in the sin which burned him on earth/’i'’ From a perch, Dante surveyed the depths and observed two souls inhabiting a single but divided flame. He questioned the identity of the two thieves, and learning that the greater sinner of these was Ulysses, his curiosity swelled, and he implored Virgil to initiate a conversation. "Master, 1 beg you, and beg / Again a thousand times...for you can see the desperate desire / That pulls me, bending my body in that direction."!^ Virgil agreed, sensing the force of Dante’s passion to speak with the famous man of twists and turns. After all, Dante and Ulysses shared many traits, at least at this stage in the pilgrim’s progress. Both were exiles, both eloquent; both journeyed in search of knowledge, both were proud and in their pride went astray— off their charted course— and both had fought, in some sense, for their homes. Ulysses’ answer, in the form of a speech, which is arguably the most moving poetry up to this point in The Comedy, begins: ‘When 1 left Circe, Who’d stolen more than a year of my time, close By Gaeta (although that was long before Aeneas Had come and given it its name), it wasn’t For my young son’s sweetness, or any concern About my aged father, or the debt of love 1 owed Penelope, which would have pleased her. For nothing could conquer in me the craving to know This world we live in, learning its nature, and how To deal with human vice or worth.’i^ 101 Looking back to this through the lens of Dante’s siren dream, the issues become more apparent than when the reader first encountered the passage. Not only did Circe ensnare Ulysses, but �"evidence of things not seen.”^^ pje left her side, his familial duties, and the home he fought for, in search of human knowledge. In a sense, this moment shows a reversal of the character we knew so well—for ten years after Troy he struggled to return to Penelope. But in another sense, the speech comes as no surprise; experience of the world leads a man to yearn for more of the same. 'Now hear: I’d set myself on the open sea With only a single boat, and nothing but men Who had not turned and run away from me... '0 brothers,’ I said, 'you who came through a hundred Thousand dangers, at last reaching the West: We still have time yet to use Our human senses, and how could such brave men Refuse this final, daring experience. Tracking the sun where no other man has been?’ ...The moon had waned, then waxed again, five times. Five months of full and perfect lunar cycles Since we’d launched ourselves out on the ocean. When suddenly a mountain appeared in the distance. Dark and seeming, to my eyes, surely the highest That I had ever seen. My men and I Rejoiced, but immediately our happiness Was turned to grief, for out of the new lands came A whirlwind, striking hard at the bow of our ship It whirled us around three times, we and the water. And on the fourth it lifted the stern up high And drove the prow straight down, to the great delight Of Someone Else, and over our heads the sea closed. In his pride, Ulysses could not see the signs of Someone Else—at least, not until his ship was swallowed. On this ship sailed "nothing but men," thus no God, no faith, no hope of higher truths. The moon, the first of Heaven’s spheres, waxed and waned before him for five months; yet he questioned nothing of what instigates the lunar cycles, or what made the stars shine and the ocean glimmer. He directed his ship onwards, through the Strait of Gibraltar and southbound, towards the Mount of Purgatory, a place 102 �forbidden to those without faith. Never in his story did Ulysses reveal a sense of awe, only selfishness, ambition, and joy at reaching sights unseen by any other man. At first glance the journey seems commendable, if somewhat selfish, to the reader and it remains unclear just why this quest for knowledge results in Ulysses’ descent into hell. Dante’s dream, almost thirty cantos later, clarifies the mistake Ulysses made. Knowledge without faith will cause the sea of experience to swallow you whole. II. 0 you who are within your little bark. Eager to listen, following behind My ship that, singing, crosses to deep sees. Turn back to see your shores again: do not Attempt to sail the seas 1 sail; you may. By losing sight of me, be left astray. The waves 1 take were never sailed before.^^ Here Dante addresses the reader as the pilgrim arrives in the first sphere of Heaven, the Sphere of the Moon. The passage unifies two ideas that become vital to Paradiso: That the poetry will become more difficult, will contain subject matter paradoxical and beyond human understanding, thus reflecting higher beauty, and that endeavors lacking faith, suspension of reason, and recalibrated vision will end in shipwreck. So readers beware, have trust in my talents, pay attention, and recall all that I have previously written. What is Dante’s endeavor? Where is he taking us? What is his poetic mission? Is The Divine Comedy, above all, an epic poem about epic poetry or is it the story of the making of the poet? The epic poet has several goals, not simply in The Divine Comedy but also in the great works that precede and follow it. The first goal is to describe the range of human experience, and in so doing to pay homage to the poets who first made the attempt. The second is to raise poetry to a level higher than the words of those poets to whom homage is paid— in order to come even closer to truth through beauty. The third is to provide a moral framework for readers, using episodes and incidents as allegories through 103 �which the hero experiences what it is to be mortal and learns how to conduct his life as a result. The Iliad is often likened to a Greek bible in which Homer exalts the values of courage, honor, and dignity in the face of mortality; so Virgil’s Aeneid exalts pietas, or duty to one’s society, above personal interest and comfort, and finally the Bible— which, while not an epic poem, is a work replete with sublime poetry epic in scope and narrative— exalts the Christian values of faith, hope, charity, and love. The fourth and final goal of the epic poet is— through the accomplishment of the three prior objectives— to become immortal through artistry. Throughout The Divine Comedy, Dante is constantly aware of these goals, and by turns expresses anxiety, doubt, pride, concern, and despair in regard poetry. Especially in Paradiso, where in nearly every canto he references his lines, his task, or his readers, we see that, as he draws towards the center of the immortal world, his hopes for the poem take a more central role as the subject matter. In one of these countless moments of self-reference and thoughts of immortality, he writes: 0 Godly Pegasea, you who give To genius glory and long life, as it. Through you, gives these to kingdoms and to cities. Give me your light that 1 may emphasize These signs as 1 inscribed them in my mind: Your power—may it appear in these brief linesl^^ Perfect poetry, then, has the dual action of benefiting both the author and society; if one is uplifted, so is the other. Perhaps the best way to approach the questions of how the poet achieves perfect poetry, how he accomplishes these four aforementioned goals, and how the allegorical afterworld through which Dante the pilgrim travels references these goals and exemplifies their accomplishment is to bear in mind our notion that the dream of the siren manifests the major turning point in the pilgrim’s growth. We must also remember the mistake Ulysses made on that final journey which resulted in the worst of all descents. In exile, having lost everything he held dear in the earthly realm—first Beatrice, next his political reputation, and finally his 104 �home—Dante, as author of The Comedy, is excessively aware that "he may grieve / indeed and endlessly— the man who leaves / behind [divine] love and turns instead to seek / things that do not endure eternally.”i^ If a man invests all the muscle of his soul towards what can die or be torn away at any moment, be it his name and standing, his wealth or his beloved, then the man loses with its loss. In other words, if a poet invests all the power of his talent in what is transitory, his poetry dies with passing time. Worse yet, if a poet does not use his talent to better his name and his community, he squanders the gifts God bestowed upon him. This is not to say that a poet should not focus on flowers, politics, sex, and sin: this very poem is filled with innuendo and gorgeous images of grime, and ends with the obscure description of a rose. Rather, if the poet writes of these things, he must see behind their corruptible physical nature to what they reveal about the spiritual world, the world we cannot understand or describe no matter the level of our faith. We know that a flower lives, as well as how it lives, but even science cannot explain the process behind that process. To seek an explanation that justifies the awe we should have for something as simple as a flower and simultaneously be aware that this explanation, however adroitly worded, will fall short of capturing its essence, is to participate in the faith of poetry. If you water roses and provide sunlight, growth will occur; these are the facts of a rose. Also, it will have thorns. The poet must make these facts both reach into and stand for the unseen. The observable must reach behind the veil and yank out a portion of the essence that resides there, thrusting this portion of essence into the face of the reader. '"Look at the sun that shines upon your brow; / look at the grasses, flowers, and the shrubs / born here, spontaneously, of the earth.”’i8 These words, spoken by Virgil as he points the pilgrim toward earthly paradise, glorify the grass and the flowers. These words thrust forward a chunk of their spiritual essence, and entreat the listener to see beyond the pretty veil of stalks and stems, petals and pistils, into the ineffable origin of all. Although Virgil is a pagan, his mind, as poet, is always in touch with the essence of things, as were the minds of Homer, Statius, and Ovid, even if their vision of truth did not match Dante’s. 105 �Of course, Dante the poet learns from Virgil the poet. The Divine Comedy seems to show Dante asking, over and over. If Virgil's poetry is beautiful because it hints at the essence behind our world, how beautiful would my poetry be if given my talent, I spoke of this essence alone? If I changed the tradition by following its natural arc? If I traveled through hell, down through the earth, up the Mount of Purgatory, and ascended into the Empyrean, describing everything that is impossible to know? Would describing everything beyond human life— the essence of essence— elevate my words, and thrust the unseen into the gaze of my reader? The metaphor of this garden passage thus pertains to the entire allegory. Dante the pilgrim, in the earthly paradise, will heed Virgil the guide, grow from his words, and soon move beyond the spiritual capabilities of the pagan; Dante the poet will follow Virgil the poet, grow from his example, and soon move beyond the aesthetic capabilities of the laureate. Dante’s poetic mission is not only to talk of the essence of hatred and strife, parricide and politics, lust, gluttony, wrath, shame, trickery, cunning, rape, heresy, betrayal, hypocrisy, cannibalism, schism, and all that results from improperly directed vision, but also to create images of that which cannot be known by mortals, based no longer on the influence of Virgil and Ovid but on the influence of the Bible and its metaphor of the Incarnation. Dante wishes to direct the vision of his society of readers beyond the fleeting concerns that have destroyed both the author’s known world and the peace of Florence. This is why his poetry becomes more beautiful and challenging the higher the pilgrim ascends; as the subject matter becomes more ineffable, Dante, paradoxically, comes closer to the truth behind human nature. From the opening canto of Inferno, we read of nothing but essences. The darkened wood is the essence of Dante’s emotions in the year 1300. The she-wolf, never sated, is the essence of human hunger. Fire is the essence of passions that leave their possessor in metaphysical ashes. Climbing is the essence of improvement. Francesca, St. Bernard, Plato, Cato, Cavalcante dei Cavalcanti, Filippo Argenti, Farinata, all the popes, and so many other shades upon whom we stumble are not human characters hiding, as do the 106 �living, behind the inscrutability of behavior, but rather they are momentary, honest distillations of entire lives of earthly pursuit and the secret motivations that bent their actions towards frail objects. The contemplative contemplate, the wrathful rage, the slothful long for sleep, the gluttonous hunger; each similarly pursues his nature according to its kind. The shades Dante describes, jointly exhibiting the entire range of human emotion, capture the essence behind the emotion and reveal the spectrum of mortal impetuses. Thus, if Dante were to ignore God, seeking knowledge in the manner of Ulysses on that final voyage, creating beauty out of corrupt material as with the siren dream, his epic poem would fail. “Passing beyond the human cannot be worded," he insists in canto II of Paradiso, and yet we have before us nearly 15,000 lines— 150,000 words—describing nothing but what is ostensibly beyond the human. Really, then, since all of what Dante expresses is beyond human sense, every line reaches beyond the infinite flowers of experience, and thrusts its ineffable spirit at the reader. III. Is God, therefore, merely Dante's favorite metaphor for the ineffable? If a poet writes of a man waking to find he has been transformed into a cockroach, and we read this transformation as a metaphor of the artist’s alienation, or if in a story the portrait of a boulevardier ages in lieu of his body, and we see the portrait as a metaphor of conscience and the power of art, then why do readers constantly pigeonhole this tale of a poet’s journey through the afterlife as a religious tale, and fail to consider the ascension as an allegory for art’s immortal purpose and immortal achievement? We do see countless moments of sacrilege. To name only one, the poet worships false idols; even in Paradise, as he prepares to describe all that he has seen, he invokes Apollo to be his new muse. 0 good Apollo, for this final task Make me the vessel of your excellence. What you, to merit your loved laurel, ask.^^ 107 �In Canto IV of Paradiso, Beatrice explains a point of confusion to the pilgrim. He has just met his first heavenly soul, Piccarda, once a nun, who against her will was pulled away from the convent and forced into relations with a man. She is more distant from God than other souls in heaven, she says, because she did not fight unto death to preserve her virginity for God, as was her original will. In response, Dante wonders why souls in heaven are arranged hierarchically. Certainly Piccarda is not so pure as the Virgin Mary, but is Heaven not a place of equality under God’s eternal benevolence? Why has God banished Piccarda and her companions to the Moon? Beatrice, reading Dante’s mind, clarifies that The spirits you saw did not appear Because their existence is here, but simply to show Your eyes what the least exalted of angels look like. We need to speak in this way, to your organs of sense. Since such perception, and no other, prepares Itself to be understood, in the end, by your mind. And it is for this reason that scripture lowers Itself to levels your mind can deal with, assigning Hands and feet to God, to teach you more...2o So the heavens are not structured as the pilgrim observes. What he observes is but a demonstration of Paradise as it can be understood by his limited human comprehension. Likewise, scripture does not properly explain God, but provides stories, allegories, images, tales and paradoxes that aim to demonstrate the essence of the inexpressible. As a result, its readers have a framework to live by, concrete examples, and a higher realm towards which they might direct their vision and love. Dante the poet knows that therein exists the power of the Bible, the most successful and widely read of any work of literature. Its purpose is to teach, to improve society, to warn against blind endeavors, false glories, and sin. First, however, in order to reach this goal, it must be dramatically entertaining and sublime in language, wise and sad, containing all sorts of human fates and a 108 �range of characters from peasants, to kings, to the Unknowable Himself. The framework of Christianity is probably the best and most comprehensive metaphor we have to explain the world beyond human comprehension. It attempts to allegorize why we sin. It aims to elucidate the dangers of selfish pursuits, or a life subject to whim and therefore loss. It shows us how to avoid a living hell. It remains the best guideline for reaching above the temporal and material world so that, by its example, we may become immortal through virtue, good deeds, and properly guided accomplishments. Perhaps we should not take Dante's complex explication of divinity as a sign that he has total faith in Christ as the embodiment of God, that he lived on earth, performing miracles, raising the dead, and opening once again the Gates of Heaven, but rather as an acknowledgement that no higher moral foundation for behavior exists than so-called divine poetry. Perhaps we feel in The Divine Comedy the comfort of words that explain the processes behind the processes, the essence behind the flowers, even if the explanation is wrong. What Dante details of the Empyrean is foreign, and goes beyond scripture. Certainly, Mary is present, and some saints, and even "our effigy." But otherwise it is pure light and circles, radiance, blind vision, perfect movement, mental feeling, emotional knowledge and seeming confusion, and, as he describes the Image, he reiterates that nothing can be described. It is achingly beautiful. The faith of the poet is faith in the power of his own work to reach into universal experience. Without such faith, the poet could not have the patience to devote years of his life to describing things. Yet the faith of the poet is in Someone Else, no matter what form He takes—be He Bearded, Rose-shaped, or a Gust of Wind. Did Dante truly feel that Christ died so that we might become immortal? Or did Apollo bequeath this gift of eloquence? Did he truly love Beatrice, or is she, too, a device? All we can know for certain is that in talking about what is impossible to know or express, the poet becomes immortal. And by directing his vision away from the observable and corrupt world, by projecting his desire towards the spiritual world as he had once projected vision and desire towards the hand-less hag, he taught the Something. The pilgrim gets lost 109 �among the stars, he creates, and the poet emerges, ready to describe the experience. Where Nature comes upon discrepant fortune. Like any seed outside its proper region. Nature will always yield results awry. But if the world below would set its mind On the foundation Nature lays as base To follow, it would have its people worthy.21 Endnotes 1. Dante. The Divine Comedy. Allen Mendelbaum, trans. New York: Everyman's Library, 1995. Purg. XIX. 1-34 2. /n/XIV. 51 3. Inf. V. 31 4. /n/VII. 53-54 S.InfX. 15 6. Purg. XXX. 74-75 7. Ibid,. 111-132 8. Inf I. 2 9. Para. XX. 125 10. Inf XXVI. 48 11. Ibid., 68-69 12. Ibid., 90-99 13. Para. XXIV. 64 14. InfXXVl 100-143 15. Para. 11.1-7 16. Para. XVIII. 82-87 17. Para. XV. 9-12. 18. Purg. XXVII. 133-135 19. Pora. 1.13-15 20. Para. IV. 37-45 21. Para. VIII. 138-144 Primary Text Mandelbaum, Allen, Trans. The Divine Comedy. New York: Everyman’s Library. 1995. 110 �The Two Prakrtis Jeff Ondocsin At first glance, Ramanuja's commentary on the Bhagavad Gita is a dense, layered text which can seem hardly penetrable. But there is something in Ramanuja's discussion of the two prakrtis that might aid in establishing a solid foundation of what Ramanuja is trying to do in this text. More than just outlining the different yogas that the Gita represents as the different paths to God, (karmayoga, jnanayoga and the ultimate form of worship, bhaktiyoga, the culmination of the philosophy of the Gita), Ramanuja is ultimately advancing an argument about the Atman of God and its relation to the individual atman, if in a seemingly roundabout way. However, I believe that by examining the issue of these two prakrtis a little closer, we can perhaps establish a satisfying answer to the question asked in seminar about both the spiritual and non-spiritual things that simultaneously constitute God's body and depend on him as their atman. In the section titled "The True Knowledge of the Proper Form of the Supreme Person Who is the Object of Bhakti,"^ Ramanuja discusses the two prakrtis of God. Prakrti is a term that occurs across a wide variety of Indian philosophical thought, but the basic definition of the word is "nature." However, in this case, nature does not entirely do justice to what the term prakrti conveys. Prakrti could be construed as the basic stuff of the universe, but more than this, prakrti can be interpreted to be the force that drives all action in the world. Indeed, Ramanuja says of the lower prakrti that it "is the prakrti of this world consisting of endless various objects, means and occasions of material experience and divided into eight categories, viz. the five primordial elements and their qualities, senses and mind, Mahat and finally Ahamkara.''^ This statement denotes the various things that exist in the world, as well as the faculties that observe the occurrence and existence of these things as it relates to the life of the individual. However, the lower prakrti is not made up of the individual atmans themselves, but "solely consists of the objects experienced by the spiritual beings."^ Ill �Early on in the text, Ramanuja says that Krsna reveals the "doctrine of the atman" to Arjuna so as to overcome his perplexity and inability to carry out his ksatriya dharma. This inability to take action, Ramanuja says, proves that "Arjuna has no insight into the distinct natures of body and atman.He goes on to say that the body "is subjected to development and naturally involves birth and death...the atman is different from the body and immortal: that it is not subject to birth and death.Thus does Ramanuja declare that the atman is the non-dying observer of the lower prakrti, distinct from the physical self, as well as the faculties that allow the detection and use of the things of the lower prakrti. According to Ramanuja the second, higher prakrti is made up of the spiritual beings that experience the lower prakrti, and indeed are the support for the lower prakrti. Ramanuja describes the higher prakrti as "God’s chief prakrti,"^ for it is the observer, or experiencer, of the lower prakrti. Also, this is seemingly the only time in the text when Ramanuja uses the term jiva, a word that is defined as "a spiritual being”. It is unclear from this section whether or not the term jiva is intended to supersede the term atman, but another part of the text may help us resolve this issue. In the “Discussion of Body and Atman" section, Ramanuja says, "the entity atman, which is a spiritual being, pervades the non-spiritual entity which is different from the atman.”^ This statement asserts that an individual atman of the higher prakrti is a spiritual being, or jiva, that pervades the lower prakrti, the type of prakrti which consists of non-spiritual entities. Thus, it would seem that the individual Atmans exist in the higher prakrti, and are separate from the lower prakrti which they pervade. Ramanuja goes on to say that God "is the cause of his two prakrtis,"^ and that the prakrtis themselves are then the cause of all things that occur in the nominal world. Further, "all beings composed of cit and acit, from Brahma to tuft of grass, whether existing in a superior or an inferior condition, originate from these two prakrtis of God, and so they are of God."^ At the beginning of the essay, however, Ramanuja declares that God makes three statements in the Gita about the Atmans and their relationship to God. "1. that there is difference between God and the individual atmans; 2. that there is difference between the individual atmans 112 �themselves; 3. that this difference is absolutely reaL’’^^^ What this seems to mean is that, in light of the assertion that all things originate from the two prakrtis and are thus of God, the world of the two prakrtis is absolutely real, but is different from God himself. Simultaneously, both prakrtis are of God themselves and are supported by Him in the same way that the lower prakrti is supported and pervaded by the atmans of the higher prakrti. So, while the world of the prakrtis is absolutely real and different from God, it still emerges from God only and is in that way dependent upon him, although the prakrtis are different and other than God. Thus the statement, "all spiritual and non-spiritual things, whether effects or causes, constitute God’s body and depend on God who is their atman."ii The path to reach this kind of knowledge is difficult for the practitioner, as it is easy to be led off track by the prakrtis. However, one who practices only karmayoga and is not negligent follows the path towards this knowledge of the nature of God and is considered successful when he is "no longer able to interest himself in the objects of prakrti differing from the atman or in corresponding acts, because naturally he does not experience anything but the atman; for then all delusions have gone." 12 The paths of the yogas are manifold, but their pinnacles are the same. A yogin is said to have reached the highest stage of development when he knows that "the atmans of all creatures are equal when their proper form is separated from prakrti, for all of them have one and the same form, knowledge; inequality is of the prakrti.’’^^ Additionally, the yogin "will view God in all atmans and all atmans in God.”i'^ So, while God is absolutely different from the individual atmans, at this highest stage of yoga this idea is seemingly reversed, as the yogin recognizes that God pervades the individual atmans as surely as the individual atmans pervade the lower prakrti. However, while both prakrtis are pervaded by God, God does not depend on the prakrtis as the individual atmans are dependent on their bodies for sustenance and the like. Indeed, Ramanuja says that "to God his body serves no purpose at all; it serves to nothing but his sport."is The individual atmans, then, are seemingly required to utilize the prakrtis in order to attain knowledge of the nature of atman and God. 113 �While the first half of the text deals with the necessity of realizing that God is absolutely distinct from the two prakrtis, the second half purports to help those who have that realization attain God himself. Ramanuja discusses the four types of people who resort to God, and elevates highest those called jnanin, those who know “the atman as an entity different from prakrti but wish to attain God himself, because they know that God alone is the highest aim to reach.”i6 In the section titled "On the Excellence of the Supreme Person, On the Different Kinds of Jnanins and On the Proper Form of Bhakti,"i^ Ramanuja reiterates his notion that the spiritual and non-spiritual parts of the universe are all equally pervaded by God, and that God does so "in order to reign and maintain them, although they themselves [the spiritual and non­ spiritual beings] are unable to see him. In this way all beings depend on God because they constitute his body.''^^ He further explains the distinction between God and his two prakrtis by stating that God is "not conjoined with them by nature, [but] supports them by his own miraculous power.''^^ God is thus the originator of the prakrtis, but not the cause of the acts of the prakrtis; he only furnished the conditions under which the gunas, the operational forces of prakrti, create inequalities between beings, not the inequalities themselves. This central teaching, of the distinction between God and the prakrtis, despite the fact that the prakrtis originate from God and are pervaded by him, is at the crux of the text, but the attainment of God himself through the practice of bhakti rounds out the text as the last act of the one who is truly devoted to God. At the last, Ramanuja says that "it is only through bhakti that God may be either known by the Shastras, or experienced directly, or approached as he really is."20 The last stage of the jnanin is bhakti, devoting oneself wholeheartedly to God, while remaining firm in the knowledge of the distinction of God and prakrtis. Even low castes and women can come to experience God through bhakti, for "when one has found one’s sole support on God and in virtue of boundless and unsurpassed love enabled one’s mind to experience Him, one shall attain Him.’’2i However, the ability for bhakti to be undertaken by those who do not have the advantage of being able to actively pursue knowledge of the nature of God makes one 114 �question whether knowledge is a necessary part of salvation any longer. If the individual can come to experience God through whole-hearted devotion to Him, then what need is there of any knowledge at all? Endnotes 1. Van Buitenen, JAB. Trans. Ramanuja on the Bhagavadgita. New Delhi: Dass, 1969. 99 2. Ibid., 100 3.Ibid. 4. Ibid., 49 5. Ibid., 49-50 6. Ibid., 100 7. Ibid., 55 8. Ibid., 101 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid., 50 11. Ibid., 101 12. Ibid., 92 13. Ibid., 95 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid., 101-102 16. Ibid., 104 17. Ibid., 18. Ibid., 114 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid., 132 21. Ibid., 121 Primary Text Van Buitenen, J.A.B. Trans. Ramanuja on the Bhagavadgita. New Delhi: Dass, 1969. 115 �Chaucer's Grisild: Constreyned by Maistrie Leah Weed As the beloved fifth husband of the wife of Bath once had been, the clerk of the Canterbury pilgrimage is an Oxford scholar. Like the much-wedded wife, this clerk is well-read and has traveled abroad. The clerk speaks little, but what he does say is “short and quik, and ful of hy sentence.''^ He is enamored of erudition: "For hym was levere have at his beddes heed/ Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,/ Of Aristotle and his philosophie,/ Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.''^ He is a serious young man who values learning over wealth. The clerk does not pursue riches; indeed, he is unashamed to live at the expense of others. His tale is admittedly taken from another, yet his embellishments of it indicate his quick wit. The clerk's narrative closely follows Petrarch’s, but where Petrarch’s "Griselda" recommends patience in marriage only to wives, the clerk’s additions are in keeping with Chaucer’s recurring theme in The Canterbury Tales of extending this recommendation to husbands. The clerk’s tale seems a clear response to the wife of Bath’s prologue and tale. The wife declares herself an expert on the "wo that is in mariage’’^ and decries the prevalent misogynist literature which denounces women as incapable of fidelity and in need of mastery. She complains that "no womman of no clerk is preysed. The clerk, whan he is oold, and may noght do/ Of Venus werkes worth his old sho,/ Thanne sit he doun, and writ in his dotage/ That wommen kan not kepe hir manage!’’Chaucer’s clerk, telling a tale of extreme "wo” in marriage - one which, however, like the wife’s marriage to her fifth husband, ends happily - acquits himself of the charge the wife of Bath brings against clerks. He retells another clerk’s tale [that of an elderly clerk, in fact) which illustrates a woman’s fidelity in the most trying of circumstances. The wife of Bath quotes Dante to illustrate that children are not necessarily like parents, and that "gentillesse cometh fro God alone.”^ The tale of Grisild which the clerk relates likewise notes that daughters are not necessarily like fathers, and that heredity and education are not the sources of nobility and wisdom. The 116 �clerk concludes his tale and dedicates his envoy’s “song" to "the wyves love of Bathe."^ He acknowledges that scholars rarely praise women and that, while Job gets lots of press, "Ther kan no man in humblesse hym acquite/ As womman kan, ne kan been half so trewe/ As wommen been.”^ The clerk's envoy’s warning to husbands not to test their wives’ patience and his advice to wives to vocally and fiercely defend their interests would seem to directly oppose the moral Petrarch has intended his tale to convey. The clerk has taken a scholar’s tale of wifely patience and tweaked it to challenge jealous husbands’ insistence on mastery and deceit, an emendation likely to be approved of by the wife of Bath. Though Chaucer may well have been familiar with the original version of Griselda’s story in Boccaccio’s Decameron, the version of the story cited by the clerk, which he has clearly memorized and closely translates, is Petrarch’s. That Chaucer was aware of the existence of Boccaccio’s tale and the motivations of Petrarch in translating and expanding it, appears certain. The clerk’s explanation of Petrarch’s reason for telling the tale mirrors his letter to Boccaccio explaining his motivation in translating the story. Petrarch explains in this letter, as the clerk does in his tale, that Griselda’s example of patience should help all persons submit themselves to the will of God. Both Petrarch in his letter to Boccaccio and the clerk in his tale go on to cite the Apostle James’ claim that God tempts no man, then to say, somewhat contradictorily, that God "still may prove us, and often permits us to be beset with many and grievous trials.The clerk notes that God "preeveth folk al day ... And suffreth us ... With sharp scourges of adversitee.”^ The clerk, like Petrarch, explains that God does not test us to enhance His knowledge of our characters or intentions, as He already knows each human’s frailties.Both Petrarch and the clerk indicate that the intention is not that wives should imitate Griselda. However, while Petrarch explains that her patience "seems to me almost beyond imitation," he implies that, if it were achievable, such sufferance would be desirable.^! Chaucer’s clerk, on the other hand, says that, if wives were to emulate Grisild, it would be "importable.’’i2 The clerk tells a tale of extreme wifely obeisance, but in his interjected commentary, he discourages such subjection. 117 �In The Decameron, Boccaccio’s storyteller, Dioneo, prefaces his Griselda tale by describing the actions of the marquis as "senseless brutality,” remarking that "it was a great pity that the fellow should have drawn any profit from his conduct/’^^ Petrarch, in his retelling, does not comparably condemn Walter, though he characterizes the marquis’ inclination to test Griselda’s fidelity as "a desire more strange than laudable.Chaucer’s clerk, however, does forcefully condemn Walter. He interjects into Petrarch’s text exclamations of outrage at the marquis’ treatment of Grisild and small details that highlight the humanity of Grisild and her father, thereby increasing readers’ sympathy for them. This is in keeping with The Canterbury Tales' recurrent concern with the abuses and dishonesty of those in positions of power. Before describing Walter’s initial test of Grisild, the taking of her first child, the clerk insists in an aside to his listeners that "as for me, I seye that yvele it sit/ To assaye a wyf whan than it is no need,/ And putten hire in angv^ssh and in drede.’’^^ In Petrarch’s version the young daughter has been weaned when she is taken, but in Chaucer’s she has just nursed a short time, heightening the sense of the mother’s anguish and dread. Chaucer also inserts the specifics of Grisild’s blessing of her daughter, whom Grisild believes she will not see again, thus highlighting the mother’s grief. When Walter has "caught yet another lest/ To tempte his wyf’ by taking from her their second child, a son, the clerk exclaims, "0 needles was she tempted in assay!/ But wedded men ye knowe no mesure,/ Whan that they finde a pacient creature.”!^ As the marquis wonders at Grisild’s patience at the loss of her children, knowing her to have been a devoted mother, the clerk inserts into Plutarch’s tale a question prompted by outrage: "now of wommen wolde 1 axen fayn/ If thise assayes myghte nat suffise?/ What koude a sturdy housbonde moore devyse/ To preeve hir wyfhod and hir stedefastnesse,/ And he continuynge evere in sturdinesse?’’!^ When Walter is about to ask Grisild to return to her father’s home and make way for his new wife, the clerk denounces this "wikke usage’’!^ of her. The clerk also adds to the tale a wistful memory of their wedding day. Grisild recalls and reminds Walter "how gentil and how kinde/ Ye semed by youre speche and youre visage/ The day that maked was oure mariage!”2o She goes on to note that "Love 118 �is noght oold as whan that it is newe."2i The clerk supplements Petrarch’s tale with Grisild's father’s cursing of "the day and tyme that Nature/ Shoop hym to been a lyves creature/’^^ so distraught is he that, as he had feared, the marquis has had his way with his daughter and disposed of her. The clerk also invents a moving detail: When she returns barefoot and bare-headed, in just her smock, to her father’s home, Grisild’s old clothes no longer fit her.23 The young maiden of the wedding day is no more. While Petrarch’s admiration of Griselda’s wifely forbearance is tempered in the clerk’s telling of her tale by outrage at the way in which she has been mistreated, the message that nobility is not conferred by birth is retained. Boccaccio’s Dioneo, in the original version of The Decameron, notes that "celestial spirits may sometimes descend even into the houses of the poor, whilst there are those in royal palaces who would be better employed as swineherds than as rulers of men.’’^^ Petrarch, followed by Chaucer’s clerk, repeatedly drives home the message "that under low degree/ [is] ofte vertu hid.’’^^ The clerk even suggests a parallel between Grisild and Jesus when he reflects that "God somtyme senden kan/ His grace into a litel oxes stalle.’’^^ The most admirable characters are not necessarily the high-born. The narrator in his prologue speaks most reverently of the poor village parson and his plowman brother. The wife of Bath asserts, "gentillesse [...] descended out of old richesse [...] is nat worth an hen.’’^^ It is of Christ "we clayme [...] oure gentillesse,/ Nat of oure elders for hire old richesse.The person who behaves most virtuously is the most noble. Similarly, education does not ensure wisdom. Grisild, though uneducated, is a wise and effective leader in her husband’s absence. The narrator asks in the prologue, when describing the manciple - a much less admirable character than Grisild - "Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace/ That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace/ The wisdom of an heep of lerned men?’’^^ As the wife of Bath asserts, "genterye/ Is nat annexed to possession,’’^^ and ones "gentillesse cometh fro God alone.’’^^ Chaucer champions noble deeds and wisdom and argues that the capacity for them is not inherited. He is clearly concerned with the inherent contradiction 119 �between a social order that associates noble birth and wealth with value and a Christianity that embraces poverty. The unjust treatment of women, experienced by Griselda, is noted by many of the storytellers in The Canterbury Tales. In "The Man of Law’s Tale," Constance - like Griselda - patiently endures unimaginable suffering (hers, however, primarily at the hands of evil stepmothers rather than at the hands of her husbands), and still maintains her faith. Though she is an emperor's daughter, her high birth does not afford her independence. Like Emily in "The Knight's Tale," Constance does not have the power to choose her life’s course and notes that "Wommen are born to thralldom and penance,/ And to been under mannes governance."^^ jn "The Physician’s Tale," the virtuous maid, Virginia, notes the injustice of the biblical sacrifice of Jepte’s daughter: as "God it woot, no thing was hir trespass."^^ Virginia is then sacrificed, for the sake of her father’s honor, in comparable fashion. Daughters are disposed of as fathers see fit. And men, whether they place women on pedestals or revile them, have absurd perceptions of them. Sir Thopas, though he is love-lorn and obsessed with unreal chivalric romance, imagines that "in this world no womman is/ Worthy to be" his mate, so goes off to seek an elf-queen.^'^ The merchant has Proserpyne, in conversation with Pluto, belittle Solomon and other misogynist male authors: "I sette right noght, of al the vileynye/ That ye of wommen write, a boterflye!’’35 The merchant refers to the widespread literary argument, so hateful to the wife of Bath, that no wives are true, but also references the record of forbearing wives and martyrs for feminine chastity. Neither body of literature provides a woman much encouragement. The clerk, in the person of the envoy, warns husbands not to test their wives and advises women to assert themselves, as is echoed throughout The Canterbury Tales. Indeed, freedom, generosity, equality (in libido, if not in age), and mutual respect are presented as the basis for a successful marriage. In "The Franklin’s Tale," a knight pledges to his beloved that "nevere in al his lyf he, day ne nyght,/ Ne sholde upon hym take no maistrie/ Agayn hir wyl, ne kithe hire jalousie,/ But hire obeye, and folwe hir wyl in al.”36 As a result of his giving her "so large a reyne,"^'^ she chooses to be his "humble trewe wyf.’’^^ The franklin views marriage as a 120 �partnership, a friendship, and says that "friends everich other moot obeye,/ If wol longe holden comaignye./ Love wol nat been constreyned by maistrie./ Whan maistrie comth, the God of Love anon/ Beteth his wynges, and farewell, he is gon!"39 The franklin says that both women and men desire liberty, and that the one most patient in love has the advantage. Both the young squire and the manciple note that a caged bird, however well cared for and fed, wants to escape and eat worms.'^o Attraction to the new, Chaucer suggests, is natural for man and for woman. The parson, who does not believe those who claim "that they ne be nat tempted in hir body,”'^i advises that "a man sholde here h5mi with his wif [...] in suffraunce and reverence."42 in "The Knight's Tale" - based on Boccaccio’s "II Teseida” - an independent-minded woman winds up happy with a husband who respects her, loves her, and "hire serveth so gentilly."^^ The marriages of Emily and Palamon and of Dorigen and Arveragus illustrate that generosity and mutual respect are key to a successful union. Repeated throughout the Tales is the warning that jealous attempts to master a wife by force are counterproductive. The Shipman, in his tale, notes - as did the wife of Bath - that wives want husbands to be obedient and "fressh abedde.”'^'^ In "The Miller’s Tale” a jealous elderly husband who keeps his wife "narwe in cage”‘^5 jg cuckolded. The young wife Alisoun successfully makes fools of the men who desire her, and is the only character to emerge from the events of the tale unscathed. In "The Reeves Tale” we are told that "jalous folk ben perilous everemo;/ Algate they wolde hire wyves wenden so.”^^ But the miller, a jealous husband and protective father, however perilous he may be, is cuckolded and defied by his daughter. In the "Wife of Bath’s Tale” a rapist learns that what women desire most is sovereignty over their husbands and lovers;^^ is reformed and rewarded when he puts himself in his wife’s "wise governance.In the merchant’s story of a January-May marriage, January imagines that a young wife will be more easily manipulated than an older, wiser woman would be; "certeynly,” he claims, "a yong thing may men gye,/ Right as men may warm wex with handes plye.”^^ Though he calls May his "lady free,”5o January’s "jalousie it [is] so ourageous,/ That neither in halle, n’yn noon oother hous,/ Ne in noon oother place. 121 �neverthemo,/ He nolde suffer hire for to ryde or go/’^i January’s attempts at mastery do not prevent May’s infidelity. In "The Manciple’s Tale’’ Phebus, the flower of knighthood and chivalry, is a jealous husband who murders his wife when he learns of her infidelity, but then is filled with remorse. Throughout The Canterbury Tales, attempts to secure fidelity by force and a short leash are doomed to failure. Petrarch, in his letter to Boccaccio, points to the "precept of Horace in his Art of Poetry, that the careful translator should not attempt to render word for word.’’ Petrarch tells Boccaccio, "I have told your tale in my own language, in some places changing or even adding a few words.’’^2 his retelling, Petrarch adds some words and subtracts others. He removes Boccaccio’s comment that avoidance of marriage is an indication of wisdom. He also removes his accusation that the marquis’ treatment of his wife is irresponsible. Chaucer in turn gives the tale his spin, in his own language, challenging the wisdom of Walter’s cruel and deceptive trial as well as that of the unstinting devotion of Grisild. Chaucer’s clerk asserts that prudent wives should not allow humility to silence them nor give scholars the opportunity to write of them a story like the one told of Griselda.^^ They should not suffer in silence, but stand up for themselves. Endnotes 1. Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Canterbury Tales. London: Everyman Library, Orion Publishing Group, 2004.10:306 2. Ibid., 9:293-296 3. Ibid., 158:3 4. Ibid., 116-117:706-710 5. Ibid., 188:1162 6. Ibid., 255:1170 7. Ibid., 248:932-938 8. Petrarch, Francis. "The Story of Griselda: to Boccaccio." Trans. Peter Sadlon. 10 Sep. 2007. Web. 15 Feb. 2012 <http://petrarch.petersadlon.com/read_letters.html?s=pet06.html>. 9. Chaucer 254:1155-1157 10. Chaucer 254:1159-1160; Petrarch "The Story...” 11. Petrarch, "The Story..." 12. Chaucer 254:1144 13. Boccaccio, Giovanni. The Decameron. Trans. G. H. McWilliam. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1972. 813 122 �14. Petrarch, Francis. "Petrarch: The Tale of Griselda." Trans. Peter Sadlon. 10 Sep. 2007. Web. 15 Feb. 2012 <http://petrarch.petersadlon.com/griselda.html>. 15. Chaucer 234:460-462 16. Ibid., 237:560 17. Ibid., 239:619-623 18. Ibid., 241:696-700 19. Ibid., 244:785 20. Ibid., 246:852-854 21. Ibid., 246:857 22. Ibid., 247:902-903 23. Ibid., 247:915-917 24. Boccaccio, Decameron. 824 25. Chaucer 233:425-426 26. Ibid., 227:206-207 27. Ibid., 187:1109-1112 28. Ibid., 187:1117-1118 29. Ibid., 18:573-575 30. Ibid., 188:1146-1147 31. Ibid., 188: 1162 32. Ibid., 131:286-287 33. Ibid., 341:242 34. Ibid., 385:791-795 35. Ibid., 285:2303-2304 36. Ibid., 311:746-749 37. Ibid., 311:755 38. Ibid., 311:758 39. Ibid., 311:763-766 40. Ibid., 305-305:610-617; Chaucer 524:163-174 41. Ibid., 550:816-817 42. Ibid., 594:2616-2618 43. Ibid., 82:3104 44. Ibid., 365:177 45. Ibid., 86:3225 46. Ibid., 107:3961-3962 47. Ibid., 185:1138-1139 48. Ibid., 190:1231 49. Ibid., 263:1429-1430 50. Ibid., 281:2138 51. Ibid., 280:2087-2090 52. Petrarch "The Story..." 53. Chaucer 255-256:1189-1197 Primary Texts Boccacio, Giovanni. The Decameron. Trans. G. H. McWilliam. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1972. Print. Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Canterbury Tales. London: Everyman Library, Orion Publishing Group, 2004. Print. 123 �Petrarch, Francis. "Petrarch: The Tale of Griselda.” Trans. Peter Sadlon. 10 Sep. 2007. Web. 15 Feb. 2012 <http://petrarch.petersadlon.com/griselda.html>. Petrarch, Francis. "The Story of Griselda: to Boccaccio.” Trans. Peter Sadlon. 10 Sep. 2007. Web. 15 Feb. 2012 <http://petrarch.petersadlon.com/read_letters.html?s=pet06.htm 1>. �19111846R00073 Made in the USA Charleston, SC 07 May 2013 �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. 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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 SF_Early_Writings_2013 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Connolly, Brian (Editor) Ondocsin, Jeff (Editor) Wilhite, Jesse (Editor) Zehnder, Matthew (Editor) Smith, Alycia (Cover Design) Wood, Joan Marie Bernstein, Elliot Leavy, William Olsen, April Wycliff, Grant Mancini, Jules Creighton, Mary Cowling, Kevin Eagan, Anthony Weed, Leah Academic journal Early Writings Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/785cbc59f7ea97ccf71c972147cdefd2.mp4 9e136c955992d09c6c2954de8e62da68 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 mp4 Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:58:49 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Vital Exuberance: Goethe on What Plants Want Description An account of the resource Video recording of a lecture delivered on September 15, 2023, by Daniel Carranza as part of the Formal Lecture Series.<br /><br />The lecture conducts a close reading of Goethe's poem on the "Metamorphosis of Plants" by situating it within Goethe's larger scientific endeavor to understand what it means for a being to be a specifically living being, in particular what the kind of wholeness exhibited by the organism, whether plant, animal, or human, looks like. Particular attention will be paid to the philosophical resources upon which Goethe draws in his scientific investigation of nature, in particular Aristotle's four causes, the fourth, formal one of which is decisive for Goethe's morphology or study of living forms, and Spinoza's conatus, which Goethe understood as the organism's own endeavor to persevere in and more fully realize its own being.<br /><br />Professor Carranza is an assistant professor and Director of Graduate Studies in the Department of Germanic Languages &amp; Literatures at Harvard University. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Carranza, Daniel 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 2023-09-15 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 to: make a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online; 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 moving image Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp4 Subject The topic of the resource Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 1749-1832--Knowledge--Botany Plant morphology Spinoza, Benedictus de, 1632-1677 Aristotle Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Carranza_Daniel_2023-09-15_ac Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/9ff8008938037cda52b6fc22810feddc.mp3 510dfd251d11e27420a8f3ffba2de557 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.) 00:36:15 Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Casey, Dylan Patrick Title A name given to the resource Surprises and Sweet Spots: On Discovery and Recognition Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-02-08 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on February 8, 2013, by Dylan Casey as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Casey_Dylan_2013-02-08_ac Subject The topic of the resource Surprise Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/1bb7aeca3be07f8c6e7a7a3ad7abda18.mp3 db6ab2cb4ebceac24eecb3f8b45f3777 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 CD Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:51:47 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 Casson, Douglas Title A name given to the resource Stabilizing Currency: Locke on Money, Morality, and Natural Law Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2011-04-01 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 1, 2011, by Douglas Casson as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I herby grant St. John's College permission: To make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. To make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. To make an audio recording of my lecture available on the St. John's College web site." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Subject The topic of the resource Locke, John, 1632-1704. Essay concerning human understanding. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Casson_Douglas_2011-04-01_ac Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/b2f5accbca7cd9bac930af1f9d893347.pdf 4381ad06490b12012163917cc7d1e02f PDF Text Text T HE C 0 L L E G I A N St. John's College May, 1963 �On the Ornamental Cosmos Charles Antell of the Ritz is walking along the avenue with his golden hairs glistening and his fingernails glistening -and his eyeballs glisfening because he polishes them with a soft cloth every eveni~g ori.e -~huri.d-red times. --What are you looking ·'a.t, Charles Antell durley locks? My eyes my eyes my delicate eyeballs are mirrors. The appearance of each new poet is indicated by a sea1. The poets are listed at the end of the volume. I•m looking at the back of a reflection (the world sees the world in my eyes) )eyes my in world the sees 1 �Image Time, a tart pn tilted stilts trips boldly through the courtyard. Her dresses move about her form Tehee1 she shouts and shakes her hips at me, _ the drooling watcher. yes, we fly through the air' -a pattern of black birds, crossing and recrossing f floating with the ease o - our wings ; .. upon the cold sky beautiful alone beautiful in our changing pattern 2 3 �On a Poet who is this fuzzy mouthed egotist who thinks he In this nighttime there is a never ending repetition of rain and a stirring of small winds across the surface of my cheeks. I will sit here by the window waiting for your face at the door, ~­ your hand on the handle, and I will remember you. can own five_ sparrows? . the period king, word scrambler, jester, peste:r-, persistent procrastinator, redundancy's minister . : _:." ~ It was once, passing through a door, that I raised my head and was awash in yoµr eyes, that I was swept back into the room from which I had just come come) t um b 1 to feel the startled muscles of my mouth leaping, i and the short moment's blue ocean engulf me. n g (i.n dow The light comes and goes, a succession of landscapes and photographs, laughing faces, waving hands, and two men clasping each other by the shoulderse A small child sings as she stumbles, and you pause to watch her. nf · the st eps -the night's up (nig~t mare horses leaping) and singing voices in a 2.!;ce I would come home very cold from school and fall asleep on my bed wrapped in a red and blue quilt, hearing the rain outside my window. Will you come down the hill to the river now? The dry rain falls upon grey leaves, curling in the grass. Will you come to this place where I am neither myself nor anyone: The leaves cover the sidewalk like snow and the rain falls onto paper. room faces in the dark (eyes fall feet falling head falling face closing .door . opening baby baby fall i Stop motionless against the sky, come quietly. You will touch me before I can reach my hand to your face. 4 5 . �Do ± Detec~ a Sudden Change of Fancy? o squeeze your sausage fingers your short thick glossy hands with their dry packed fingers People's faces pop shut moving within th~ms'e~ ve' . as over hot coals. s the top and witness me squirming in my chair. Pepsi Cola, say the passionless red letters my stomach is liquid, the heat within my throat boils over: goe~ on the bottle which span the surface (this and something more ~are warm fluid flowing beneath the still skin. which I not repeat to myself): I see your fingers touch that book, the advertisement ignores the contents the brown hair on the backs of your hands, concea1ment by the congealed exterior. Oh America -- the strand of grey hair stuck to the; armpit of your jacket, the selfish small mouth refused tome, You don your dust colored glasses, and know the low slow sucking tide of my blood you trample as you turn away. as I touch you with my eyes. If I could pull a chartreuse or purple mustach from out of my nose and wave it under your eyes until those same eyes widened in amazement, believe me, I would until you could once again know that I am of I have never seen your hands, yet dream of them in deference to your eyes which touch too harshly; for I am not strong enough to return this clasp of eyes. Bring your hand to me, one quick touch becoming substance. the air is rather thick in this corner, dearie, you can•t, I tell you, see through it. the touch of bodies, the easy blending of flesh before the moment spills away. 6 7 �·.. A Good Case for - -~,. .. · B~~!ity o I would taste the words, roll them in my wet mouth slowly tease them with the tongue, The chandelier's great light notice the juices, the salty flavor, and remember: illuminated the programs do they dissolve quickly, sliding easily down the throat, that the decorated women soon forgotten, and penguin men or do they remain, pungent aftertaste, memory of delight? wera :reading (as they sometimes do) and now as the cutglass chandelier dimmed the renowned pianist Rubinov Stanowsky slowly walked on stage quite penguined also and bowed ever so politely to the awed audience flicking back his tail (as he always does) he sat at the piano waited for complete silence raised his right hand and with one finger sounded a most magnif~cent A Arose bowed and left for that was all he had to say. ·. . f ' 8 9 �The Constant Variable I making little shadows of gray gray and white and brown filled my room stores stood as fortresses armed with irate .owners I had white curtains a paint-peeled door and two brown-streaked windows composed a shelter and on my bureau was a mirror doorways were clothed with men trying to escape the hungry cold I could see brown boxes against gray unshaven I could see a desk and two white bedspreads dirty sometimes I liked to lie on my bed among my furniture they outlined their building counterparts and sometimes I lay in the comfortable warmth and sometimes in the cold I - II had a rug on my floor it was gray some winter nights my room was warm when all the rest of the house dark hurts the eyes was cold for one tries to see it is impossible · to · see in the· ·dark but then some winter nights my room was cold when all the rest of the house was warm I my walls were gray :_ · - ..... quiet library gray can't : but then I don't try . ..:,; restricted prison gray . · -,.;· even gray red's a little too bright void of shadow I want something more subdued when light came through my window perhaps something with simpler lines it settled on my floor and never touched my gray walls no in my room I had a chair and a table that won't do at all a bureau and a bookcase that's a nice blue all of dark brown wood blue won't do their square shapes blocked the wall a room with furniture so square and cornered had gray walls it's snowing my room had two beds of dark brown wood I'll have to wear my galoshes I hate beautiful sndW :' ~ . · '· each had dull white bedspreads and I liked to run my fingers around the designs that were raised from my bedspreads 10 soft snow purring snow 11 ..... . �no blue won't do blue won't do I won't even try it because I know that I won't like it snow's gray and white now if it were red a~d blue - . ·~ snow's never red children should be quiet when it snows except underneath a sunset their noise is irreverent bright red lights I think that my bedspread's very nice paris is red you can walk down the streets when it's cold and glmv like a the yellow brings out gray steel ingot and gray brings out orange and the cold wind will sift your hair like flour and orange brings out green paris is music and green brings out red you can walk down a damp paris street I like red I wonder whether red brings out blue I like those designs too doesn't anything bring out white and bla9k red paris at three in the morning and hear a symphony of silence complete silence complacent quiet you can't start a fresh bottle until you 1 ve finished the old one a quiet of satisfaction then you sit and try to stomach stale milk a room with furniture so square and cornered had gray walls like stale coffee or stale wine I or stale cigarettes or stale cheese only that's better stale hate beautiful snow soft snow purring snoviT blue's stale like milk but I think it's .s topp.e d only it's blue skim milk's blue the tight cold turns everything to gray blue won't do the naked trees and the hard ground are all gray snow winter-beach-sand to run fingers through and make designs the gray clouds contain the sun and the sun like on yellow bedspreads pushes and fails 12 13 �but never stops pushing until ~'# finally wins until bright colors bloom and down in some paradises . stomp the gray is covered with the white of snow in the cold blue snow with parchment skins cracking no and bells blue won't do always bells high bells III bells that never went dong that radio's much too loud just ding a little consideration for your neighbors ding please ding until you leave in the cracking cold turn it down and you're claw.pad into the jaws of the· ·roaring subway lion pass the stuffing then home to four rooms no thank you and a bath in hot cloudy water I couldn't take another bite soft white underwear but it was delicious smooth and a stiff white shirt it's still too loud with atarch please make it lower that should have been soft inconsiderate neighbors french cuffs or button cuffs french are dressier yes your tree ~s khaki colored suit quite nice so brown tie· the whole street too just shining with bright light~ twice around over the parade was fun twice around the marching over with the feet then through up pull it straight 14 and :tight 15 ... �·~~ • J • • • IV like a noose he continued or was it once around thro~~h the city h.er maze.walled by steel over ringing steel and through whistling in the sky cold wet steel ' then you take her arm knifing the wind and you go dancing damp shadowed steel and you drink silently erect sip more dancing he drifted past the masses of squatting concrete. and sitting past t he cracked streets sip on which the claws of grinding car motors sent dark rubber ·wheels ·-humming and tc:tll:dng and then everyone stands and waits and you wonder whether you are trying to forget the last year or don't want to see the next one past the talking lights laughing in the rows of mirrors swallow v no more sips swallow all so alike · and then it's ended and it's begun and instead of air there's paper bits of colored paper long spiralled bits of colored paper and the sound of an old tinny band and ancient songs 16 17 :; : . �Pu12_.e;rty Explored you see there was this girl who was beautiful and built but her parents were rather prudish like midvictorian and they got this chastity belt .. with heavy l·ea- her straps t and they put it on her and kept it locked and guess who had the key mom so this girl goes around to lawn parties in the summer in her lowcut evening gown with this leather strap showing it was around her waist to her shoulder to her hips and below and ±t must have been six inches wide and two inches thick which is pretty goddam thick and she wasn• t particularly infatuated wi.th the thing so one night comes this lawn party and everyone was on the lawn and so was she when this real handsome guy jumps her but is somewhat deterred by the belt so she reaches between her breasts and pulls out this knife and gives it to the guy who cuts it off in one stroke Lord she says it's good to get rid of this thing Notice ·if you will the shape of her neck (sucli . p~~fection) . and her bone structure (truly magnificent) the nose (formed with classic lines) yes, pleci.Se observe the teeth. · aS they smile (in perfect alignment) . of course this is a rather poor photograph but I .' m sure that you notice the chin (bow delicate) and her lips (such perfect curves) is it any wonder that I love her? 19 �Just One More Amendment Please Thursday: Friday: Monday: Today my decision was made. After four years of weighing both sides carefully, I have decided against it. Shall write first draft of letter tomorrow. Tuesday: Composed three drafts of letter. First draft took ten minutes; second, four hours; third, four hours. draft as best. Wednesday: Decided on first Shall mail it tomorrow. Sent letter to Democratic National Committee telling them I had definitely decided not to seek the Presidential nomination for 1964. Thursday: Mailed it air-mail special delivery at 8:10 p.m. Still no word from Democratic headquarters. No mention of letter on radio, television, or in New York Times. Friday: Should I have sent letter by registered mail'? mention of letter. Still no Daily. News had an article . on the next to last page saying that the Democratic headquarters has been deluged with mail this year. Was my letter in the .deluge'? Have others also sent in letters declining to seek the nomination? Saturday: Sent a registered letter to Democratic National head- quarters saying that under no circumstances would I seek the Vice-Presidential nomination~ ·: . Mailed at 5:10 a.m. Sunday: As President I should have inptituted the practice of mail delivery on Sunday. Monday: Harper's came out today. No mention of my letter in it. Went to news stand and purchased Time, Newsweek and All had stories on Kennedy and Tuesday: u. s. Rock~f eller, Reporter. nothing on me. Received my subscribed copies of Time, Newsweek and Reporter. Still no mention of my letter in them. subscriptions to Harper's, Time, Newsweek, and Wednesday: u. s. u. s. Cancelled Reporter. Changing only the address and the word 'Democratic' a few times, I sent letter stating that I should be unable to accept the Presidential nomination to Republican National Headquarters. Still no word from Republicans or opposing party. Sent letter to New York Times asking the question 11 3 the common man in the United States powerless today?• quotations from Locke, Rousseau, -and Gasset. Used Mailed air-mail special delivery at 5:05 a.m. Saturday: Had a funny dream last night; went to read Bible, and, when I opened it, all the pages were blank. When I awakened, my hands were covered with blood. Weird. Sunday: Today I found solace in religion: Am getting too upset. what a party ticket, Moses and Christ. Monday: Received two letters tod·ay. Charming thank you note from Democratic National headquarters suggesting that I try Republicans. Also thank you note frdm Republic arts on ··engraved gilt-edged stationery suggesting that I try Democrates who seem to be in need of a few declens1ons to seek the nomination. two letters, one to Republicans, one to Democrats. to recall exactly what it was that I wrote. and Republicans received 11:45 a.m. Tuesday: Sent Can't seem Letters from Democrats Replies mailed 11:49 a.m. Sent telegram stating that I would be unable to seek the Presidential or Vice-Presidential nominations to Liberal Party headquarters at 4:18 a.m. · · ., Wednesday: Received telegram from Li b-eral Party headqifarters saying that they were sorry, but they had· already reached their quota of declensions to seek the nominations. But suggested that I try the Democrats or Republicans, or if not, I was certainly welcome to try to decline in 1968. Friday: Sent letter to Liberal Party headquarters asking the question, •Is this America, Land of the Free?• Also told them that it was my privilege to decline to seek the nomination on any party ticket that I wished. Though I really had no intention of declining on their ticket, I told them, because actually I was a Communist. I enclosed genuine parchment copies of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence with certain pertinent passages 20 underlined several times in red ink. Miss Rheingold election is fixed. 21 Christ, I'll bet even the �Somewhere in the Rain Swing Happy . It.. is raining outside now, very softly, and if I stand on the p()°~ch ~ u,pstairs I can see the ocean and the beach. I lik_ to swing . e around a crowded smoke-filled room - I . to the glowing music 1 Why do you ask? Oh, I suppose it is becauae. 7ou see that my left foot is still three inches above the grouud. 'Well, do not worry for ~ have not yet finished getting into i t . In just a few minutes I shall have my left foot down to the ground.' to move an4 glide._ and feel the deep ~sp_ring st~~-~gs -~ of hasfl.. 'That is very interesting. 1 inside me and send me beating and take a girl ~c~9ss . w~th t~e dark hair •Yes, indeed it is. made t·c»o -·s man.:.' moving room flQwin~ behind her 1 0r swinging with me then spin.. h~r past the But it's not my fault that the suit was · you too big.' •Young man,do you mind if I use your shoulder to push against?• tab~es •Will it take very much longer, for I must be off.' at which couples huddle over dark green bottles and see her eyes _ filling with .a and her white •Excuse me, Madam, but how did you get into that ' bathing suit? 1 ..., .. tee~h ~mj.ling ~parkling •Yes. But it . will take me only a few more minutes. only another inch and a half to go.• light at the sepsation of moving barefoot ' ". - _unaware of all that surrounds her but the muted trumpet have •Then go ahead, but ·please hurry.• happily so freely . I 'I may not loo·k 'very desirable with all of me flapping over my suit, but you should see me when I 1 m all in.' •You must be quite out.• ·~Vhen? • •When you're all in. 1 and the vibrating bass 'Oh, yes.' tossing her head back •And I saw the negro boys with t4eir large hands wrapped around the watermelons, their large black hands wrapped around their red watermelons.' like a wild pony •Pardon me?• 1 Real.ly nothing. Just a little social significance. farther have you to go?' •About an inch. How much Just hold still.' •Do you have this problem often?' •Every summer. There, now my left leg is resting on the ground.' •Can you walk?' 'I'm not sure. I've never tried • . I ~ jv..pt lean until I fall on the beach and just stay in that position and smile at the men who pass.• •Do they ever stop?' No. But they often slow down. They are quite amazed, but, you see, it's really nothing. What laps on the outside, I overlap on the inside. Do you see?' 1 . 22 23 �. 'Yes ·, I . think so• · Shall- I help ~you fall to the beach? 1 'That would be very kind of you. I'll just start tilting, and then .you catch me. That's very good. You seem quite experienced in these things.• 'Really? Well, I must admit that I don't get to do this very of ten, though I sometimes hold the bottom of ladders for my friends who are climbing them. 1 who is just like her mother but in tenth gra.de. Everybody says the daughter is just as disgusting as the mother •Well, how do ybu like what you see, '.'h one:Y,?'' You bought it at Macy's. 1 •It's a very nice suit. •Why yes, I did. You're qui t e an observant young man.' 'Oh, not at all. I merely read the label. on inside out. Shall I help you get up?' Your suit is but the boys still take her out for just one night. She gives them what they want and parts with The House With the Drawn Shades o~e The sh~des are always drawn with . professional discretion. . Many different cars park in the driveway ironic kiss. No boy's sincere or cares to compliment her brand new overgrown with grass dress. while their drivers enter the house stay for an hour or so One day she came to school late in the afternoon with scrapes on her freshly bruised neck and pay her as they happily leave acquired from her temperamental to return again ma. She said .they didn't hurt for more. Everybody knows of her and about her and shows no resp ect for her but they know she cried in bed all morning behind shades drawn or her daughter as in death. 24 25 �Unresolved I Make No Footprints i •• : Childhood In the north sea howl I call but it has •Iceberg' .· has :faded no~ gorie for· it calls ·to me but no one hears. and I follow its becko'riing .finger Leda with her s·oft fur wrap with wistful· backward , gla11~:es draws a small child's hand. Adulthood is not here The passing look, never twice. yet it lures me forward Hunchbacks with hints of future fame draw second looks. 'When I was a child, I spoke. • • ' •• became a man, I put • • • My youth wept of the passion. and ; . . : implic_a~io.P.s of hid,den knowledge and promises of a great love . -~ . So I stand an unnamed being at the fulcrum of the lever Why can't I weep now? I stop to watch myself fill , up. afraid to step forward or baokward for I know if I do the journey to the end Strange stopping with no I did not choose will be impossible coffin near. to ascend 26 27 �Cuba The day was such that the wind blew running through the grass Uncaptured and Unclaimed and the water lapped at ·the a:o;ck like an angry feline a cat is soft the sky was black and silky with all the anger of nature ·and ' vain against man, its walk flowing her bastard son. and graceful and smooth the eyes of a cat are penetrating or incinerating the cat is free Everything could have been so smooth and chooses only like a silver thread leading to the moon to visit man unbroken by the limits of finitude But instead and so does woman I cut it deliberately not with my nails in anger but with a single thought 28 29 �Riding a white horse, Wearing a sword, Singing the song. Come you travelling fellows. Come see your father In the straw. I am the rational· animal, . And yet, rationality cannot ' com~e nsate. .. The lack is obvious, . . .. And yet, I kno w not· what it - is. '· ' desi,re is there and . cent~_rs itself; And yet I know' ho.t what- on •. , Th~ '· ' Relieve yourself, give in . to. t:W-1. :(.ee.li~g. Disassociat~ me . an~ ~ rational~ Do this and I will'- ·believe _ ; Do this and perhaps I will $now .. Whether the intellect- trav::e.ls. where I go, The Idiot Or if the emotion strong; Is the real me. Red is Red, hat am I, a thing which feels, W Black is Black. And in feeling knows the lacking, But, my good sir! you must remember the And in the feeling knows not whether cause of the integral facets of the colloidal This is a real lack. suspension. 1 1 11 find out soon, The reason for the purple hue, the dew, For give in I must, The vapor, the lighting and angle Though satisfaction, I am sure, And a million a nd one p e rtinent f a cts W ill not be the result. And bits of extraneous information. I save me? I must be wrong! 30 . -~ ·.... 31 �Passing the Time It's a very nice day outside. I am in the house. Carefree The sun rises, stretches in the laughing sky and sets _ Scattering its purse of summer gold Friends are all over the world. While setting fire to the dewy meadows They are inside also. It shares the day with the lark's love caress. _The big city is nearby, But everyone in it is going someplace. I h.ave nothing . to do, And I am much like everyone. The whole world is . going so. eplace, m But it leaves everyone alone. Perhaps we are all inside the house With nothing to do but watch, As everyone goes. There is the blue of morning: . awakening bruised Do we really know that they also In the solitary dawn. Have nothing to do. There is the blue of noontime: blank monotone Riding high behind a brassy sun. There is the blue of dusk: crouching thief Everywhere and always feasting upon the empty heart. There is the blue of evening: frozen Into dark dreams by hopeless wishing -Pas tel searchers wandering Starless, moondrugged and alone. 32 33 �.:;.'• ·, ~:: Changeless Night •. -. -:. ,,._ .... ...~ ~":"- . · A · Son:g' by<tf::ii u:}- --~·~; _;;f .: (Early Surig Poet-2.;. 936"."97¢1 >·: · Thou wert black-nippled night L~..;.t-~- When ·Will-.. the On whom the famished dawn doth feed. ..,•: ···: . fiP'~~~~; '··or-· spri'.ng··.:- ~hd -' the ~oon .tfr..__ ~µ~.µmn , ~~"i~~~ii:~~!~i:~1~~~~i:·:;~~%~:e~;m:::~e~; High-.crested night Unq· ~~/:~'¥1e; -o~~ght:{ m~-ph., Whose arched neck bears proud the emblem of eternity. -~--- Ji~· .[ Whose song is a whirring whisper of sacred truth. And night, now you are quiet, busy streets to ·iook 'c. •--~.- . . -·.'" _ . . b~ck.~ at --=··:> _ Ra;Li~C~gs ~·t, eX'q_~s'.si-tely Frozen-lipped night cann~t .- bea:r I cl:fase .to be? my . fo r me r ki:r.igdqm:· carved wood and J.:a t tic es o ( I in.i:t..Y cu t j a de Shoulc;l still be there. ·' ._ .... But they · are· . ~<?. longe_ mizie. r - :.__._ , ·\, ... ·. :'...'. · ·: . 'Yo·~- · sir, · how .._~~ch g~ief do ; ou have?' . y On which a wayfarer of universal wondering still stops ', '. -· '· ~;t ·<· . i$ as a torr_ ent rushing eastward i~·-,the SJJ~_:Lng~' 1 My':_ rief ···g . ,:i:;.·' - . ' ·....... \ ! ·-- ~ ·~.:......... To doubt but then believe because . .- ·::~- '~:~:. ·.: . :-.. t~· .. . You must remain our goddess of. relief, · despai.r ·and sleep. . ·.:~~' \ ___ - .. ~,; ; '.,--:,..:__'. ··. --. · --·""-·i• . <61 . . ,. ,. •.;r-;.:,:--; I :'; :-: · ...... ./ -~ . ' - '..;.{ _;· · .. ,. ·. . , ... ··... 34 ,~ .. 35 ' ~· . . -. ~ �..-~· The Snake-Swift Building of the Years / the snake-swift building of _ the years to crystal clarity outgrows the tears of youth to claim the sky -of love on childhood's wings • . time's pinions ride the clo~ds locked · in siTence bright beneath the· -sun and more still than the stillness of the quiet "corr-i·dors . of memory. ii - ~- ···: . .. a girl's voice echoes through the hall, cascading over empty chairs I people with my eyes into an audience of love, and pours from dusty corners to return to that lone shado w ~,,..~ ~ ·= - ~- and her song. the yell?wed light drops gently to her shining eyes caresses fleetin gly her hair and having seen her fades again to dark . the song is over · and my people smile -- and vanish. 37 __ . _ ______ -,. ........ ..... ..... _. ~-~, �iii the spring grows green with memories of .. our lost loves, the pale mag:r;tolias. bloom_. with breasts of thqse . who slumber in their winding-sheets of snow. all we have lost returns to us' · but still we mourn. My uncle, out to impress me, Took me to the little town'.s chief bar And introduced me to a friend, An old Jewish comic Who had just been playing burlesque In Miami .. ,They talked for a while together: My uncle about his depressions and diabetes, The comic about audiences and crooks. I think the old fellow knew we stand tran$fixed beneath Why I was there, the circles of the stars For he kept his eye on me, and in their ever-shifting patterns we rejoice. And when he got up to do his routine, he said: "Before I start tonight folks, I ant to mention a friend who has Honored Us this evening with his presence;. • •" Politely, the audience clapped at my uncle's name. My uncle reddened and smiled all aver his face. Driving home, he asked me: "Well, what do you think of your old uncle now?", And whether I liked his friend. I told him the truth, of course: I had been impressed that evening with them both. 39 �Not to Notice is God's Great Mercy The young nurse· On a Happy Occasion With the golden hair By Gad, I hated you standing . there pregnant, And the remarkable breasts flaunting your belly, caressing· his .arm; Moves quietly across the private room : your glance, by its absence, said plainly _ you'd seen me, To fetch a diaper for the old woman as did your sweet smile, and excessive cha~m. Who grins senselessly • • Upon the bed. (but at least you st·tt11 cared enough not to. ~orgive fbr my love remaining when your love was gone.) me The old woman we.ts herself, now, She even fails to recognize them, The children The grandchildren The great-granchild Who gaze at her from pictures on the wall. Orsino Observed The great, full years, invisible to most, Now even hide from her. He holds his scret to him, Of beast and raging river: , .· Tum}>ling down See those shrunken breasts, Young woman, See that wrinkled crease Beneath the crown Which once received sharp pleasure Falls lordliness, the giver Of all his virtues to And delivered splendid sons. hi~. But the young nurse He holds him self ap a rt, W ith the golden hair To display secret .. sadness: Hardly seems to notice. Minor key Reaching f'or the diaper, Melody Her mind is busy elsewhere, Hints to some his madness, Planning dinner But hides the thundering, stricken heart. For her husband and their son. Nor need she. notice now. • Nor should she see. • • 40 41 • �In his memory. · .: ·. ·. But he got old, and No Final Request then an artery broke and tpe warm love of the sun tempered, and Into the North, made taut by an the vital land, : neat-set in the hills and built with teeming cities, Alien climate poured out, and he came, a long time past, : . •:"": ·. _: .; ; -· ':'. ~ . 1· . 1• • .:. • • • • • .,t with it him -- as if striving, he and the warm love, to find their way back From the soft, caressing to the land of his fathers -his birth-land, flat with its cotton and tobacco ·a nd beans and peanuts and red clay, flat and the clay both loved. In the cemetery, in the family plot, Where the thick pine woods are dense and sweet and hot in the haze of dust from the roads and feet of the pickers, and the river lazes east• there are three azaleas, ariff a .honey-and-bee-heavy . . ; wisteria climbing on a cream-dotted magnolia. Quiet, haze, heat, North he came, heavy scent, rest; and strode through that alien, far-from-his-life land, and like so man of his kind and so many of his kind there, in the coolness to know only 1I dreamed and did, and all his ·'- am home. ' · He'll dream about that Life was sweat and pain. when he looks out But he said it was good, and he had learned of men and ways wise in all this, ' - .--l. -' from his mountain-cold grave North : . ~ .. ~ . ;;: oh~ : _·'·:i:t·.-. .. and in his quietness. . .·.. military .:. .. And like so many of his kind, there was 1 down home• always, b~loved artd imaged like old satin glowing fro m age and love. An alien in an alien place · foreign to all he ever knew or loved· t forever no more 'down home.• ~ 42 - ·; ·· he had a fine �Summer Days River Song That summer was lifted limb by limb Up in to the. -~r~e 'Bright, splashed-greens whirled-blues o~ tside Up into the leaves, my window, And from each hight, . always living, Over dandelion distanc·es . clear and clean-tumbling Completed in a breath by bees, sparkling sun~reflecting unhindered onflow. . ,. - + :. In spring tearing-up, clearing', '· . swe~ping befor~ . ~ .~ . Each day was . lifted into morning • - My mother .gav·e he.r: it; gro~ery list, in winter, stillness and lace-lovely And the birds thr,ew parties in the air, ice-loving frosted Yelling their names across in note.s young water roaring. To new and old a9quaintances. And then at noon a string of ants, Down, soft slow-lengthened Strung into families of feet, passage of ·still-deep Went somewhere .up or down the tree, noon haat darkening wavering One step - and brother at a time. tree-weeping The wind in_the le_iyes aboye my window c moss-bedded fern quilted, Set shadows moving over the grass, probably holy -swim holey cow-lapping boyhooded ·'i·i ver, Over the green leaves on my cup. - . . .. To Benny, our gardener, who drank, backfloating, or raft drifting And drove a beautiful red bike love-counched, soaking up sun. With blue strea,mers on the handlebars, Shadows were a bother, like the lawn; Bend making, and slow-turning chocolate, crow flow'h . a~d . cat swum, He turned the sprinklers on both of them, foam edged Under our house, and in the air, The water ringing in the _pipes ·haze heavy tide pushed backwater· ~· · · Until my mother told him, Wait, log-moving swallowing storm spawning You come back and water when they're gone • • • fertile ·· replenisher; but most of all mud loaded, new-earth former, They struck the passing cars, struck -fire beloved Instantly, .and feel in the evening. untimed and untiming. I hid my face and cried, afraid, Until the lion of our company Slapped me, and kissed me bravely, 44 Lifting me up from the deep grass. 45 �On Sundays, Listening to the Little On Sundays, listening to' the little .. Wind shakes ~he spider's thread, three-foot singing sensation The sunlight slips a Ld breaks. of the National Baptist Convention•: Then sunlight out of broken sunl:ight breaks, WindspedQ ; the all-weathered owner of unnumbered ... ... ~· .. ~ . • street-corners, cravats and fiends and, here and there, himself, Harry walks out of theY (questioning fair d·aylight singing) down steps almost in time, his fingers patted from one equally through ten, to break Two Parts Invented today hopefully yesterday's fall, and a squat Ever-U!Y!brella Lady ahoy, ·conducting your car's path away, goes up in feathers as you go by, Mister Aftermath, ··who comes and goes My mind moves on to beauty, and beauty taken, moves on and on to ever, ever moving and overtaken by waving everywhere: •Come aboard suddenly, for always there's song abroad on certain Sundays, and for sure Pigeons 1 are we who don't dirt ever, from stone to stone stepping in a stream, from ever to ever in a silence singing, on and on -- it moves a r:ay. 2 we will scream forever at red light s, and refreshed by Caution, be thrown I wonder, by listening, to wings and blessed by green lights what am I singing myself, on Sundays, such as you ask me, then at once three-foot ~ singing sensations· of sweet marjoram and sunrise.• explain, seeing my confusion, how my hand seems moving in time to you, it seems so. I say, No w you are seeing things, now and we sing on together. 46 ~. ' ·,: .. 47 • .J • • ~ - : �We the Honoured of a Green Land •and, behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcass of the lion.• · ·Jud~es, Chap. 14,8 'At sea there is nothing to be seen close by • • •' Sarah Orne Jewett, The Country of the Pointed Firs There was nothing to be seen close by, We the honoured of a green land attend this Birth. the distances were pointless blue, We who were fed with the cracked bones of birds until the captain took to drinking Have this report from a people of the desert, imagina~ion, A flowing of spears in the angles of a river. and as he sailed beyond himself, And the lion murdered this evening with joy described the islands and the fish, Swells like a river in rain of great sweetness, until his ship encircled him. like a fool; The spears in our hands are trembling yet with bees. And the women paint their thi~hs a thousand times, And yet the captain sailed beyond, Maddening breathless men with the smell of eagles. if not beyond where he had been, Unclosed sores are comforted with seamless cloth, nor travelling in terms of wind, A land of green stones is washed.with the spit of yet beyond knowing where he was; children. We the living and the dead attend this Birth. he could not say how this was so, except to say he was at sea, with nothing to be seen close by. 48 �- -- --- - 4 - -- - - - - - ---- -- ... · Library Rea.:ding Room minds at work. the s _ tones of ·~ Jaranes ~ of sand spacing the distanc~s ~ --------...-.. distant WOrldG of th6'ught. they, we all sit. e high, echoing room where turn us all to flurried 'biras. _,f - c;;__ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .~ _____ _ ___ ·-- - ------... �Road Cha~t: 1956 thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder; run with tar, melts you under, thumbs to the moon, hearts to the sky, Fields, fields, many hundreds of green fields, rounded fields, . caught in ·tfre storm, and one farmer riding a mule to home. soul always saying, why, why, why, and answer the soul with your quiet foot cry, say that without it your eyes would soon die Kansas and Arkansas, blackbirds and corn, everything moves one ' way, the other way, the stalks in a body, side to side like mourners. hobogregorians chanting their chant, Noon and rain, the day like night, singing their song, rattling shutters and something forgot in the barn, screaming along, wind skips a basket, bouri~i~g fr~~ down the ~lope, towards the run, run, run, run, shed. this is for fighting this is for fun search till you find that holy town where holier gods come tumbling down and grant you forever the golden crown. 52 53 �The Poem Called Dusk Dust of horses. Women and dying men. The stones on the clubs soak red moist into their cold pits, blood melting into the palmed granite. The wagon rumbling on, creaking up the slope. Then the songa . and the feasts and the dancing and sleep.) No baby cries within the new-wood box, cushioned with used diapers, Watching the shadows of those years, squashed against the aged pine-board, he is dead as his grandaughter, iron-hinged wagon sidings. the baby, Betty Shoots-Alone, her chest wheezing that afternoon, The small grave over Charbonneau Creek, swept in grass like the wispy, sucking and rasping, and racked. Her death song a muted chortle. white hair of Grant Iron Lightning when he stands so still, The western skies split apart, watching the spring dances. and rain flushes gullies in the thin grained dirt. And his eyes crease like the puckered pouch, beaded, hanging at his belt. Lightning sears, a white sheen, like fear in the hearts of children. The rings within his trunk have dried Against the hill, the bearers tight as rawhide round the rock. • • outlined like charred trees, (ornamented with tassels of trader's yarn, bought for a squaw, five minutes against a deer-greased thigh, along the slippery, shaded bank of the Platte. Buffalo glue also, from the hoof, keeps the yarn in place. And porcupine guard hair dyed vermillion and the rawhide-covered stick handle, once parchment yellow, now oiled black with sweat. The sweat of much fear, solitary, and overcome by clenching the sweat club tight in the fist, while galloping at breakneck speed toward the camp of Crows. The dawn holds her breath. They plunge in silent attack. or statues aged in coal. The storm is blunted by their silence. 'What's that bunch of injuns doin' in this mess,' says a surveyor, peering through the staccato-t8pping rain on his split-shingled roof. The man running naked from his teepee. The beginning of screams. Sun just flooding up. The heart. The beating of hooves. Coming upon him -- bewilderment in a glance -- beside him -- lean over the whipping mane --, and the contorted spine of a man shrinking from a blow with upraised arms -- too late -- and past the falling victim who behind crumples. The camp now alive with: The screams and noises. 54 55 �Early Fall at ~~as D'O~, Nova Scotia The Home all shut Dawn; and the swimmer on top the tall piling,- to night. Eye dancing with lake. spread· sun, · And _ -windows like lanterns and the wind Body clothed in a swooning chill. in the garden. The deep citadel, · his consciousness-, drawh far within. Slowly Joaquin pacas, It lies hot be neath t he dim portraits. As a smouldering castle Outside is coming, is rumbling, In a moat of ice. the wind from the shore, There is only the blindness; the wind in the garden. - The wind tearing, deep gulping, ear racking All night these slight sounds Blindness, the breath, ~n inhale~ and shiveririg wrench. You, morning lake; you, diat:1ond w ·ater. like guitars. 56 ... his breast break into the house from · the garden, _··. ·57 �Murray~-~ Tambourine Into the waves at Les Saintes Maries Mother, you were walking home. the gypsies and their children One late afternoon I saw you from my window. carry the Beneath And half down the block that reeling fall day, stat~es. ~~e soaring of a tern, A dust devil, whirlwind, leaf-wheel, the gold and leaf encrusted figurines caught you with the packages in yoµr arms. disappear before the foam. And on you, swirling up in leaves, A child stoops a spiraling_ ramp spun round. the chanters throng. past -- and, · piclti.ng . ~p the empty shell of You cringed, slit your eyes, and half enjoyed the honor, center; this sudden excitement. a hermit crab, sees the beautiful · sky, the Span.ish cliffs, The swallowing caramel sun the sleeping hulls of beached boats, had gulped all the street, the parked cars, the painted saints, and the dying grass. and the long white splash of each wave. wind had gone mad 9 carrying There, too, the (frightened stallions across the sky) clouds moving in throned splendor toward the east, clouds shifting colors by the minute, luminous, holding their hues like carved thunder. Mother, you looked so fresh. Your cheeks were blushing with wind. In the warmth of the house, now with us, your ha:;1py eyes. You were smiling, and we all put the packages away. 58 59 �Anabasis: Pra"\rer .. Night streets in the Old City, Passage me to. these,· grass-stoned, Voices in the gardens softened by lilacs tree~leaved. Lord, passage me ·to·.:these ~· ·· And the heavy quiet: among · waves of fall~ fields.• Soon I will say I've forgotten her name Now, yes, hold me in ·theci, - Or the way it was for us and Athens, tigh t, ·unwavering, · Lord" Held secure thbse days Between the mountains and the sea. It was after all only spring and the islands Barren hills, some fig trees and lemons, Wild poppies bleeding in the rock shado ws Terraces of wind and barley Mounting up from cobalt se a. She moved at my side dark, ' . - Hair braided color of the nights, Moved silent and knew the path. W carried almonds and oranges from Piraeus e And wine from Rhodes. There were not many gulls. For a while we rested on a high place Watching a boat pass lost in distance Then spoke softly in her language Descending to the sea. In the water sh~ laughed at Yiannis' warning, Gave me lemons and garlands of the waves. Together we took on form and context From the singing rocks above. That night passing the place where we had bathed, From the boat watching the cove recede, Dark in dark she turned from me . 60 61 �(continued) IvTine · For something had passed between us And now was gone. These things I Altered chords of Chopin, early Spring is over here. Wisteria r~placed Concerto and late Ballade, by roses. The flower is ripening fruit. Brilliant peacocks molting in· .the park Send victorious. consider mine. ~hildren laughing with · plumes Through the chalk streets. Summer heat begins. Berceuse and Barcarolle. Courbet's self-portraits and the spot Of cadmium orange in almost any Corot. That corner of a park Where paths cut angles beyond the bench Now the islan~s , ~E? .. behind me In the south -- Mykonos, Aigina, Seriphos; Now the Canal and Corinth _Gulf again To last days at Ithac~ and Corfu, Bound for Brindisi and the West. Roll the names o~ the tongue.once more • • • Of desolation, and the lamp Casts artificial light on unnamed trees, All amateur theatrical. A small hotel in Amsterdam, a town In western Denmark, askew amalgam Of marzipan and fears of the North Sea. The language is forgotten. The season has passed. · A billiard room in Sweden Where I entered feeling thin and sweetly Foreign. I let a Swedish sailor Photograph my fierce portrait of someone else. Perhaps the things that I consider Mine are least mine. 62 63 �Percussion Learni,ng . This is the recipe For etude and elegy I made my ·f irst right turn Wit and melody On a corner of · upp_er Broadway. Wood agai1iSt metal Hammers the harmony F~lt is the feeling I was ?- . learner And asked my teacher \ivho 1Has ready to reach For the duplicate brake Whether the pedestrians Hush and sonority Were volunteers. Are kinds of percussion Fearless, The movement of muscle Those pedestrians, Is merely mechanical Packaged, beparcelled, peram.bulat_ed, All well-know legatos Didn't, I dare say, know from which eighty Entirely illusive To which eighty they ambled. And the teacher, his ears Oh factual physicist Attuned to wheels within wheels, Author of overtones Ignored my joke about the volunteers. Harken to history Rush to redecible Etude and ele gy Sweet sostenuto The sounds of my century Steinway and Bechstein Are boxes of mystery 64 65 �Overhe a rd Do you, Barry, remember that escapade in Harrisburg? Do you (0 News from Nowhere, the smiles) Barry Remember (puzzles and peartrees) that amazing escapade In Harrisburg? Remember the escapade here in the City Sixteen Eighteen Far from the bus station and the Susquehanha Coastal and incandescent 'Why do these gentlemen wish to throw me out Alert in the chorus of college-boys Of the window?' asked an obscure Bohemian secretary Who catch Dinah or Martha on that underrehearsed rebound Before he was unexpectedly exfenestrated and miraculously saved Between the bars By a pile of castleyard rubbish or an angel of God. Thus to be flung into History, and by one's Fall Where culture is bound in new rows· Introduce three decades of winter, delusion and war? Linked and in a line Or merely as one for good measure, to show Like the uncut Strindb erg on half the shelves of Stockholm. That the ignorant often are accidentally in castles? Go ahead, Harry, Mis-spell the Mickey Mouse song But whisper the words, whippoorwill: Some children should be epice~e and not overheard. O Barry, or Harry, there's a puerile nastiness of tongue The language of lady philosophers And of the uncertain momentum of Show Business. Keep talking, canary, In Metropol itself There's Nowhere like Harrisburg. 66 67 �Pygmal~on: A Sapphic Concerning Pr~,v".1:~.l Here you stand, a promise and a shadow, Consecrated formerly, born once, Standing nakedly Just begun in heat of conception, Your beauty flies from you. alon.~, Now consummated. Standing nakedly alone, Limbs entwined began, in a moment, Place and Time. -Th~ chisel and mallet Laid aside, the ivory, breathless, Lacked gracious movement. And seeing nakedness Peering flatly at you from your mirror, Your image and your body mingle incestuously, And thus beget the idiot monsters Of that too-reflective loveliness. Place and Time: how.dark, lacking motion, Lacking form; an echo entwined in Mists, until the light.of· desire, Standing nakedly with me, Your beauty flies from you to me. Chaos informing-, Standing nakedly with me, Shapes anew the · forms ·;of.-the artists Loving father, most gracious mother. Join your love, and be consummated, Daughter and sister. And seeing me conceive and comfort you, I recount you to yourself; And thus your nakedness, through me, Begets our union's singularity Your true nakedness. 68 69 �I I A May Morning Five A. M._ _ On the Edge Randall Court Annapolis, Maryland The purple fabric of Richard Strauss --- Swathes the room with Don Juan • . Dark; but darkness somehow luminous We've finished the cigars and wine, As whispers of fog enfold the town. So filtered cigarettes and beer Abet our musings as we stare Damp; but dampness warm as a caress Wavers -- almo~t Through the smoke at our game of chess. sea-spray, almost rain. We sit on thj, edge of something strange Night; but night has never been like this , And shift the men with a beery lunge. So palpably flesh, a courtesan The shortening cigarettes glow orange. The smoke swirls, and there's a swell Breathing on the face-a phantom kiss, And ebb in the music. Soft, as softly come the sounds of dawn . But somehow nothing seems to change. Ashes fall, Here is the lamp that lights the game And defines our own positions. Far Beyond this coza nimbus, space Recedes into the dark and time Drops into an infinite square Of smoke and music, chess and beer. 70 71 �Deep within the woods, half-sleeping in a glade and I was left al.o ne• I heard a sudden nois€ Running to the place and saw her being led . where they had di.s appeared, by two men through the trees. I -only saw the tracks She hadn't any clothes; left by something hooved. her hair was wildly down There was nothing there, and swung below her waist. no traces · of the three. Their skin was golden-brown, I searched the woods awhile their hair was curly, dark, and never found a thing, and from wliere I sat, but still I se• .:m to hear it 1ooked as if they wore their ' laughter echoing. baggy pants of fur. It shakes the very ground The laughter of the three and thunders in my ear; was not forgettable. the madness of that sound Completely frightening, is more than I can bear. it was not a sound that I had ever heard. Theirs was urgent, low, hers hysterical, somehow wanton, eager, somehow filled with terror. They held her by the arms and hurried her along, and all the forest sounds crescendoes as they passed. I struggled to my feet and called out after them, but they were quickly gone. The woods again were still 72 73 �Behold the dolphin standing on its tail ALBANY, GA.; BIRMINGHAM, ALA.; GREENWOOD, MISS.; ETC • • • 1963 Accepting a piece of herring and the applause Of the sun-suited crowd for whom it has I will stop saying 'Yes sir' tomorrow, Jumped hurdles, juggled ten-pins, tossed a ball. And when I stop they all will understand. He and his brothers once killed sharks for sport I know that there is more hate in the land In the green Pacific far from any port• Than my new bravery will undergo Without new walls of fear, but I will show Behold the dazzling white peacock. It struts Myself before their pallor and withstand With boundless, unfathomable pride, The leaping heat from the flames that I have fanned, Spreads and rattles the great white fan, And crush these walls of fear by shouting: And stalks its mate behind the bars, I will walk where I damn well please, and sing Amid the tinfoil, candy wrappers, old cigars. My song even to white men in the street Can it live in there? Who curse as I pass. It can, it can. I don't fear abuse; Scream, call the cops, you can do anything Behold the sarcophagus. It looms immense In the dusty room, amid the bones, But change my mind -- my song is :!..!!][_ sweet: No compromise, no deal, NO, I refuse. Amphoras, weapons, and rubble of ancient stones. Far from Egypt, the Sphinx, the sand, the Nile, The weight of the pyramids; the ageless smile Smiles on regardless of time and circumstance. A museum piece: the ancient awe of death; And now we threaten life itself -- the earth. Behold the bomb. Must everything be sacrificed To mankind's ugly needs? He already uses Nature's most elegant constructions as he chooses. But it is clear that this does not suffice. And mankind -- foolish, clever, brave and vain Will treat himself no better in the end. 74 75 No! �To .. the Night Darkness, Night, night Soft wings of shadows· · Beat, beat; Upon the earth, the shadows fall Across the greying fields of grain, of wheat, And barley and oats; Across the cities and the towns and the villages, Lights are going out, . ·· Men are going to sleep. Darkness Night, night Soft wings of darkness Beat, beat. As on a greying cloud, the last rays of sunlight Shine down on human endeavor; People are coming home; nightwatchmen are going to work along with scrub women, and janitors who like ancient farmers across the . dirty floors throw sawdust like seed and reap the harvest of the dirt and grime and soot of the city by the day: which is cleansed by the night; commuters travel on bus,~ on train, on car towards home and wife and children and supper . and evening papers and sleep, And sleep and love. and rest until, Until the morning and the day. 77 �W idm:1' s Lament Communion at the Mass of Midnight 0 Lord, I am full of unsaid things, I remember racing clouds I love the beauty of thy house, I looked up and saw the sun. But as for me, I walk in innocence, With Thy will be done. In my soul, I had no care. Chanting I mount thy altar: But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, Glory to God And now, what shall I do? Glory to God We knew each other that first night Glory to God, We loved and were one without the light, I will go to the altar of God, I looked up and saw darkness To God, the gladness of my youth But was not alone. Singing yea, But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, I love Thee; And now, what shall I do? 0 Lord not my will but Thine, Th~re With mouth open A ball beneath my navel. Singing I felt it there with probing hand My Lord and my God . ,• - - f~esh-thrown rice in my hair, was a lump beneath my chest, And in the . night lay still; My Lord and my God And silent and mysterious My Lord and my God, A knowing smile crossed my lips; And the wine is mixed ·with water., I hoped it would be a son. And God becomes . a C.hild. · But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, Existence contains. a Child which contains existence And now what shal.l I do? Which contains a Child which contains. • • 'l)he ringi.n g of·· the bell; It was mid-December, the second year, Chanting at the _altar of my youth: But then, 0 God, my man was there; Sed tantum die verba My map was waiting at the foot of the stair. Sed tantum die verbo But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, Sed tantum die verbo, And now, what shall I do? I must go and cover my face The baby grew strong and passed a year, The cry~ngbaby filled my ear. Lest I drown in unsaid things. 79 �And we were married four. And now, what shall I . do? But on this day he forgot to say, •Wom·an we•ve been married four It was ten and two years, And we had three, and I expecting a fourth, And four to this same day.• When he came home so soon and early; cried - And -cried' some more, I I smelt the liquor on his breath; •I•ve lost my job, woman' he- said to me, And locked him out the bedroom -door. •And you with a fourth and having three•; But nbw he•s dead, O God, he's dead, O God, why won't you let me be? · And now, what shall I do? But now he's dead, O God, he's dead, But then next day, he ·came walking in, A tinkling in his hand And now, what shall I do? But things worked out, and they stayed four: A twinkling in his eye And then I cried and cried some more, Three boys and a girl. And how that man, he loved that girl And hung the music box above our door~ But now hel°s dead, o ·God, he's dead, The girl and the three. And with these four the Lord, he let them be. And now, what sha11 -· r do? But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, And sometimes-yet, \vhen I'm upset, I reach and turn the- key .. ' And now what shall I do? I told him once, I told him again, And listen And then I told him once more, And li:sten Until it sets me free. But now he's dead , · 0 Gotl , he's , dead , •Don't work so hard, you're not that young; And ·now, what shall I -do'? He· wasn't as good as I would have had, And he wasn't as bad as: I would have taken, But he was good to the children And kind to me; And being that, I let · him be. . But now he's dead; -0 ·Gad; he's dead, 80 Pay heed the cough that racks your lung.• He laughed a t m e, A woman. But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, And now, what shall I do? The nights they grow this season cold And I feel for where he should be. But warmth there is not, 81 �Burial of a King And love there is not, And neither is there he. But the bed grows cold As I grow old, With my memory. But now he's dead, 0 God, he's dead, .And now, what shall I do? 'And Uzziah slept: with his fathers, and they buried him with his fathers in the field of the burial which belonged to the kings; for they said, He is a leper: and Jotham his son reigned in his stead.' Chronicles 26:23 Uzziah' s dead. Upon the hill they buried him Amid the field of millet. The valley of the kings, For thus the king should lie, Buried with his ancestors. Jotham twenty-five In the time of Isaiah, Lions of Judea, Jotham twenty-five, Only twenty-five Cried, For a leper died. And the wind blew cold and steady as they left. 82 85 �Song o-f ' the Bride.groom · How shall I build the house of our love H~:Vl. shall . I. l.ay o·µr · bi:>y{~r? . With flow~rs thrown fresh and marybud· dew, There I will pluck the flower. With drifts of sunlight and honeysuckled dew, Image in Color . don't call it love, for the grass is wet with tears or dew (but green as green) and the sky is pink-tinged There we shall spend the ·hour. How shall I say of our loVe my love How shall I sing of our yo"uth? · With lilacs and lilie~s- and lavender rue With melodied singing of small birds above 1 There I will sing of my love unto you like carnival candy and bitter with remembrance, for the water's tossing back from self to self, (forced acceptance) and the lost clouds are pulled driftlessly There we will sing of our love. by, my tongue is purple when I finish the grapes that grew these summers, (and I am tempered with the endless hurt) .. _.! !_. -. # .. .; · · . --. but don't call it love. 86 ·. �After Reading Descartes On Reading J aizies •J Qyce_:-. a moo cow came out of .. -· ;. I ; ' r, .. The world is fathoms and fathoms dark and lonesomely empty thin blue air · as a mind on a fire-bleached (gauzey, effervescent as red apple glass stained against the tongue) moo cows just don't suddenly come from the into inevitable deception artists don't have friends they're free, and happy? . the meaning of time the color of tears the edge of the ·. sky (my daddy is an artist and I can ' t come out to play my daddy is an artist so you'll have to go away) create order from chaos pres~qt bumbling their way ask me another: searching for rationality stand still and straight and (lo! a second coming ) but where did he come from? historical mountain-top, The world is fathoms and fathoms deep and incandescent as red wine bottles burning dully in fitful dreams that do not end with the midnight who goes in the night? hark: be still and listen: order is a beautiful quiet The world is fathoms and fathoms dense and tangled as braids that are slept on, we have no choice -and there are not enough mountains left 88 89 �Dialogue My sister is dying and nobody cares nobody cares at is very something like a pigeon's neck .he said all My sister is dying, but nobody's crying (though she ---Iti~ small) My sister is dying, but nobody knows it's hidden with a terrible lie Nobody knows it, so nobody shows it and no one will even try My sister is dying, I know this well And it is all too true: nobody knows it, so nobody shows it and there 1 s nothing I can do My sister is dying and nobody cares all colors of the wheel . to catch the sun this morning (a formidable magician) ---somehow like a medallion my grandmother · had (long before she died) making her cheeks smooth and rose-color soft ---The very young and very old he said full of worn phrases of love and despair kissing me slowly nobody cares at all My sister is dying, but nobody's crying (though she is very small) ---my grandmother died and her medallion (won for an unknown honor, bought for fifty cents, ages ago) was buried with her 90 91 �Symposium ---The sun he said does not touch the dull gray of graves, not the mind makes the judgments: lambs, going off to their bloodless slaughter, follow in winter merry nor spring the plastic piper whistles nor summer and the tears of joy nor fall er tears of sorrow just pigeon's necks he said kissing me dried by wind dreams (there is no language of the mind, you know) the mind .tak.espossession: pretension, late at night and early day watching moons crawl pearly to consequence and lone (there is a sadness of the mind, you know) the mind can destroy what the mind possesses: and you are there before me, in dusty armour and tarnished silver, away from the war: undestroyed (you must not be mine) 92 93 �Poseidon I We live on the strand of a wild dream The fish we eat are haunted with the dead god .·. The old tyrants are rubbed into the coins And moonbeams work magic into our soil. We live in the filthy ear of Poseidon His sea washes music and seaweed in my soul. Time has poured the -~~icky Stories in our brains · •. Death runs with an oily pulse iri our blood And this sadness is our ~~ace and plague The foresight of a poor man is limited and unhappy. II Never wander lonely into Poseidon's marble· shado·w . Make this distance a ·ditch and abyss Build these rocks into a . thorny garden, ·a heartless fire Never drive into your deepest wall a silence. Silence is a thin noise A gold cover is the sound of moving silence We will be a naked unadornment It is a strange story that makes it so But home is best an empty place Quiet nothing the only god A raindrop and a glance will make us warm 95 �v Never mention any death the stars suffer Forget the green that stays buried in the sea Will you hear me? These sun myths must cease. Must I scare and shout now? .III Must I lose you for awhile in the explicit? Say once that moon means fixed beam The orb a shiny rock If you tell a friend that your husband is a child, Say that tides wander, a little lost If you whistle distractedly, if you demand an endless excitement • • • Say that waves follow a twisted circle: nothing more. Someday what an ugly man means will infect you But never, tell that moon and water dance together: Only God kno·ws his joy And his Word hang limp somewhere Forget the evil of white flesh in another room Then,you will visit the cracked temple that serves Poseidon. There is no watered world gone, drunk by fish VI No Atlantis in any realm A~l But . things exist and all things are true ~e are not poets In that ruined hall the daylight your eyes carry will go out Your mind will steam and darken And your love drain away into a shadow We cannot' believe all things Leave them in their pity Please, cover them, ·f or they . are naked and crying At last, the rich gloom his gauntness casts will become a person Your torn mind, in their dark land, will lose itself. He will give you many pictures IV Connect only what keeps your life He will teach you his eyes and his tongue His lips Hnd his swollen neck They are all beautiful truths Sing nonsense to make children dream easier I warn you most, you are my One You stand a stone placed ,there: Our time has its mouth All the broken hills, every departure, And you are too sad on its edge already. Every song that rips its hair will stand with you. Ask him all questions, present him each unhealed wound Say quietly that colors bother and pain And like a clean rose that dies a stink His godly fury will pound your silence into a sea. 96 97 �~- I Am A War Poet Dark moon, mother love -Without breadth or number. The cold candles are melted and bent, I remember With huge thumbs of wax pressing down on the velvet. Similar evenings, alive _·- , 11- . Some went out this morning and will be replaced When she was, would give By dowagers of this town who will nurse them Herself to her (Candles are dear now) through their first urges to die. lover~ The Sun, my father. Mother love alive: The candles are a sort of memorial to those who died Captured in mirrors live, From this town -- I do not presume to call it mine. Open to the eyes Of the sea.S One can almost name the candles -- some are hunched Whose surfaces break into plates that shine. Under a shield of their own wax created by the draft.• In some the wick is long and the . flam~ steady. · ,. At times I cannot stifle the laugh That ;r~sh:E;'s' · thr~~gh my. .tee_th as these candles parody Their namesakes, and comment tellingly on those who rush to replace A certain candle, keeping one lit from the other in a sterile generation. The rest of the church is simple -- a few old men With half an eye on the icon in front, above the shuddering lights, And half an eye on their loose hands which they gather in their laps. That figure on the cross has annoyed me. I wonder, Would the men whose skin hangs in loose folds robe-like Respect that icon if the face were twisted as it would be in the present war'? Would they admire a gilded figure with a tube up his ass Being given an enema of acid, stripping the pride of pain? It is easier to worship the pride than just the pain. 98 99 �The Skin Diver ; : :_ ·- ... ..:- ~:... - __ _:~· .:,___ - . Outside, here in the soft spring rain, , ~he _wate~ .~p~ats_- . Perhaps he sat on sand Off the end of the slates of the church Onto a brown cold cement which is like The cement is slowly _ chip~ing away One night, and di~ease-roughened skin. now~ Watched this colored whore Roll her dark breasts .and wear Lace ribbons bubbling over stones And as I walk down the street, I am thinlti-ng, remembering •• • Remembering how ~he rain then tittered And the dust faded into itself. o~ ~he _ tin plates He saw her where The walking yard emptied. The food bolted, the cigarettes crushed quickly. It was a sham, that picnic, attempt at t~at even .- ~ And let them ride was taken, Went back to the tediu.m of .betting . _ . pools on J..iberation . . ·. . . . · . wh~n I didn't fight; I only went Stands in it, sawdust and crowd noise. dru_nk, I would show. ~o see them die. I remember one, his huge gol,de_ head in my la~, smiling slowly_ n , Sleepily. Under the power of her big blues voice With the brassy jazz of one-night , D-day or some day when the pool:s would be over• _ ... I even have scars which, She played wf th side men Who would always be side men, ~rass. And I and the others, I who could not fight, That combed her hair. · His armor clashed as he rolled; his sh1eid falling away. Or maybe it was A tinny, up-tempo chorus Where she rolled her eyes And laughed outrageous A few screams from the horses cou1d . be. ·.hea;r.d.,. _ .,,. - Loud. And then I was taken away, pulled rp~g;rly, :u~_,__ my ..lap . On a beach one night, . . . ~ From under his head, my outr,~ge ' v~o-~~!1-t :.· ..' .-: Until I was smacked with the f .lat o f .a broadsword . . -. . And laughed at. : ' ~ . (They eve.µ 'ilvinked .at ~ e~c_h ot~er.) That was some years . ag<;:>. :· I , s_ ppoe_:J . had _missed my chance. u e Maybe he stood A beach on a point of land, And saw her dark legs spread Around him. His palms began to sweat When he saw this brazen Black whore stretch It sticks in my . craw to weep. . syllablet;;_~ ;. -:, : .-· - . . ...... . . . - .. Over a bar of sand But come now, 0 Muse, tell me • • • t : And hum -- no blush ~ . ; ~ As if she didn't see him. See she sung for him, 100 . 101 But he could �And wanted him to come But those huge stone To see if he was man enough for her. Lips, wrinkled, almost puckered, swung Shut and crushed his spear gun. It took lead around his waist He looked around then And a clumsy spear gun And saw she had flung away And artificial lungs Her street-corner smile and played To match her song every note for keeps. Once she was up and really _ wailing. enough She rolled around his boat, moaning He was man Soft, teasing his haste He scrambled into his boat and saw her As he began to make the dive, Moaning, still rolling around him. The dive to seek her ·loye, He swore at her and cried, To find and take her love. There live to try one night. And threw at her the lead belt. There giant clams unknown To him; he was new But in · 'th~ water it was a feather falling: To giant clams. Lower, - i6wer, slower still, · He was down to bottom slopes To blacked-out deeps Where water hissed in his ears- Where it too wouid roll and sway And strangled light to cold. green bars. · ' Whe!f= A~bius, king of jazz The kelp in tempo swayed -- Comes to blow this brazen hussy Ev en he was pushed and returned, Up, to make her big blues voice Back and f o r th a bov e. the giant cl am • Sin g his tune, his tempo. Rave notice. He was Too close, Maybe even bumped it; he was Too excited and far too ~eep. The clam itself is sort of soft 102 103 �Voyage of the Killarney December, 1959 I Syruping the brain The palate itched to madness By the sour-lemon, pupil-cutting mast. The sea is a fearful place of dreams The sun stood high, mercury-speared Backing into the rivers of life Melted the siren-wax and day-long gold we heard· The caustic salts of bottomless ~oundings And whales weave together with perches Barnacles noiselessly swallowing tP.e sea-scream. Our faces squinting toward the cool fishes Swimming the ocean-lymph like shadows of diamonds, Nibbling at our mossy skull. Day burst past the silly sail-cloth tourniquet we set and The sea-lungs breathe and pinch the pleural cavity of thought Bled the dark 1 ning cloud-stuffed sky. And visions of shark slash by Tom talked the stars into existence Ripping into the lonely nuclear sinuses of time. Metaphored the sleep-stabbed giant's eye to gleam. The tackle whistled in the wind-night. Squid and octopi, startled, move away then We slept dreaming of crystal porpoises. From the chartless corners of the brain-wash Arching their backs against the gargoyle.d weight-wet of thought III Working their knuckles on the unhourglasse_d sand-_gri ts.: of the mind, At dawn we rubbed the seagulls from our ears The ear listens then and in the sea shell _o_f. . the skull. Our lashes rocked the boat- scraping at fog It hears the algae munching on the sea-feast The dampness clinging like larded elbows; Salivating on the rocks the crisping foam of endless appetites We drove it out with whips of coffee For long creations still undreamed. Filled the sails with bacon gusts II Charring those mists to forgetfulness. That sloop knew the stir and smell of humans And we went sailing on that shrewd sea Thirty feet of tight-caulked pride Noses pressed against the glassy air Bright work sanded to . the soul. Gulping the wind-scuff It found the sun at eight breeding over the foredeck Like infant birds mother-beak. Bright as the dream-bite.of sharks Sails snapped and down the furrow of the tongue Curing, curing the weary, water-logged sea. That teaked thing cruised, 104 105 �Southeast to the Trades we went The Woodcarver Jib hammocking the eye-long breezes Mains'l, sea-berry full, webbing the handstretch up that fat sky When I was a boy there was an old man The day a timeless sun-journey into dark. And dark, shadow-panthe~, Who taught me chess; he had been my grandfather's friend: came on A craftsman in wood: he carved his own chess men; We saw him drop soft-pawed to the deck And once he had made a sweet-toned violin Devour our eyes and eat his way Which he played for us sometimes, in the evening. To the sea-murmur in our brain. IV He was born in the Black Forest; his name was Grimm: And then Nassau! A lovable man; but his art had no sale. That dream poised in a sky-riot It was factory stuff people brought him to mend. Rose in the ripe eye He went on at his musing and his lathe, Like a whale-burst sea! Turning out bowls and curios, unpaid. God-like we nodded. And then went in My hand vein-ruin on the tiller Tops were the only sellouts of his trade: Shapely spinners of hard yellow wood, Felt my sea-youth gasp and suffocate Slim as a hornet and spiked with steel; On the brittle land-air. They would split a dimestore top at a fall, And, Jonah-sucked, we headed in! As a fighting cock might spur a barnyard fowl. And I saw Time relearn the creases in our eyes Jonah-sucked, we headed in! I have not his white beard or his wrinkled skin, But I like the notion of that old man. I like that honest way of the neglected crafts . I am told surrealism is the door To make a man modern like Rene Char. I say I have bowls to make, or a violin; I will even turn out tops now and then, l Small things for child-hearts to spin. If such they please, of such we have heard: 'Forbid them not, for the kingdom is theirs.• 106 107 �Suppose I have kingdoms they do not share; They are closer at least than the smart fellows are. Why should I sing in the falsetto choir? I will go back to the dark shop where I went as a boy, Among strange treasures: ostrich eggs, a crocodile, Carved clocks and pipes and puppets; there let me stand By the white-haired companion of one for whom I was named, Watch him choose from seasoned wood something with a tough grain, And turn it slowly to a polished form, As he leans in the cave of light by his whirring lathe. I have been thinking of a collection of poems, of which the title-number would be"The W oodcarver", and the sections of the book suggested by phrases from that poem. samples. C.G.B. 109 Here are �•Little Tops' M Apple ay Queen of Night . . All night I have kept you waking In the slow unrest of love; May_.~pple is your flower 1 Cre~am-wh-ite, .wit.h.d:rawing ·~ · Hardly noticed under its leaves, We have seen the gray moon streaking The hills of home, war~ The long moonlight probing The fringed lake and the grove. Now the day ... . . .. And the i~ breaking ~ay birds are shrill; Reason comes creating Until we bend down And see the green tent Fi1r~a :with glowing, . .Ana·· our .sense reels Under a smell like The .ripe odor of fruit. In the blind depths of the will; And to the world of making I must follow the day's spell. • But you, my love, will shade you Deep in the sepia grove. Sleep, my soul's soft shadow! I would not have you move, Till the moon and I shall wake you To the slow unrest of love. '• 110 111 ·. . : ..J �'Something with a Tough Grain'. Renegade Gilbert, Swamp . and Blackbird Having flown to Newark after two weeks of Mississippi, The thunder came and we paddled into the tooth of it -- And running with all bags across the road for a city bus, Waves, wind and rain, prognostications out of Lycidas: The cheapest transportation, 1 That fatal and perfidious bark' ~- I sit down in a Number Four full of smoke and .laughter; a canoe built By the wife's father for himself alone, sunk to the gunnels A mechanic haranguing the driver about nuts and bolts, And wobbly as quicksilver -- What should I care? Then off to his grape arbor and how he makes wine; Having with me again the master painter, neglected Don Voices, scrambled, converging from all sides: Quixote of the brush. 'Well fer cryin 1 out loud, ya can't do it that way. • • . . Mopping water from the bottom, My shirt for a sponge, we came, as the rain cleared, •I must have fleas. To the overgrown creek's end: Begins to scratch I feel things crawlin' on file •• •' beneath a rock-oak slope Soon as the double-crossin' cur And flanked with pine, a blue-green swamp of reeds, the tide- 'Didn't rain hard? Flat surface hatched with allizarine dead stems. •Christ, did she think she could break it up and not pay?' Across Are ya kiddin'? · rt flooded the place.' From the crabbers' shacks and long sleek boats, by a bridge At my side a Negro w~man, . having every right A quirk of decay has turned to an heirloom from a Chinese To be there, and damned well knowing it -- Pen (where a redwing blackbird flies from the swamp nest, And not a drawling plante! or wif e-and-sla~e-holding Creaks like a hinge, that opens to music, rupture of gold Caucasian toting his coon gun And vermeil from black flight and the sunlit spill of the It was home, down there, I stayed at, thought I enjoyed it. trill), We reach the wooded shore. The painter squints for a focus; Now I heave the rib cage and gulp air, Snuff up the Northern city; I withdrawn to a hummock of moss, lean to a pine Surprise myself, mouthing: •By God! And write -- nothing to celebrate but the fact of sharing It's good to be in a free country again!m Again the thunder-and-sky-reflecting tide-swamp world That is ours, and the rusty creaking of a coal-black bird That flying breaks in wings of flame and -- yes -- song. 112 · 113 �'Polished Bowls' The Fire Barn Swallow A swallow skims low over the field, Turning and darting as insects rise. I see the blue back, orange breast, forked tail, Pursue the motions, the bank, the dive, The swerve in flight, a snatch at swerving flies. He sees me also, bends his course To skirt my presence, flutters, cries. The fire was slow. kindling; it was damp wood, Old, and moistened by the earth and rain. Two times I rose to mend it from your side, Stirred the wet sticks and blew the smoldering ends. Then in the clear cold night and clearing of the wood, We two, under the_ stars, hearts not young, _ And wet with time's worse rains, forgot the fire -Until suddenly it was there, each kindled point I find him beautiful; I only guess At what he finds, beyond that prey. I am not one to take the world on trust Probabilities remain, and this is probable: The flight of his outwardness, the stance of mine, Harbor like visitants, some angel I, Enforcing another, to take us by surprise, A brightness huge and fierce, a living flame, That sent up sparks to coil across the dark, Earth's poor matter assaulting the night sky, A trembling moment of immortality Such was the constellation of our love. Banking in timelessness, intrinsic, free. We lay afterward a long time On the plain ground, earth, where we are bred, And watched the lattice of transfigured wood Slough films of gray ash and renew its glowing; And in the cleared space o+ the dew-cold forest, Saw now and then how a few last sparks would rise To that brief ecstasy among the stars. 115 114 �'Strange Treasures' Baby Blue · Ey.es Ripe as a fruit. and globed with youth Gulfs of living water, down and down, And paired with eyes as luminous <as blue, Once we have gone far enough That break in glances like ·a changeful sea, Into the element, that fish Stands before me the most vocative girl With jaws and teeth, called picua, Of twenty years of teachfng; ·J..ips inquiring;· Does not repel, but beckons; May she write her theme ·o i love, on which she is ;-. knowledgeable. We pursue, she withdraws Into the deeper water. • • My eyes swim with blue, •No doubt,• I tell her," 'that will be satisfactory. Or if I close them, wave on wave Relate it, if you · can, ·to Penelope and Calypso. 1 Revives the swinging pools, How peerlessly her stirring leaves the room Where fire corals show And leaves my silence stirred with crazy jazz: Blood crimson in the blue ·. · •Jeepers creepers, where'd you get them peepers; (I am one who has downed (Loosers weepers) where'd you get them eyes?• A philtre of such love There is no return to the land.) Earth 'reels in the sun, · But all around it cool, Laps .the luminous blue. Where the blown Cres~s wave ripples of white, and the sea Glints with purple, th~re the reef, Down swaying fans unfolds The summons of its caves. ll6 117 �•To be Played in the Evening' Strar·~ er The smile on her._ The A e~ghty-year old woman stranger in the house ~ip_s. \_. _·--· _. She calls into the darkness (Further than ·consciousness, the wind-blown candle): She has lived in half her life, And which now she has to leave, •Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty; Taken to another room Come Kitty, Kitty; For the children to pack her things, Come Ki tty. • Stumbles . among cases, files, Relics of extinguished hope~ • • A towering darkness on the Delta, Lightning, thunder, Great oaks whi~ped in the wind. The lights go off together. She understands a moment, Then forgets. Gropes from lamp to lamp Trying to flick them on. Bewildered, Calls the cat. .. (To bring the years' lost kittens from the storm.) A door slams in the wind, Trees brush the window. Rain in sheets goes solid on the screen. She trips and stands smiling, Lost, but not worried. (It is we who draw back in fear.) 118 119 �The School of the Seed Mock~_21 gbird_ If the school of the ant teaches there's no laboring That plain gray bird with the blur of white on the wings, Call him an artist in the modern sense: In the winter, better go to school of the seed, A mountebank, a charlatan, a mimic, Like the hierophants for whom grain was central The most quarrelsome bird, (Except a grain of wheat fall to the earth and die) Fighting all day with the robins; An oval door into the saving kingdom, Well, he makes amends. The halls of Demeter, the season's dying. It is spring now; the nights are warm, Surely you can read the signs of the seasons? Full of blossoming. A snake also in the stars, the largest constellation, Outside the window, roses There is Distill themselves, contending with the honeysuckle. Coiled almost encircling the pole, and he holds On the black tree magnolias are white in the moon. In his folds the round kernel of the world. I wake as the leaf-fringed hollow, If the wandering soul must go into those caverns, Already filled with fragrance, overflows with songo Let it go, like Orpheus, singing. I· In the dim solitude I give him leave. Water shines in the sun; low sun .on the waves Let him be as cursed all day as he pleases, Sows the whole surface with light ._. If only the midnight reaches of the soul Pale winter light down the leafless trees, cold He quicken with this water, On the leaf-brown floo:r. where death - is ., working. The well that flowed in the garden Close your eyes and turn your back to the sun; From the rock, under the tree of life. Dark requires your presence in his caves. 121 �Sold Where Where I wandered The timid thrush was safe In the snow And pushed aside · To sing sure silver notes at dusk And orioles built their swinging nests Wet dark leaves To find arbutus Long before the spring. • • Where I looked for Jacks-in-the~pulpit In still dark privacy. • • Where I gathered Sumac's candelblooms With bittersweet To last me all the winter through -- White violets Where I wandered Wild geraniums Watched When earth was soft with birth And growing green smelled sweet . Listened Felt The turning of each season W here I reached and cut Is no more; Armsful of dogwood Birds will never sing again To grace a room With ivory-white bouquets Through these acres And there will never be a newly green And where I heard Or flowers. The peepers j ingling tune Then later listened To the plunking of fat frogs Gargantuan machines have slashed Across the woods And rawed all growth In love -- To painful roots And man has built An air-conditioned structure With ample parking space. 122 123 �The First Poem Written The waves march in like a regimented army, each line precise and unwavering, and they send themselves against their foe, falling lifelessly back among their ranks. And in time they conquer. ·:a.. 125 �There, through the Poem doorw~y, sitting _in dust alive with sun, There is a crate of lemons washed ashoi-a · ~ •· > :· ,.. · is an old man. How sad he seems in the haze of the late day where the waves with his eyes closed. break into foam And little children from the past and I may go and spend an afternoon taunt him with laughter throwing them sung by rote. back at the sea He smiles, hunched by the door, . ·· silent in the noises of the street. 127 126 .. �Back Country Poem An Orange Cockroach burning the insistent sile~~e. of gothic love: The wooden owl st6o~ in the _yard scummed and eaten by weather: equipment jerking jesterlike in lunar . perambulat;i.ons; an old bird ico~ of the folk who put it there waging brittle fury in fernmoist rooms of love: out back of a house on a mountain road miming pyrrhic war. underneath the trees. 128 .1 29 �The Sea is a Did you ever sit port of Cat and wait for the moon to turn into a globe that sallies forth continuously from a slice? in all of its parts: a jade bandit and master of cat-shy turbulence I believe that the man who lives there an old cat calls it •self-realization.' but still with uncomfortable eyes. 130 131 �Five Haiku Spring Love Poem a beetle crawls toward the stem of a lilac; rain begins to Only fail. one evening · in the late leaving fish entangled in hours of sun a net -- no more the subtle I knew a girl motion of the tide. on a bridge (and the water the echo of a so far below falling leaf penetrates the as we leaned in wind stone on which it lands. to watch the boats returning going away; a black and white moth and we speculated on them on a weed by an old well; laughing water reflections. as strangers laugh when they.wish to love) a broken bottle and I took her hand lying in the sand: her eyes the sea is angry today. were heavy orange were other snowflakes disappear little on the surface of a pool suns. instant memories. Finally, she turned and walked away calling back goodbye. a fly's wing falls in the morning; the earth's awakening noise is great. 132 1 133 �It Was at a Certain End of Being and we were sitting on an iron stairway watching the evening disappear willow leaves dropped in the heat children called cats meowed playing _ q_l;1ilc1-ren 1 s · game_s _ suddenly stopping to sense in the manner of cats performing the critical ritual of spiders and these not order but there were cosmic questions being asked fantastic explosions and the sun was leaving them unanswered WE WERE TRUE REVOLUTIONARIES'!.; leaving the night we waited and made jokes but our eyes contradicted us we watched a spider a good omen we said the cats and the children are our spokesmen we said and all of a sudden we had methods all at once we were eager for night we assumed greater identities especially that of the spider \Vi th the acuity of eight eyes especially that of the candor of childre·n especially that of the prophetic code of the cat we became fanatic decipherers of the cosmos we ran down t he s t airway we ran down the street questing off to ask <lirect'io- from those who knew -:·the -night ns defying all systems of order opening up reality we were giants and voracious beastminds running against the deadline of the sun 134 135 �A Poem Whose Origins are in Queen Mary's Garden, Regents Park, London To Hear the Wind Blow in Furthest Summer The circling gulls swing up and interchange when the butterfly bush is like a last old clown in endless rhythm low above the pool in the park in a lavender wig occasionally skimming the water and the crickets cry in monotony. • • whose surface is woodcut by sun · giving back fragments· ~ :· of white motion insouciant as the child with bread beside the pool whose smile is sign of knowledge ·· of complicity whose hand by casting crumbs interrupts the dallied glide excites the raucous laradine cry explodes the tinted print of sun controls the very nature of the circumstance sharing dominion of the park with only those who sit and.watch. 136 137 �Summer Song Out in a sun fo r est Some Untitled Thoughts about the Supject in General (A Minor Manifesto) with a black cat : and a bunch of oranges tramping until .1 . -re:ached a great-_qutcropping of rock by a stream. I sat down the cat drank I ate the oranges and smelled the woods a toad jumped into the water ·. ·: The way the words run down the page not so . much their Pi?CUliar meanings but what is done with them and through them -and not the visual effect ' but the. : 4:- ~. FORM or capacity to express the development toad sun not the meaning: my cat all in the forest by the rock •. who knows what 'mice in a flowerpot' means or 'in a city a child sits in an with an umbrella' all~y . .. the.se . and all the rest are too private I ·don 1 t · care how one has tried (what about that word 'one' you say well maybe that's me and you and both of us together and all the rest of the world and what the ~ell it's still a mystery so just look at the poem don't scratch at it ·· · .let it stay there caught on the paper) think about all of it at once don't be so God damned condescending 138 139 �The Approaches there are migrations and interchanges I. of the brittly shaken branches :From the · wo~king · of the wings of birds ~g9: .. thE?.: f~r.away 1J~r<:].s _ that work upon themselves much as they work upon the mi nd above country snow the sun is untangled from various myths the noise of the ice-covered branches and is not abstracted but transmogrified of trees in the wind as are the functions of energy as is the mind each by the other in conjunctions of cause the sun below the birds IV. behind the trees I am as the blackwind and as the sun I or essential altering of the structure of contact I am the extender: in which the object is stripped of intrinsic action I compose through expansion the final form and used as a final -axiom of my sensibilities -- and is not an experience at all And that which I do is done to me but a basis II. am all the movements of the universe (the origins are no longer present (and a certain transcending of vision or assuption of noumenal discipline) their implications are sustained as extensions of will III. come the circularities: V. it is that if I am there What is · 1eft is. the .future of the mind . and made critical by the syndrome and the field the participation begins and the seasons an awareness Notes: of performance: implications alluviate · who shall say in what manner or why but do not ask it ..t.. 140 l The action of the birds seems to represent the possibilities of liberation, or the mind's own venturing. The icy branches make noises of what is perhaps the poetic basin or deep thicket of the mind's unformed call to create. The country is large and black and white and silent. The sun is a force; the orange of the setting sun is an unexplained beckoning or obscession. The winter is sharpnesss, is acuity stripped of previous construction. Black wind is also a force, an antipo dy of the sun in the catalogue of the circularities. All of these things make up a real scene. To get the feeling of the poem it is perhaps necessary to have experienced the scene. And one must ask -- is one mind ano t her~z 141 �Spontaneous Riding Poem In Delusions I Can Pull Down the Sun and Hold it Rusting: Alrno st night · suffusion of orange/chinese blue I am the devisor driving hard on streets and I cry at my own formulations ·. maneuvering:_ I exploit myself I the mind down am reassured only by the necessity of my arrangements to the shifting gears again and against themselves shifted jokingly :·refer to myself as a sort of carpetbagging tragedian I 11 am worried', some would say. I say I am sick with fear that I may tar and feather myself eye double functioning: that is navigates also sees partakes intrudes and drive myf3~lf away in wealth of charred by the very ·sun with which I deceived myself in my plot against the world every sharp edge in city made of edges Only action blurred people in continuous going away from a point running dance step negotiation intervention i am racing through them the operator feet feet car gears car machinations combinations Then city cemetery hill: narcotic everywhere smell of honeysuckle. 142 �The Grey of the Afternoon is not Grief A Mournful Poem Because it is Required/.]2~ecessary but the rejection of circumstance which claims even birds swifting in . the sky The weirs and leaves the trees isolate i~ their silence have been up since earliest morning vines clutch gathered stones garden chairs remain arrang.ed with leaves and some men have the gathering crickets' chant begins built a fire/it burns against the sky and soon there is the fragile dance of butterflies a smaj.l fire and they as night reveals itself aren't even singing in blue film dissolving the trees (oh the stakes are driven firm leaving only the sibilance of wind against the water which is a fountain spraying in a sortilege of surprise. 144 145 �Come Forth as Life by Outburst small bells should be rung randomly --plainsongs/let there be no What is the measure of allelujahs or shouting the mind invaded this is a time for by love clarity that is: --back country road by waster orchard viney stone wall: a celebration child after rain walking and stopping; congregations of butterflies the rusty fields the puddles the child's stick , of the mind's opening which ··= a divining or in some way mysterious cause: overwhelms shouting later loudly say: REFLECTIONS OF THE SUN'S CORTEGE: the words progressions on lines in a dwelling among/a radix patterns determined by feeling or grace as though a pentecost logic a barrier not the mind implodes/explodes so consideration and turning inward assumes the spectacle PROLEPSIS this VISION as artifice of love a forecast/the mind answers with a music a beat a dancing: and then THE OPENING THROUGH LOVE WHICH IS FINALITY (1. must be done it is insufficient 2. IT IS THE UNIVERSE BUT I the poem is the mind's music it the mind is by m~de aware love nothing else) cannot comprehend it (perceptual inaccuracies the limited range of my being historically) 146 I answer after performing this: the mind is measureless �Poet's Song Taking as I please I give again I give the great orange sun a tree in wind a child Giving gladly I assign my soul to any other soul who stands with love and seems alone .148 �Song of the Goatherd An oil puddle is black Sing I, the drunken goatherd, sing (like love) Sing I of things high and low; Reflecting the sky. Wander among the hills Sing I drowned drunken with wine sleep A kite against the sky Wet noses of goats on my face. is a snake writhing deep in J.M. an unknown pool. never To every part of its face to pass away the smile stretched, in smoke. From ear to ear to ear. B.H. At Two Title Unknown I just ran Learning near an open window in that barefoot Empty shadowed room, in a breeze He watches minute sparks of dust and earth. • • Swirling with the sun. Then turns away and would avoid their fall: To clean white paper. through the soft night grass. It made me think of ice cubes floating in lemonade a red dripping watermelon fireflies and a string of Japanese lanterns dimly swaying between two summer trees. J.L. The young girl turns her head toward me. Her eyes are closed. How sad her large mouth. S.R. �0 skies, who have made so few turnings, Why should my heart not melt with your snows? The branches of the pine trees Begin high above where we stood together. In this night of snow They are shaken by the wind 0 they are singing proudly in the forces of the wind. I cannot tell whether They remember or have forgotten. If no one Should love me again in the sky's few turnings, I shall not be the first. 0 it is morning now Why should my heart not melt with your snows? 151 �You have. spoken to me of the rhythm of life. The storm would not be chaos, But that . I do not want his boat to go ~pon. these seas • .·:· .. ,;:· .· . Ah! There is the devil -- confusion. Ah mother, I knew him better than the skies. They bore bitter fruits Who froze in the old seasons. .. High on a white horse he rides clothed in red; ;~ . Mother, I have seen such beauty.· ·' ·.-":" '. :. Fine is the Tien, but he is not yet so intense. Jealous I am, jealous for his youth. How long will he be gladly smaller than the skies? For the sake of falling blossoms, seek no words. .. ~ The warrior will not listen if you tell him of them. Put his armour away gently, and smile at his sons. Blossoms fall silently, how can I tell you? But my warrior is a rough man. Put his armour away gently, and smile at his sons. 152 153 . .; . : ~ �... Poets Page Susan Roberts II 1 Jeremy Leven I 9 John Meixner Maxine Marshall 26 Susan Kennedy Y. c. Tsein (translation) 27 30 33 35 Richard Bond 37 Richard Freis Francis c. Brooke, III Kenneth Butler 39 Eric Lutker III Peter Naboko'ff Elliott Zuckerman Richard Carter ARTISTS . 42 Sanford Fisher 8, 94, 149 36, 108 60 152 50-51 Robert Fields 76 Sam Larcombe 124 Brett Fields James Mensch Judy Millspaugh Mary Louise Biggar 45 The art worlc for this issue was done in conjunction 51 63 68 with the Visual Arts Committee. 70 IV Noel Meriam James Mensch 87 V Nancy Linn David Londow Editors 95 John F. White John Cantwell Kiley VI VII ViII IX 98 104 Charles G. Bell 107 Marian Sherman Borsodi 122 Sam Larcombe Janet Huber, Sheryl Benton, Barbara Hockman, Sam Larcombe, 125 Jeremy Leven, James Mensch, Susan Roberts X Mary Louise Biggar Richard Freis David Lachterman David Castillejo 77 149 151 Typed by: Audrey A. Kempton Mimeographed by: James McClintock Seals printed by: Katja Vasiljevich and other members of St. John's College Woodblocks printed by: Paul Whitmore, Whitmore Press, Annapolis �� 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 Collegian Description An account of the resource The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. 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 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 155 pages Text Any textual data included in the document text Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Freis, Richard (Editor) Lachterman, David (Editor) Castillejo, David (Editor) Title A name given to the resource The Collegian, May 1963 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1963-05 Description An account of the resource Issue of The Collegian. Published in May 1963. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Collegian May 1963 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 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf The Collegian https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c24fb5eda2bebd109c9a451c5952a537.pdf 0c8b612cde616302915c56575c7e1658 PDF Text Text What does music mean? Examples from Bach, theory from Kant Matthew Caswell Is music about anything? Can music represent anything at all? That is, can it mean something besides itself? Much of our music may seem to bear meaning unproblematically, since it consists of sung lyrics. Indeed, the association of musical tones with speech is primeval and enduring: the oldest poems and prayers were at the same time songs, we are told. But if music as music can represent, it doesn't do so in the manner of its ancient companion, speech. Like musical tones, words are sounds, but these sounds are taken by us as tokens of concepts, universals which we put to use in judgment, predicating the concepts of one another. There has been great controversy across the ages over how exactly strings of words in a sentence manage to mean something, but no one doubts that words have meaning. (It would be difficult to articulate such a doubt to yourself, or to anyone else, for obvious reasons.) We are less sure about tones. Since music is not a language of signs, it cannot be translated or decoded into prose in a way that carries over its power as music. At the same time, many of us would resist the claim that music is meaningless. Beethoven inscribed on his Missa Solemnis: "from the heart, may it reach other hearts." The composer wasn't merely a deft technician able to incite feelings in others; he took himself to be a thinker- that is, someone with a communicable inner life. What is in our hearts as we make music, and what do our hearts receive upon listening? In order to begin to answer these questions, we will first survey three of the ways music can be thought to mean, or to represent, using as our sourcebook of examples Bach's St Matthew Passion. In the second part of the lecture, we will turn to the account of the meaning of beautiful art offered by Immanuel Kant, perhaps the greatest modern theorist of the beautiful. As we shall see, Kant's deep metaphysics of representation may be especially well-suited to making sense of the beautiful representations of music. 1 1 Kant is thought not to have been a music-lover. Nevertheless, his brief remarks on music in the Critique of Judgement are insightful. He argues that music is only beautiful in so far as it pleases through our reflection 1 �I. BACH At least three different species of musical representing can be found in the Passion. In many of the oratorio's passages, combinations of these categories are mixed and blurred; our analysis will to some extent abstract from this highly multifarious character of Bach's work. Furthermore, our examples will all be taken from the recitative portions of the work, Bach's setting of the scripture text. The recitatives, while ornate and dense with musical invention, involve less complicated poetic and musical structures than do the song-like arias, chorales, and choral numbers, making our task of analysis and organization a bit easier. Type 1: Sound Imitation Perhaps the simplest way for a musical sound to point beyond itself is by resembling some other sound from the wider world. Think here of a timpani rolling in imitation of thunder, or of a bassoon muttering in imitation of your grandfather's voice. Like a portrait of a friend is, among other things, a likeness of our friend, the timpani roll sounds something like thunder, and can therefore represent as a stand-in. This is the model of representation scrutinized by Socrates in Book 10 of the Republic: representation here stands to thing represented as image to original. Obviously, the objects artificially imitated by sound can only be things that are already audible. Let's first listen to a brief recitative passage, and then focus on an instance of sound imitation within it. The Gospel text, recounting the disciple Peter's betrayal of Christ, in English, is as follows: on its "forms"; that is, melody, harmony, and even tone itself for Kant are not mere sensations but structured objects of reflection. Even his critique of music's essential intrusiveness, and thus lack of "urbanity" (he compares the inescapable spread of sound to the spread of an odor) is perceptive. Artists like Bach were surely aware that much of their power lay in the audience's inability to "turn [its] eyes away" (KU, 330). 2 �And Peter remembered the words of Jesus to him, "Before the rooster crows, you will deny Me three times." And he went out and wept bitterly. (Passion, §46, measures 5-12) Now take a look at a moment about a quarter of the way through that selection- it's the first example on your handout. In the second measure, the Evangelist hops through an arpeggiated triad on the word "kraehen" or "crow", the sound of his voice recalling the sound of a rooster's crow. [see example #1, handout: §46, measures 7-8] Directly mimetic moments like these are rare in the Passion. The tones, whose native tongue is melody, are here compelled to play the part of mere noise. Though they point to something by reminding us of it, they seem to mean little; they are not a language giving utterance, but an auditory reminder. There is also something humorous in these moments: it is the comedy of Bach's noble tones momentarily throwing on the low dress of inhuman, unspiritual sound. One of the most charming things about this technique is that the dress can be thrown off as easily and as quickly as it is put on. At the same time, it should be noted that this imitative dress is still music's own. We are not fooled into thinking a rooster has snuck into the church; Bach has pointed to the animal's call from well within his musical world. After all, the sound here hear is a dominant triad, and real roosters don't sing chords. 2 The tonal material of this imitation thematizes its artful distance from its referent, ensuring that it is heard as an imitation. 3 I also will note here that there are more complicated and richer uses of sound imitation in the Passion, but because they are not merely imitative, I'll return to their investigation a bit later. cf Kant's discussion of bird-song, and its imitation: KU, 302. Any other sound imitations in the Passion? See the alto aria "Buss und Reu": "die Tropfen meiner Zaehren" [the drops of my tears] are accompanied by a drip-dropping in the flutes (Passion, §1 0, measure 70). 2 3 3 �Type 2: Tone-painting Can music point to anything besides other sounds? Consider the following recitative section from earlier in the Passion. The Gospel text is as follows: "And they sang the hymn and went out to the Mount of Olives. Then Jesus said to them: All of you will be made to fail me in the course of this night. For its is written: I will strike the shepherd, and the flock of sheep will be scattered. But after my resurrection, I will lead the way for you into Galilee." (Passion, §20) In the first verse of this passage we find a second species of musical representation. This is the second example on the hand-out. Just as the disciples' motion up the mountain will be narrated in the text, the cello accompaniment steps up the degrees of the scale, marked staccato, through an octave. [see example #2, handout: Passion, §20, measures 1-3] The term of art for this technique is "tone-painting,"- there are in fact several of them in this section- and they each involve a deceptively simple analogy. For the tones do not actually "rise" in space. Perhaps because we feel the so-called "higher" tones more in our head, and the "lower" in our chests, we associate the change in pitch with the up-down direction. More fundamentally, tones in a melody constitute a heard order, and so are strongly analogous to a set of discrete "places" or topoi to which one might move. This fact underlies the analogical sense of our talk of musical "steps": because the scale, a determinate set of discrete pitches in order, is already implied by the melodic or harmonic context, we hear the "rising" sequence here not simply as a change in position, but as a step-by-step motion from one place to another, without skipping any places along the way. Moreover, since tones recapitulate their melodic function at the octave- as when men and women sing a tune together, they sing exactly an octave apart- , we hear that our steps have taken us as far as we can possibly go-"all the way" to top of the mountain, so to speak. 4 There are in fact two 'arrivals' at the summit here: first the accompaniment leads us from C# to the C# in the voice on the downbeat of the next measure, then the voice extends the climb to A, the root of the dominant seventh chord pointing to a resolution in D. Together, both climbs make up a harmonic "?-station", 4 4 �This sort of tone-painting is knowing and witty. While the sound imitation of the rooster's crow made use of an auditory resemblance, the tone-painting does not resemble, but analogizes. We notice the analogy between the tonal motion and the locomotion noted in the text, and smile at Bach's artistry in coordinating the two. One could imagine an entire Passion oratorio composed this way, with the text continually illuminated or decorated with musical analogies of the action. This would be an amusing, arch, and civilized work, but would suggest that music's representational power is of a decidedly second-order nature. For the musical "ascent" here tells us no more than the text already does on its own: its delight is in the artistry-the cleverness, I want to say-- used in contriving the analogy. Indeed, like musical sound imitation, tone painting is always heard as artifice. To take the melodic ascent as a representation, one must intellectually connect the two sides of the analogy, which are in themselves alien to each other. 5 Type 3: Musical ideas What about this passage, a few moments later in the Passion? Jesus is speaking to his disciples at Gethsemene, and says to them "sit you here, I will go go there and pray." This is the third example. [see example #3, handout: Passion, §24, measures 4-6] Bach has Jesus stretch out the word "bete"-- "pray", as the strings execute a beautiful cadence in the accompaniment. Is this measure of music a representation? Let's take a closer look at the music. The first three syllables of Jesus' address spell or "return" passage. 5 Tone painting typically makes use of the sort of spatial analogies music is ripe for, and therefore often (I suspect always) involves a musical analogue of locomotion. These analogies are aided by the conventions of the graphics of score-writing: when you look at the score for the above passage, you see the signs for the tones arranged up an incline. Or look at the tone painting from a moment later, where Jesus speaks of the scattering of the flock (§20, measures 8-1 0). We know that Bach did in fact devote special attention to the appearance of the St. Matthew Passion score. The fact that this visual duplication of the analogy is really only available to the musical insider with score in hand underscores tone-painting's cleverness and humor. 5 �out a triad in B-flat, with a deep B-flat chord held in the strings. But as he lands on his fourth syllable, "hier", the strings add an A-flat to this same triad, generating a mild dissonance, and leaning unmistakably forward towards the next chord. The strings then resolve the dissonance, drawing out a long, rich, major triad on E-flat, into which Jesus begins to speak the word for prayer. 6 He leans through a dissonant F on the downbeat of the measure, and then holds an E-flat through the first syllable, resting in the tonal home or center of this passage. The accompaniment here begins to cycle through a series of chords, each casting a different light on and around that same E-flat. Jesus' bass voice allows his words to be set in the middle of the pitch-range of the accompanying strings. He is thus surrounded by the chords which seem fo emanate from him. This effect is often called Jesus' "halo" of strings. The effect through the first half of this 'bete' measure is of a slowly beating oscillation of different gestures away from home. Then, just as Jesus finishes speaking, the strings finally move more dramatically to a dominant seventh chord on B-flat, rooted on the fifth degree of the scale, and featuring a poignant tritone dissonance between the top and middle voices. The dissonant chord is resolved to the home triad, completing the periodic harmonic journey. The strings form this harmonic period in four voices, the top two moving contrarily towards each other, and the bottom two moving contrarily away from each other. Contrary melodic motion helps maximize the individuality of the voices, without frustrating their harmoniousness. Indeed, the string voices in this passage seem to act on their own for the sake of each other: gracefully making way for one another, or pausing to offer friendly resistance. Here Bach compounds contraries within contraries, intensifying the harmonious diversity of the motion. The crucial dominant seventh chord, unlike the other chords in the sequence, is articulated across several overlapping rhythms, prolonging the tension in that chord as we hear each voice move into place within the leaning whole of the chord. Bach postpones the appearance of the tritone dissonance until the last possible moment. The whole passage is balanced, natural, gentle, and whole. It is a graceful motion that has its end in sight as it begins, but whose particular trajectory is not exactly determined, but rather full of rhythmic, melodic, and harmonic contingency along the way. (Let's listen again.) The whole passage seeks its home in E-flat. This home was established in the immediately preceding chorale, "lch will hier bei dir stehen", which begins and ends in E-flat major. The Evangelist narration then picks up with an F-chord, which functions as a secondary dominant. The F gets its seventh with the word "Gethsemene", resolving to 8-flat, which will go on to serve as the dominant seventh in Jesus' prayer passage. 6 6 �Is this a representation of prayer? Obviously, no sound imitation, as we saw in Type 1, is at work here. Unlike our Type 2 tone-painting, the musical motion here does not resemble some locomotion, by means of an analogy between tones and place. After all, a prayer is neither a noise, nor is it a locomotion. And for this reason, we detect none of Bach's ironic authorial cleverness in the connection between prayer and this cadence. We do not smile at the artful touch: rather, we are moved by what may seem to be a glimpse of a true nature. The lack of isomorphism connects the music and the thought more intimately: we are not hearing something that sounds like a person praying, and we are not hearing prayer illustrated or decorated, we are hearing prayerfulness made audible. Here, the music-- the tones in time Jesus sings-- and the object-- a prayerful inner disposition-- are not thoroughly alien to each other, but seem rather to be of a piece. To say that the cadence "means" or "represents" prayer might be misleading. It would not be possible, without the text, to deduce what in the world the cadence was "about." At the same time, the things in the world it would be the perfect setting for are not limitless. This is not Aeneas sinking his sword into Turnus' chest; it is not Hamlet castigating his mother; it is not even Socrates cooling his feet in the stream. Although we can't spell out the rule according to which, given either the thought or the music, we could derive or compose the other, we might have the curious impression that no other moment than this one is as well captured by this particular cadence in the strings and voice. In its contingency with respect to any rule, it is particular, unlike the two previous Types of representation. The text makes the notion of prayer explicit for the listener. There are other concepts we might reach for in an attempt to articulate the meaning of the passage: above, I used the words 'graceful,' 'gentle,' 'natural,' and 'whole.' But none of these words, and not even the leading notion 'prayer' seem to get the music just right. Our concepts may be appropriate, but they do not exhaust. This feature of conceptual inexhaustibility was also missing in the sound imitation and tone painting examples. The sound imitation and the actual call of a rooster both involve a quick rising figure: to some extent, they both bear the same sound. The motion of the tones and the motion of the disciples are analogues: they are both step-wise changes in place. Here, the act of prayer and the motion of the phrase are both .... something. We need not remain silent about what that something is, but we know we won't be able to spell it out satisfactorily. There is also marked difference in the response of the listener at moments like these, compared with the cases of sound imitation or tone-painting. While we might delight in the 7 �cleverness of either of the former, pleasure is more deeply involved in our apprehension of the third type of representation. "Pleasure" is in fact not the whole story: there is a complex of pleasures and pains in our hearing this passage- pains of longing, pleasures of consummation. No one has ever been moved to tears by a sound imitation, nor by a tone-painting. Speaking of tears, I'd like to note another, more complicated case of musical representation in the Passion, one in which the first and third types are brilliantly combined. For not all imitable sounds are as cheeky as a rooster crowing. What about the sounds of the human voice, especially that voice when it is involved in the inarticulate expression of emotion- the laugh, the sigh, the sob--? Some have thought that musical meaning as such derives from the refined imitation of emotionally expressive vocal sounds. I don't think musical meaning can possibly be accounted for on such terms, but Bach will sometimes allude to expressive sound imitation, at the same time that he transcends it. Take this passage, from the close of the episode of Peter's betrayal we looked at above. It's the fourth example on your hand-out. [see example #4, handout: §46, measures 9-12] "He went out, and wept bitterly'' -- Bach sets the last two words to a weaving, sinuous melody in f-sharp minor, the key of the famous subsequent aria. On the word "weinete"-- "wept"-- the line sinks from the tonic f-sharp through the upper half of the minor scale, landing on a chromatic non-scale tone b#. This unexpected tone arrests our motion down the scale, leaning sharply back up towards the scale-tone 5 (c#) which we have just descended through. The Evangelist takes the opportunity of this unstable, hanging arrest to leap up almost an octave, and to wind even more torturously than before back to the tonic and the fifth, framing the final cadence. No one has ever wept so melodiously. Holding key tones over the beats, and making bold moves between the beats, the cry becomes a passionate dance. As the exquisite articulation of the melody takes over, and takes on a life of its own, the sound that reminded us of crying becomes something else: not an imitation of an audible sign of anguish, but a representing of the anguish of regret and penitence itself: sorrowful anguish made audible. As in Jesus' prayerful harmonic period, we here get a glimpse of the otherwise invisible. As in the earlier example, our apprehension is a complex of delectable pleasures and pains. And in both cases, the fully musical idea, unpredictable according to any thinkable 8 �rule, moves us. In the foregoing descriptions, I have in several places referred to the leaning tendency of particular tones and chords, naming the former by their scale degree, and the latter by the technical vocabulary of 'tonic, dominant, etc.' Analysis of the tonality of a piece is a crucial task in attempting to make its particular meaning clear in speech. In this sense it is similar to the analysis of the meter of poetic verse, the grammar of a sentence, or the logical figure of a proof. The phenomenon of tonality, of the heard relational structure of tones, is all-important to music, and so theoretically interesting, we might be led to say that the meaning of music is simply tonal function. In Zuckerkandl's terms, the meaning of a tone or chord would then just be its "dynamic quality." Simi·larly, music's rhythmic order in time unfolds through the cycling of upbeats and downbeats, and we might add rhythmic quality- a tone's position in the time-wave which it itself generates- as another element of musical meaning. On this interpretation, music would not represent anything beyond itself, and our thinking about a piece of music, if it were to remain non-fanciful, would be confined to reflection on the movement and structure of the musical sounds themselves. There is something incomplete in this conception of musical meaning, however. To be sure, music cannot make Peter's anguish present to us without the means of tonality and rhythm. 7 But I take it that an essential element of our understanding of such a passage, and of our pleasure in it, is that something not exclusively musical is being made present. The moving syntactic relations in time and tone enable music to 'make sense', as it were, but they do not, on their own, make it beautiful. As Zuckerkandl is well aware, a tune may establish a tonic center perfectly adequately and yet bore us to tears. In his treatment, the question of music's meaning is separated from the question of music's beauty or greatness; and thus, the word "beautiful" hardly appears in Zuckerkandl's wonderful guide into musical phenomena, The Sense of Music. An alternative approach, which we will see is Kant's, would understand the pleasure in judging the beautiful as itself the reception and contemplation of a particular sort of meaning. Accordingly, we might understand the tedium or vapidity of some music, like the sort we are subjected to in elevators, as an emptiness of meaning; while they are rhythmically and tonally intelligible, these unbeautiful tonal utterances seem to say little or nothing to us, and their deficiency of representational power is essentially linked with their What about "atonal" music? We'd have to investigate case by case to see if such music deserved the title "atonal," strictly speaking. Some allegedly atonal music may involve the search for new, non-diatonic "dynamic qualities." Some may depend upon frustrating expected tonal structures at every turn, and thus presupposing tonality as an implicit background (cf "non-Euclidean geometry"). 7 9 �deficiency in pleasure. To summarize: Deep pleasure in the apprehension of a representation whose meaning is conceptually inexhaustible, a form in sound that seems to be the natural manifestation of an inaudible truth- these are the features of what I want to call a musical idea in the fullest sense. How does music achieve this representational power? What in us is at work as we perceive it? And why does it feel so good? That is, why is it beautiful, and what does its beauty mean? Maybe Kant can help. II. KANT Kant's inquiry into taste and beauty makes up the first half of his third Critique, the Critique of Judgment. Towards the close of the investigation, the question of beauty's meaning leads Kant to a surprisingly expansive treatment of the ways in which representation can happen. Namely, he finds himself required to rethink the relation between the poles of his famous dualism of intuition and concept. The first Critique of Pure Reason developed this Kantian duality, according to which spontaneous intellectual acts (the concepts) must be brought together with given sensible forms (the intuitions) to make knowledge possible. Concepts without intuitions are "empty"-- they are mere thoughts, unable to pronounce truths or falsities about the world. Intuitions without concepts are "blind"-- they cannot be taken to represent anything, and so strictly mean nothing. Everything we can know is articulable in a judgment in which intuition and concept are thought together. What Kant now points out is that the exhibition in an intuition of a concept, the "making sensible" of a thought, is possible in two rather different ways (KU, 351). 8 The first way, familiar to readers of the first Critique, he calls "schematic:' Here we take the intuition as bearing the "monogram" or calling card of the concept, and accordingly take the particular given intuition to be an "example" of the universal concept. 9 The second way of exhibiting pure concepts Kant here calls "symbolic." He cautions the reader to observe that people usually use the word "symbol" incorrectly: the designation of a concept by a sensible sign is not an exhibition, a making sensible, of the concept at all, but a "mere characterization." In the latter, Kant writes, "the signs contain nothing whatever that belongs to the intuition of the object." The only thing linking the sensible articulation and the 8 9 References noted 'KU are to Kant's Critique of Judgement, Akademie page numbers. To be precise, in an empirical judgement, the intuition is an "example", in a priori, a "schema". 10 �referent concept, in this case, is the arbitrary or conventional act of our own intellect. The so-called "symbols" of algebra are in truth mere 'characters' or tokens in this sense. But a genuine symbol, according to Kant, is an intuition that represents by being thought in an analogous way as that which it is the symbol of. Kant offers the following example: a hand mill is a symbol of an absolute monarchy, while an organism is a symbol of a constitutional monarchy. The rules according to which we reflect on the relations in each pair are the same: the parts of the hand mill move through the mechanical force imposed by an external impulse, as the members of the absolute monarchy are coerced by fear of the king; while the parts of the organism are self-moved, according to an idea of the whole animal, as the members of the constitutional monarchy act according to their systematic roles in the legal idea of a constitution. (How much longer and more awkward that is to spell out, than it is to present in the unexplained analogy!) The hand mill and the animal allow us to see, they "submit to inspection", the different sorts of monarchy, if we are willing to take them symbolically. It may help to be annoyingly precise here, since the enmeshed relation between thing and appearance is especially knotty where analogy is concerned: There is something about the monarchy which is is also present in the handmill. It is that 'third' thing-- a sort of power relation-- that is directly 'made visible' here; in other words, both the monarchy and the mill are examples of external force. At the same time, the monarchy itself is indirectly made visible in the handmill, in so far as they both bear the relevant power relation. Thus, the one is a symbol of the other. Symbolic representation or meaning abounds in our language: a "sub-stance" doesn't literally "stand under" anything 10 , but the spatial and causal relation articulated in an empirical 'standing under' is analogous to the metaphysical relation between a thing and its accidents; just as that which "de-pends" on a cause doesn't literally "hang from" it (KU,352). It is striking that Kant's examples of symbolic language (which work in German as well as English) come from his Table of Categories, the "pure concepts of the understanding." Apparently we are unable to speak these non-sensible thoughts except by analogizing them to sensible items around us, although for most of us the symbols have petrified, and we are rarely aware of their symbolic character. If this is true, it is likely that no speech is merely "characteristic," outside of the rarified realm of modern mathematics. Kant's notion of symbolic representation will turn out to be crucial in his culminating investigation of the beautiful as the symbol of the good, even later in the Critique. But for our 10 I know this etymology is spurious. 11 �purposes, I want to direct our attention to how Kant begins the thread of aesthetic meaning a bit earlier, in his discussion of "fine" or beautiful art. There, Kant is occupied with articulating the subtle role of concepts in fine art. We don't think a work of art is beautiful because we recognize what concept it should be subsumed under. To judge that a poem is an Italian sonnet, or that a painting is an impressionist rendering of an orchard, or that passage of music contains a perfect cadence, all this tells us nothing about these works' beauty. These judgments are "schematic," for they determine the given object as an example of the class, in accordance with a rule. But judgments of beauty-- what Kant calls judgments of taste-- do not use concepts this way. The beautiful object seems ideally suited for thinking over, for contemplating, without it ever being decided once and for all what it is. It excites our minds into a maximal activity, what Kant calls "free harmony," in which our imagination traces every detail and our understanding ranges through a "wealth of thought," each activity propelling the other. This harmony is "free" in that it is not in the service of rendering a determinate sentence. Kant takes this "quickening," rather than being exhausting, to be self-strengthening, a becoming-more-alive. He often relies on the term "play" to capture the leisure, spontaneity, and energy of judging the beautiful. In Kant's conception, the beautiful is not relaxing, but stimulating. We are not transfixed by beauty, but "linger" over it. It doesn't strike at a moment, but unfolds across time in the extended activity of our reflection. 11 In this connection, it is worth noticing one of reasons Kant cites for ranking music below the other arts. He writes that while the visual arts are "lasting," in so far as their forms endure in space as we reflect on them, music is inevitably "transitory." Indeed, he observes that we tend to find musical passages which do manage to endure by "involuntarily" lodging themselves in our memory "annoying." But this criticism might be turned on its head: because musical forms vanish as we linger over them- indeed they must do so to be present to us at all- to have them in the ear is to be immediately aware that they pass us by, slip away, and evanesce. This may, after all, be the source of beautiful music's particularly heart-breaking power. Music makes intimately manifest the mortality of the "feeling of life" through which we enjoy the beautiful. Now, Although judgments of taste are free from conceptual determination, they are in fact often rich with concepts, since they always involve the understanding. A beautiful 11 Much art, and much music in particular, has the effect of transfixing us in an overwhelming moment. According to Kant, this is not art of the beautiful, but art of the sublime. Perhaps "Sind Blitze, sind Donner" (Passion, §33, measures 104 ff) provides an example of the sublime in the Passion. 12 �landscape brings to mind the interdependence of the ecological whole and the efforts of human cultivation. A beautiful horse may bring to mind the natural purposes of power and speed, or the human purpose of war. And in the case of art, the artifice of the object always gives some concrete conceptual direction to our reflection. After all, we only know it is art because someone purposefully made it (KU, 303). Of course, many artificial expressions are not beautiful. The representations of men and women on restroom doors point to a determinate purpose, we quickly see what they mean, and our grasp of their meaning is what allows us to see them as artificial in the first place. But they are not thereby beautiful, and in fact the determinate nature of their meaning prevents the free harmony through which we judge beauty from getting off the ground. Thus, beautiful art, in so far as it is beautiful, cannot have a determinate meaning, for it cannot be read as an exhibition of an example according to a specifiable rule. In his attempt to say what it is an exhibition of, to account for the in principle unaccountable, Kant introduces his notion of "aesthetic idea" (KU, 314). Readers of the first Critique know that "ideas", for Kant, are concepts of reason, in which a totality or whole is thought The world, as the cosmic whole, is an idea; as is God, as the highest being. Ideas are never given in experience, which is to say, experience always falls short of them. An "aesthetic idea" is a totality for the senses; that is, a given sensible form for which no concept is adequate. Kant describes how the poet ventures to make sensible the rational ideas of invisible beings, the realm of the blessed, the realm of hell, eternity, creation, and so on. Or again, he takes things that are indeed exemplified in experience, such as death, envy, and all the other vices, as well as love, fame, and so on; but then, going beyond the limits of experience by means of an imagination that emulates reason by reaching for a maximum, he ventures to make these sensible with a completeness that no example in nature affords. (KU, 314) Now, by supposition, the mode of representation here cannot be "schematic," since the intuition is not definable as a case of a rule. It must, rather, be "symbolic": in our judgment of the given form, we take its elements to be related to one another in a way analogous to the relation among the elements of the non-sensible ideal. Kant quotes a minor poet: "the sun flowed forth, as serenity flows from virtue" (KU, 316). I don't know if this is really all that beautiful, but let's give Kant some slack. It is not simply the case that the sun is to its rays as moral contentment is to moral goodness. This would be a symbolic representation, but a determinate one, like the handmill and the autocracy, in which the rule instantiated on each side of the analogy could be discursively articulated. Kant's claim is that in running through 13 �the image of the sun, we find that no determinate articulation is adequate to capture the way in which it is like virtue. Rather, we range through boundless partial characterizations, stimulated towards further contemplation of the image. This is the free play of taste in the presence of the beautiful, and it feels good. Note that in this example, the poet has quite explicitly directed our reflection towards what the image is to mean. But this is not necessary for symbolic representation in aesthetic ideas. It may even be the case that the less explicit the directing of our reflection, the more stimulating that reflection will become, since its scope will be less circumscribed. On the other hand, to give too little direction risks disengaging the understanding altogether, falling back into meaninglessness. The great artist strikes this balance perfectly, convincing us that the sensible form means something, but letting that meaning escape any final determination. Kant gives an interesting example of meaningless aesthetic experience earlier in the Critique. "The changing shapes of the flames in a fire or in a rippling brook" are not beautiful, according to Kant, even though they pleasantly engage the imagination (KU, 243). These scenes, however, fail to call the understanding into activity, and so the play is one-sided. We can easily call to mind musical versions of this formless flickering and babbling. One sign of their one-sidedness is that these sorts of experiences are relaxing, they put us at ease by releasing tension. They are a sort of massage for the mind. The beautiful, on the other hand, wakes us up. For in the beautiful, the understanding is maximally active, striving to make sense of the given form, to apprehend its meaning. Recalling Kant's famous formulation in the first Critique, without concepts our aesthetic reflection is blind. Once Kant interprets the forms of fine art as "aesthetic ideas", it becomes possible to think of beautiful nature as meaningful in the same, subtle way. The real sun's streaming rays give us far less conceptual direction than the poet's somewhat pedantic metaphor, but as we take them up in a judgment of taste, our understanding is stimulated into the same sort of harmonious activity. Even though we know the sun is no work of art, we reflect on it in taste as if it were the expression of some meaning that escapes determination, as if some truth was made sensible and submitted to our inspection in the concrete appearance. The intense pleasure afforded by fine art, and by beautiful nature, lies in this delicate balance of significance and ineffability: we feel it means something, we know its meaning can't be articulated. Kant often tries to capture this tension in aesthetic judgment as such with his claim that the judgment is one of "Zweckmassigkeit ohne Zweck'' ("purposiveness-without-a-purpose," or, perhaps, "fittingness without a fit"). In light of the 14 �account of aesthetic ideas, aesthetic pleasure can be recast as a delight in this 'meaningfulness-without-a-meaning.' 12 If beautiful forms as such are aesthetic ideas, and aesthetic ideas always "strive toward something that lies beyond the bounds of experience," the meaning of a beautiful form must always point beyond the sensible, towards the supersensible. That is, through symbolic representation art and nature both render the supersensible, sensible. When supposedly "empirical" items like death and love are taken up by fine art, their representation directs us towards an unconditioned principle, and thus towards the unseen supersensible ground of these familiar features of life. Of course, we don't gain knowledge of these grounds by means of art. Rather, our reflection is directed towards them, as we take the beautiful form to be a glimpse of the unknowable. Some readers have thought Kant's account of fine art as the exhibition of aesthetic ideas puts so-called non-representational art beyond the scope of his theory. Instrumental music, at least in so far as it could not be reduced to sound-imitation or tone-painting, might seem to be a clear case of art that depicts nothing at all. But Kant's account is in fact a challenge to many familiar models of what "representation" is in the first place. If we think of a representation as an isomorphic stand-in, where the thing and its representation are related as original and image, then it is certainly true that much beauty, including beautiful music, is non-representational. 13 Indeed, nothing, according to Kant, is beautiful by virtue of its service as an imitative copy. However, a thing-as-it-appears is not related to that thing-as-it-is-in-itself as original to image. The appearance is not a copy. Rather, things have sensible manifestations by appearing to us. The two aspects are not distinct beings, but rather complementary standpoints. In the case of beauty, we take something supersensible as if it is appearing. The form present to our senses is not an imitation of some absent thing, but a present manifestation of the unseen, and in this Kantian sense a 'representing,' a Vorstellung. Precisely because we can't fill in the content of the reference of the appearance though aesthetic judgment, we can never say adequately what is being presented. But in our reflection, the perpetually out-of-reach reference is always pointed to, sometimes with less and sometimes with more guiding direction. In this way, all beauty is representational and One great irony of the third Critique is that while its analysis of beauty begins by privileging nature over art, Kant surprises his readers late in the book by revealing that all beauty, understood now as the exhibition of aesthetic ideas, is a sort of art. 13 Alternatively, in a more modern mood, if we think of a representation as an arbitrary token signifier, beauty is also non-representational. 12 15 �non-representational at the same time. The notion of an aesthetic idea can help us make sense of the powerful and puzzling way in which Bach's music has meaning. Jesus' cadential prayer passage is a symbol in Kant's technical sense: in our contemplation of it, we sense that our reflection on its audible elements is analogous to a reflection on the elements of an inaudible reality involving piety, gentleness, and loving sound-mindedness. In other words, Bach has found a way to make the holy, inner character of the speaker sensible, he has submitted that character to our inspection. While we might well be provoked into articulating the meaning of the passage in words, we know that just what Bach has articulated in tones will escape us. We can be told that Peter wept, we can witness a depiction of Peter weeping, but Bach's recitative measures make the invisible and inaudible interior of Peter's soul present to us in tones. This art of aesthetic ideas promises to deliver truths to its listener; we feel we are close to understanding something perhaps otherwise unknowable in listening. Because there is no rule according to which these musical passages could be constructed and classified, we are unlikely to call them "artificial", even though they are art. Rather, the sounds seem to arise from a non-sensible principle as if they were natural. Accordingly, we sense that the connection between representation and meaning is not a contrivance linking alien things, but a union of what belongs together. Our delight in the fittingness of the contingent, understood as meaningfulnesswithout-a-meaning, may help make sense of poetic pleasures and meanings as such. In a great sculpture, the posture of the figure seems just right, so very just right as to be an expression of an impossible-to-define principle. In his interview with the diabolical Smerdyakov at the bench outside their father's house, Ivan Karamazov notices his half-brother carefully drawing ,one foot along side the other, playing with the toe of his boot, and then shifting the position of his feet back again, throughout their chilling, obscurely conspiratorial conversation. Dostoevsky has worked his typical magic here: we couldn't have predicted Smerdyakov would do this, and we don't know why Smerdyakov is doing this or what it means, and yet in its unanticipatable contingency it seems so perfectly fitting that it must have its source in the unseen nature that is Smerdyakov's character. We are moved by indeterminate meaningfulness of the aesthetic idea. 14 The frozen gesture of the sculpture and narrated gesture of character have a power 14 Regarding Smerdyakov, see Kant's discussion of "the beautiful representation of the ugly." 16 �that trades on their indeterminately symbolic function: indeed, this is the way of gesture as such. In his Doctrine of Right, Kant suggests that a handshake is an attempt to make the intelligible act of a meeting of wills in a contract visible, in a symbolic gesture depicting the two-sided unity of the agreement. He goes so far as to say that the parties thereby "manifest the perplexity" of the intelligible act (MdR, 272). 15 Similarly, kneeling and bowing one's head are not natural indications of humility and supplication; they represent the latter by means of some analogy between the arrangement in space of our embodied selves and the attitude (so to speak) of our minds. We thereby make our supplication visible. Bach's music can similarly be seen as an audible gesture, a sequence of meaningful movements, giving Jesus' piety the sensible form of a heard symbol. The difference between mere motion and symbolic gesture16 helps capture the difference between tone-painting, and what I've called musical ideas. The motion of bowing one's head or taking one's knee takes place in space and time. However, Jesus' prayer cadence does not analogize this motion (that would make it a tone-painting) 17 , but symbolizes the same inner change manifested in the bodily gesture, but in tone and rhythm. Where the pitch-painting takes place in the dynamically bare axis of up-and-down, the tonal gesture's motions occur within a matrix of home, away, tension, and rest. The "fall" referred to in the term "cadence" (Latin: cadere) is not a descent in pitch, but a falling-to-rest in the tonal field of dynamic quality. Indeed some of the string voices in our prayer passage rise in pitch as they "fall" to home. The tonal-rhythmic field gives us access to a symbolic gestural power that far outstrips mere pitch-relation, and may far outstrip the material resources of every other fine art. Because music is so rich with tensions and resolutions, pullings, failings, holding still, balancing, imbalancing, and coming to rest, and because these motions and forces are distilled and disembodied in tonal and rhythmic forms, music is perhaps the most intensely and exquisitely gestural form of representation available to us. For this reason, whenever we most want to make something spiritual manifest to ourselves, we will want to hear it in music. January, 2015 MdR = Doctrine of Right, Akademie page number Note that symbolic gesture can include non-motion (striking a posture), just as music can include silence. 17 Could the "lowering" of the soprano and bass voices in the second half of the "bete" measure be a subtle painting of taking one's knee? 15 16 17 ��\ . . What does Music Mean?'Examples from Bach, Theory from Kant "Appearances are a glimpse of the unseen." -Anaxagoras, fragment B2Ja 1. '~ . -I@~ ~ gPI v gig~ ~ v) ~ H n~ a v ; q E- he dBf Hahn k:ra - hen wird, wirst du mich d:re.i-mal Ye:rleugne:p.. _ 1 2. -- ' 1\Jr " lv f)_~ Qb ., ' !. - ·Evangelist (Cho;us I) Und da hle den Lob- ge - ~ - spro-chen hat -.- sang ' \ lmgen sie h:inaus w den 01-be:r:~· )e~, I J "- ~ €. Oont. Org. f!!l ~- .., :-= ---- -w- _A_ . ~ ~ ~ m 6 6 5 I 3. . Jesus-"ii . i wL S~t.Jt euchlder, ~--. I .- J, .e & I ~ j I ""' I ' j bis .daEl ich dart-ldn is-he, und be - ~ St:r. )• . . '-' I P, I ~ .. -~ _:g. ~----- ' _:Jk-:~r~l~\. E"T1! J I ~ .:zf ~ ~~ -- ::;s -'=1- :v I ts. -= 7} 1- 1':1 ' I ~ r -5 �4. E ·~7 ~ I~~ ~ AJt I ~I Und g:ing her-.aus (L_ ~ I -t , ft ~~q~~tfn#i£guctm llnd wei - - ) ~ #-~ - {,\ 1 i "" ne-te bit- ter-lich. [i{)O] f.l " ' i f:J> 8 #-at ~='= 1#1 j_ ' . f.\ __r;-. ~- I ,.,. {} 7 . 5.b The poet ventures to make sensible the rational ideas of invisible beings, the realm of the blessed, the realm of hell, eternity, creation, and so on. Or again, he takes things that are indeed exemplified .in experience, such as death, envy, and all the other vices, as well as love, fame, and so on; but then, going beyond the limits of experience by means of an imagination that emulates reason by reaching for a maximum, he ventures to make these sensible with a completeness that no example in nature affords. Critique of Judgment §49, 314 � 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. 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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. 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Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Caswell, Matthew Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2015-01-16 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make typescript copies of my lecture 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 Subject The topic of the resource Music, Philosophy and aesthetics Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 82004 Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on January 16, 2015 by Matthew Caswell as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/b9b0cab952e5288e9e6691b89c28abc5.pdf 30ae99d4d2b26b1bc80ae58611525323 PDF Text Text Philosophy and the Cave Wall Plato and Kant on the form of the given Would the mind’s escape from the body be a good thing? This question might arise for anyone who sees a distinction in our human nature between thought and sense. Why might one wish for such an escape? And what might warn one against such a wish? Compare these two different ways of approaching the question, each formulated by Kant: The inclinations themselves, as sources of need, are so far from having an absolute worth, that to be altogether free of them must be the general wish of every rational being. (Kant, Groundwork, 428) 1 Here, sensible appetites and aversions are a regrettable encumbrance. Of course, the annihilation of bodily needs is just a “wish”-- these impositions of nature are truly inescapable for us as long as we live in this body. But who hasn’t felt this wish, in moments of frustration, struggle, or frailty? Just as the addict can see his own addiction as something to regret, as something worth being free from, we may all sometimes see the demands our own bodies seem to make on us as regrettable, and as unfortunate. Socrates spoke of this kind of wish in the Phaedo, when he explained to his friends that a philosopher looks forward to death– the soul leaving the body– as the greatest of blessings. But here is another take on the question: The light dove, cleaving the air in her free flight, and feeling its resistance, might imagine that its flight would be still easier in empty space. 2 It was thus that Plato left the world of the senses, as setting too narrow limits to the understanding, and ventured out beyond it on the wings of the ideas, in the empty zone of pure understanding. He did not observe that with all his efforts he made no advance– meeting no resistance that might, as it were, serve as a support upon which he could take a stand, to which he could apply his powers, and so set his understanding in motion. Kant is more subtle in other works. “The inclinations, in themselves, are good” (Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone). Nevertheless, they do not enable our cognition of the Good itself. 2 Is there such a thing as empty space? The dove thinks so. Kant will argue that mind is absent from no place in the world (“the sum of possible experience”): it is an ideal plenum, so to speak. 1 1 �(Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A5/B8) Here sensibility could be thought of as a resource, a help that makes knowledge possible for the mind. The wish of the thinker to be released from sense is mistaken, because it fails to see how, if realized, this would mean the withdrawal of that resource, the abandonment of that crucial gift. Notice how Kant relates his own thinking to Plato explicitly in the second passage, and implicitly in the first. Kant seems to be divided. In the practical sphere, where action is concerned, sense can be an obstacle, or at least an encumbrance. But in the theoretical sphere, where knowledge is concerned, Kant is in fact a champion of sensibility. Ultimately, according to Kant, it is only when we understand the epistemic resource provided by sensibility that we can see how necessary, universal knowledge of the world around us is possible. Kant aims to carry out a previously unattempted task for philosophy: to unfold the principles of sensibility. Philosophy, Kant claims, must not sprint ahead to the realm of pure reason, to what seems to it maximally intelligible. Rather, it can and must make intelligible what is not intelligible on its own– the senses. When explicated, this would be a kind of wisdom unavailable to the mere mathematician or scientist, and unheard of by the metaphysician: a philosophical apology of sense, what Kant calls a ‘transcendental aesthetic.’ Getting to read Plato and Kant every few years in an alternating cycle, it has come to seem to me that perhaps Plato, for one, did contemplate such an account. To see this thread in Plato, I will consider tonight passages from two great dialogues: the Republic, and its sibling, the Timaeus. Kant himself turns our attention in this direction by identifying Plato as the beginning of his own philosophical tradition, one that asks first and foremost: how is knowledge possible? The example of mathematics, Kant claims, convinced Plato that we have access universal, necessary truths not derived from sense experience—what Kant calls a priori knowledge. Socrates is often occupied with this sort of knowledge, as in the slave-boy’s recollection of true geometrical judgments he was never taught. To explain this sort of knowing, Socrates sometimes invokes purely intellectual, so-called forms of what is known. The pure forms somehow come to have sensible images of themselves, in our minds and in the world. That is, they are somehow participated in, or received, and it is by means of their reception that the world can be known for what it is. But how is this reception into the sensible realm possible? The problem of human knowledge, of how the given can be known, is therefore always also the problem of sensible receptivity. 2 �The lecture has four parts. We will trace a path of inquiry into receptivity through Book VI of the Republic (section 1), and then into the Timaeus (section 2), where I hope to show how Plato’s thinking reaches a kind of culmination in the account of the so-called ‘receptacle’. In the third section of the lecture, we’ll compare the Platonic approach to the problem with Kant’s account of space in the Transcendental Aesthetic of the Critique of Pure Reason. We might then be in a position to judge whether Plato and Kant are really philosophical brothers-in-arms, as Kant suggests (section 4). We will not discover that Plato and Kant held the same doctrines. Plato’s dialogic writings protect us from ascribing “doctrines” to his writings at all. Nevertheless, philosophers—even philosophers who disagree with each other-- might be colleagues in so far as they are moved by the same questions, and the same problems. It is this comradery under a question I hope to examine in Kant and Plato tonight. The Path Upward is not the Path Downward In Book VI of Plato’s Republic, Socrates asks his conversation partners to imagine a line divided into two unequal sections, each of which is divided again into two subsections (509d7 ff). Then both faculties of the soul and the objects of these faculties are mapped onto the line: the two main sections correspond to sense and understanding; the realm of sense, of what seems to be, is divided into bodily things, and their images; while the realm of the understanding, of what is, is divided into what Socrates calls the “mathematicals,” or the learnable things, and what he calls the “ideas,” or the forms. The philosopher’s authentic activity is knowing the forms, which he or she achieves by what Socrates calls “dialectic.” The category of the mathematicals, by the way, might be much broader than what we would mean by ‘mathematics,’ embracing anything that can be universally known or demonstrated: not only music and mechanics, but perhaps also several natural sciences, and even language arts like grammar and general logic-- the mathematicals, taken together, sserve as the topics of our tutorials and labs. The realm of the sensible is known by experience. Enough familiarity with the solid structures we use as houses lets a carpenter repair and construct. His or her colleague within the sensible realm is the artist who expertly paints images of the same houses that the carpenter constructs. But many aspects of housebuilding follow from geometry, which grasps universal principles about figures. The knowledge of these belongs to the understanding. Here we can see laid out three personages, three psychic activities, and three sorts of object: the 3 �painter, making images of houses by artistic imitation; the carpenter, putting his or her body into motion to bring those same houses into being as solid structures; the geometrician, demonstrating the necessary, universal figurative principles governing the house’s structure. The painting is an image of the roof’s eaves, which in turn can be thought of as images of angles. These angles can be seen “only by thought,” and raising ourselves to the level of the mathematicals reveals that human beings can have contact with universal, necessary truths beyond convention and passing opinion. They give us purchase on the truth beyond experience. But Socrates follows his construction of the divided line by posing two “reservations” to his interlocutors about mathematical knowledge. The first is that its objects are taken as “assumptions” by the thought that knows them. Geometry, for example, like all other particular sciences, must simply assume that mathematical figures exist, and are therefore available for study. It has no account of what sort of existence they have, and whether this existence has a cause or source. Second, geometry will always be at least partially immersed in sensibility, since it must always make use of sensible images in its demonstrations. In Socrates’ account, philosophy will emerge as a possible kind of knowing that could transcend these two “reservations.” Let us consider the reservations in turn. Socrates complains that the mathematicals are not truly “first principles” or beginnings, but “assumptions” But how does he know this? True, geometry does not explain how its angle exists, but could this not be a consequence of the figure’s ultimate priority? It can’t be explained by geometry, because it can't be explained at all: it is a first principle. This is a tempting defense of mathematical supremacy. (when mathematicians call themselves ‘platonists’,sometimes I think this is what they mean.) But consider carefully the difference between self-evidence and assumption: an assumed premise is not self-evident, because it leaves unsettled what sort of being on its own the object may have apart from me, who assumes it. As long as it remains an assumption, a geometrical angle, though it seemed to be real to us, might turn out to be a sort of illusion. Perhaps the reality of things is that spaciousness is not real at all, that nothing is linearly extended, and no two lines are spread out from each other in an angle. While this is perhaps disturbing to contemplate, it is not a possibility the geometer can rule out. There is nothing about the angle that renders its non-existence self-contradictory, and by hypothesis, geometry does not understand the figure’s reality to be guaranteed by some higher source. Geometricians like Euclid and Lobachevski do a great service for knowledge by identifying certain principles as unproved “postulates” or “assumptions.” But even they leave unarticulated, and therefore unexamined, the whole host of presuppositions that underlie their objects. The question, ‘how do angles exist?’ is not 4 �nonsensical, and remains. The geometer, while he or she might ask this question from time to time, cannot answer it from within his or her own science. The second reservation is, I think, more subtle. Just as geometry couldn’t “extricate” itself from its own assuming, it also can’t pull itself out of the very sensibility it is so proud of rising above. Socrates’ speech, with all its talk of higher and lower, here might sound like it is assuming a kind of low-class uncleanliness about sensibility. Or maybe he is exploiting the thumotic character of his interlocutor Glaucon, who will be pleased to look down on the uppity mathematicians who are still enmeshed in the dingy senses. But if we are not so hastily thumotic, we might wonder what is so damning about mathematics’ return to the senses. Is Socrates’ second reservation not itself an unreasoning prejudice against embodiment? In fact I think Socrates is onto something very important here. Mathematics begins by seeking an object more knowable than what presents itself to the senses. But when it demonstrates necessary truths about these objects, it finds it must turn back to sensibility to construct images of what it wants to know. 3 We all know this from our study of Euclid and his sucessors (even Lobachevski): no board or no paper, or no imaginary field in one’s mind, then no demonstration of the proposition. We think the universal we desire to prove on our own, but we turn to the board to manifest what we think about this universal, and the board helps us along, making room for the instantiation of the figure, keeping things apart from each other, letting them abide next to each other, sorting the different directions– left, right, back and forth. It is as if the board, or rather, space itself, were a partner in the demonstration. This means that geometry’s very scientific character is dependent upon sensible conditions. But these sensible conditions are not understood by geometry, and indeed, are never brought into examination by it. We might not find this situation humiliating, but we should find it intellectually unsatisfying. The point is not so much that sensibility contaminates, but that for all its crucial contribution to knowing, it remains unintelligible, a silent partner in the sciences. Socrates proposes that philosophy can rise above mathematics’ limits. “Reason may take hold” of mathematicals, he says, not as “assumptions”, but as “stepping stones,” examining from what higher principles they might proceed, by means of “dialectic.” This philosophical kind of knowing, as an extension of geometrical inquiry, would answer the question ‘how do angles exist?’ by discovering genuinely self-evident truths upon which angles depend. In this sense, its objects would not be assumptions, and it would escape the first reservation about mathematicals. The second reservation would also be escaped, because the dialectical ascent [It is not only geometry that turns back to sensibility, but arithmetic as well. Counting needs an extended field in which successive moments can be distinguished. For Kant, this is time.] 3 5 �upon the grounds of mathematical knowing would move towards fully intelligible objects of reason. Its accounts would move from reason to reason, with nothing but reason in between. In other words, it would never descend back into sensibility’s manifestations to demonstrate, but would [‘hypothetically’] infer the conditions it was after. Philosophy, like seminar, will not need to use the board. As wonderful as these philosophical successes might be if realized, Socrates’ proposal raises some crucial questions not addressed explicitly in the Republic. Remember the concern involved in the second reservation, that mathematics requires the use of sensible images. If this “use” involves epistemic contributions from sensibility not understood by mathematics, these contributions will not be any better recognized by a purely eidetic, dialectical philosophy. Rather, they will be transcended, as the mere circumstances of a lower form of knowing, perhaps not worth the attention of reason unencumbered. In this presentation of philosophy, we are encouraged to assume that sensibility is not, in fact, an epistemic resource. If the contributions to knowledge come wholly from ‘above’, so to speak, from reason alone, then this is perhaps a safe assumption. But a lover of wisdom would rather not beg this question. The image of the divided line is followed by the image of a cave, in which we are born chained to our sensible experience, which plays before us like shadows cast by models of real things outside of the cave. In this allegory, knowledge indeed comes ‘from above’: the naturally true is imitated in the figures manipulated in the cave, and these are imitated in the shadows they cast. But throughout the allegory is an unexplicated factor: each sort of knowable generates an image in some receiver– the forms of the true objects are received into the materials used to construct their likenesses, and the likenesses themselves on the cave wall that receives their shadows. Without these receivers, no chain of imitation is possible. Following the allegory, without the cave wall, no sensible experience is possible. But of what is the wall itself a depiction? Whatever it is, is it of a nature to contribute to the kind of knowing we have in our experience of the world? Socrates’ allegory might distract some readers from such a question with its narrative of “turning-around.” By pointing the aspiring philosopher ‘upwards’ towards reason’s resources, rather than ‘downwards’ towards the nature of sensibility, he is leaving at least one big question on the table. If the path upwards were pursued, what would the Socratic philosopher discover about the first principles of geometric “assumptions”? A first step still within mathematics might be the discovery that figures can be taken as images of ratios– for examples, the pentagon as a spatial flowering of the uncalculable mean and extreme ratio, and the circle, of the transcendent ratio called ‘pi.’ But these so-called “irrational” or “mute” ratios themselves might turn out to be 6 �approximations of rational, speakable– that is, arithmetic– ratios. The very first mathematical principles from which figures are derived would then be numbers, whose first still-mathematical principle might be the unit, or that by which we call something one. Now, a dialectical inquiry into the possibility of numbers-- and indeed the possibility of the unit-- might lead to purely intelligible forms such as the Same itself, the Other itself, and the One itself. This ascent leaves space behind as a sort of encumbrance. Of course, space itself is not accounted for in such a philosophical ascent. The givenness of figures, that they are outside of us, and the receptivity of both the world around us and our own imaginations to the spatial images of ultimately rational principles, is not itself given an explanation. The silent partnership of the cave wall has been left silent. The Turn to Bastard Reasoning Eric Salem once proposed in a lecture on Socrates’ allegory that the account of the cave wall is not given in the Republic, but rather might be sought in part in the Timaeus’ account of the receptacle. I want to follow his suggestion here, and so we now turn to the Timaeus. In the dialogue’s introductory section, Socrates asks to hear about his idea of a beautiful city, which had been elaborated in speech the day before, but this time set in motion, at war. His request might already indicate an interest in just what was left unexplored above: in motion, in the realm of becoming, the beautiful city will need to come down off its seat in intellectual heaven, and show how it might be given in the world of change. But it will not be Socrates who takes this path downward. Rather, the title character Timaeus speaks for the remainder of the dialogue. Before the city in motion can be discussed, however, Socrates and his interlocutors decide they want an account of the nature of the humans who will make up the city. Moreover, they want an account of the whole, moving cosmos in which these humans emerge. The remainder of the dialogue is accordingly cosmological, and then anthropological (the political question is postponed). Timaeus’ very first step in pursuing his cosmology is to offer a fundamental distinction familiar to Plato’s readers: the sensible world, he says, must be distinguished from the purely intelligible model of which it is an image. The intelligible admits of no motion, is eternal, and can never have come to be at all– it simply is. The sensible comes to be, and Timaeus pictures this coming to be as the result of a divine constructive “craftsman” (ho demiourgos) or “framer” (ho synistas). He narrates how this power might have constructed a 7 �harmonious image in imitation of the perfect model, making use of mathematical figures and ratios familiar to the sciences of astronomy and music. 4 Timaeus’ cosmos, at this point, is like a mathematician’s diagram. Compare Ptolemy’s mathematical astronomy. Its theories do not speak of where or in what the motions of the stars occur, but rather only of the stars’ motions’ knowable ratios, demonstrable in diagrams. In this way, the question of the nature of the space that receives the world-image might not arise for the merely mathematical cosmologist. 5 But several steps into the narration, Timaeus points out a problem. The divine maker constructed these mathematical models as somehow imitations of what is best—that is, as imitations of the intelligible original. But it doesn’t seem that this procedure—imitation of the best—is sufficient to account for the whole cosmos. On the contrary, Timaeus claims that the world as it is comes to be not simply from the intellect’s grasp of the good, as his story had been assuming, but also from what he now calls “necessity”: by what, if it exists, has to be the way it is. Where does this necessity come from? Despite the fact that the mathematical arts and sciences (like Ptolemy’s) are filled with insights into what is necessarily and universally true about corporeal nature, none of them can give a deduction of this necessity’s origin. For example, none of the cosmologists, Timaeus points out, have given an account of how the medium of natural change—the elements of bodies-- have come to be in the matter in which they are. 6 To theorize a changing cosmos, mathematical diagrams alone, unhindered by necessity, will not be sufficient. What is needed, Timaeus proposes, is a “new beginning,” a “retreat” to a new principle, a “third kind” of being, making sense of the world’s receptivity as such for the knowable forms. Timaeus calls this principle “the receptacle”, a co-eternal origin alongside the intellect’s model of the cosmos. Not the model itself, nor its constructed image, it is precisely that into which the model is received. With the introduction of his “third” principle, Timaeus is in fact clarifying a fundamental dualism about knowledge. The relation of original to image so dear to Socrates leaves out of account a second origin for the image, in receptivity itself. The world as it appears is different from its origin– this is the Socratic proposal. But that its origins are two is Timaeus’ thesis– by Geometry and arithmetic provide a science of ratio in general; but astronomy and music turn to appearances to discover which particular ratios and figures form a harmonious whole, either of heavenly motions, or of musical scales. Timaeus borrows the particular ratios and figures of the latter two sciences. 5 At this stage, time is given as “a moving image of eternity.” It is the outcome of ratio-metric mathematical principles, not a container in which they have being. This approach is unlike Timaeus’ conception of space. 6 If successful, an account of necessity would perhaps stave off the allegation that corporeal becoming is nothing but an unintelligible flux. 4 8 �adding his “third kind”, he uncovers that second origin, and reveals the apparent world as what he calls a “syntasis”: a combination of heterogenous sources. The multifarious shifting from stability to instability and back again that constitutes the mortal world will take place in the receptacle; but the discovery of this principle reveals that it must have been there all along, providing space even for the relatively unchanging motions of astronomy. 7 With the receptacle, astronomy can be taken as no longer merely mathematical, for its objects are not merely diagrammable ratios. Rather, they are now natural bodies with a place in the cosmos. Their astronomy belongs to physics. 8 Timaeus warns his audience that an account of the receptacle will be “strange and unusual,” because the object of study is “difficult and obscure.” His warnings indicate to us that an entirely new sort of theorizing will be taking place: for unlike the eidetic model, the receptacle is not itself intelligible. And unlike the visible world, it does not appear to the senses. If we have only intellect and sense at our disposal, with what will we know that which is in itself unavailable to either? In one of the strangest passages in Plato (the 4th passage on the handout), Timaeus tells us that the receptacle not only “shares in the intelligible in a most perplexing and hard-to capture manner”— but is “graspable by a bastard sort of reasoning, with the aid of insensibility” (52a8). The claim seems to be that the principle unavailable to our two faculties, sense and thought, will be revealed through a perverse deployment of those very same faculties. Why “bastard”? Wherefore base? This term suggests that in pursuing this account, reason will not be occupied within reason’s own, high territory of the purely intelligible, but with the supposedly baser realm of the sensible. The account to be developed takes the forms to have been mired in the sensible realm, and attempts to understand precisely their adulterated existence. Reasoning will be trying to make sense of what is not its own. And why “insensibility”? How could that help? The idea here could be that the inquiring subject has to somehow scrutinize the nature of his or her own sensible experience, while shutting out the material influence of the sensible object. Insensibility here is a sort of deep abstraction. Regard the curtains behind me, but become insensible to their color, their solidity, their texture, perhaps even their particular magnitude [imagining FSK here]. What emerges for us then is “seen dimly” as if in a “dream,” Timaeus says. Timaeus implies that the heavenly motions of astronomy are not eternal, but rather only an “image” of eternity. The demiurge remarks that “all that is bound together can be dissolved” (41b1). 8 The receptacle belongs to “the account of the whole” 48d5, and “is…before the birth of Heaven.” 52d4 7 9 �As he proceeds, Timaeus’ retreat reasons backwards towards the “nature” or “eidos” of the receptacle. That is, he infers what it would have to be like, in order to fulfill its role as the field in which the visible manifests. It can have no sensible qualities, since it must be able to take any of them on. Similarly, it cannot be pictured or diagramed, since it is the ground of all possible diagrams. It can’t be drawn on the board, since it is what makes the board available in the first place. This is what it is not, but what can be said positively about it? Timaeus calls it the “chora,” the space or room in which the world appears. He also calls it a neutral “molding stuff” for the world, and even a “wet-nurse”, and “mother.” This sequence of metaphors draws out a sense of the formal and causal power of the receptacle. The receptacle thus somehow nourishes, or pours life into things, sustaining them. These metaphors indicate how far from “empty” the receptacle is, even in itself. We might often think of space as sheer void, waiting indifferently to be filled by perceptible items. 9 But Timaeus’ space is teeming with potential life, waiting, not indifferently, but expectantly, to give birth. It is perhaps neither full, nor empty, but according to its eternal priority, the source of either of these spatial dispositions. When it gets filled by forms, it gives them the room to manifest themselves. When it gets filled by void, it holds open the room in which no forms are. Compare the blackboard: where the diagram is not drawn, indeed, in the crucial zones between the parts of the diagram, the board is not merely empty of inscription, but spread out in its blankness. The receptacle’s radical priority to experience further suggests that is matter only in a metaphorical sense. 10 For it is not literally “stuff” in the sense we know from experience– after all, it is “molded” both into our solid, present objects and into the absent spaces between them. It is thus not a source of nourishment for the world in a material sense, but perhaps rather in a formal sense. That is, it “nourishes”, so to speak, the sensible givenenness of things by sustaining them as spatial. Timaeus offers one more, especially puzzling metaphor: he calls the receptacle a “winnowing basket.” Change in sensible things, he points out, comes to be through contact between differences. The hot next to the cold, the dry next to the moist– we might add: negative charge around positive charge, north magnetic poles across from south, or ‘masses’ in a gravitational field. These different “powers”, whatever they may be, “jostle” each other, and thereby produce change. Over time, these changes generate the apparently structured world which we observe. These change-inducing juxtapositions, these jostlings, do not happen through tools of arrangement, as if parts were separated and pushed together with a hoe and a 9 Lucretius’ void. Interesting that Lucretius is such an unmathematical thinker. Aristotle and Plotinus both take the Receptacle to be “matter.” 10 10 �rake. Rather, the parts themselves act on each other, like grains in a winnowing basket. 11 The basket merely provides the venue in which this jostling can transpire– it is a passive sort of tool that does nothing more than make the reciprocal influences of the worked-upon matter possible, by providing them the room for juxtaposition. The six directions of space– left, right, back, forward, up and down– act like the grid of a basket, sorting the tendencies of material things into different directions, giving them a stage on which they can come upon their brethren. Does Timaeus’ story of the receptacle serve as the ’missing’ account of receptivity– missing, that is, from the picture of Socratic philosophy in the Republic? Recall that part [of] the vocation of philosophy described there, to ascend to the intellectual first principles of the mathematical sciences’ own starting places, would leave unexamined the non-intellectual first principles of sensibility, that is, of the receptivity in which the knowable images come to be. On the other hand, Timaeus’ oddly named “receptacle”, which has resonances in Greek of “reservoir” or “harbor,” represents receptivity as a cognitive resource. The name indicates the epistemic purposiveness of the “third kind”: the receptacle provides a welcoming cosmic hospitality for the forms, so that they may be known by us in their images. Timaeus follows his account of the receptacle with an extended speculation about the solid geometry of the elements. Certain propositions about the elements– how many there could be, how they would act upon each other, and how they could change into each other– are derivable a priori, since they arise from the demonstrably necessary geometrical character of the solids. These speculations have hypothetical—perhaps fanciful—beginnings. But the necessity involved in the geometry of his hypotheses generates an a priori, synthetic natural science. 12 Timaeus’ procedure suggests that any mathematical natural science of matter will ultimately rest upon a story about the receptacle as an ultimate condition of the possibility of extended, sensible being. Is this foundational story satisfactory as a philosophical account? But doesn’t the “sieve” itself move? I can only make sense of this in an extremely analogical way. We might be reminded here of a passage from Plato’s Parmenides, in which the elder philosopher proposes that the One– the very highest principle of all being– is both at rest, and in motion (146a). It is at rest, so to speak, Parmenides claims, because it doesn’t ever depart from being fully in itself. But it also is in motion, so to speak, because it always is in other things, making each of them one thing. The metaphysical participation of things in the One can be thought of as a kind of flowing motion of it outwards, into them. Could this conception help us interpret Timaeus’ winnowing basket? The receptacle’s motion is not a locomotion, but a “change” in which it takes on a form it doesn’t have in itself. In so far as the spatialization of these forms has consequences for how they evolve, it is as if the ‘change’ of the receptacle imparts further changes to the things in it. 11 Cf thinkers like Kepler, Maxwell, Rutherford—anyone who imagines a model, derives necessary conclusions from it, and compares these with the appearances. 12 11 �Timaeus warned his audience at the start that any cosmology of a becoming world would not be knowledge, but only a “likely story,” in so far as what becomes is not what is, but only its likeness. Philosophy seeks to rise to what is, and discover knowledge of the eternal there. Accordingly, Timaeus’ mathematical chemistry of the elements is not wisdom about the highest things. Socrates of the Republic would agree. Now, the receptacle, as the neutral field of change, can itself neither change nor come to be. However, Timaeus seems to suggest that as the eternal mother of becoming, the receptacle is itself approachable only under the guise of [a] likely story. This in part justifies his copious use of metaphor in its account. Metaphor becomes the handmaiden of ‘bastard reasoning’, with which we can articulate in speech what is not in itself intelligible. The conjunction of several metaphors– space, mother, nurse, matter, basket– raises the problem of thinking the thing coherently, since its metaphorical predicates are not simultaneously compatible. But beneath this interpretive problem is a deeper paradox: the account treats the receptacle as an eternal, self-subsistent thing, even though it is not, by hypothesis, a being. This double-speak renders the account of that which underlies all becoming even more mythic– “not less, but more likely” (48d3) -- than the playful speculations about shapes and growths that make up the rest of Timaeus’ physics. This paradox, that the receptacle is both beyond becoming and other than being, runs through Plato’s adventure along the path downward. Accordingly, the hoped-for account of the cave wall turns out to be, in Plato’s treatment, deeply enigmatic. The Form of Outer Sense Kant’s life’s work, it seems to me, was an attempt to demythologize philosophical enigmas. Where receptivity is concerned, he’s on the case. He begins in the Critique of Pure Reason with a distinction in kind between thought and sense. In the dialogues, thought was understood as the faculty that grasps the universal, which is, while sense grasps the particular, which merely seems or becomes. One of Kant’s innovations is to add to these correlations the proposal that while thought in us is active, sense is receptive. Kant names the study of the principles of knowledge belonging to thought a ‘Logic’ – the study of logos. He names the study of the principles of knowledge belonging to sensibility an ‘Aesthetic’-- the study of aesthesis. (Note that Kant’s ‘aesthetic’ has nothing directly to do with the beautiful.) An empirical aesthetic would investigate the particular senses we happen to have, and what features of the world they give us access to: color, odor and taste, sound, temperature, as well as shape, size, and duration. Perhaps what we read in Book II of Aristotle’s De Anima could be considered an 12 �empirical aesthetic. A transcendental aesthetic, on the other hand, would investigate sensibility as such, rising past or transcending the particularities our equipment for sensation. This new science’s object comes into view in two stages (described in the 5th passage on the handout): first, Kant claims that we must “isolate sensibility by taking away everything from it which the understanding thinks through its concepts.” In the second step, we “separate off from sensibility everything belonging to its impressions.” The first move resists the claim of monist thinkers like Leibniz, for whom the distinction between sensibility and understanding is a difference in degree– that is, sense is merely the obscure end of the spectrum of human representation, whose clear and distinct end is called understanding. For Leibniz, there is accordingly only one path for philosophy: towards the higher principles of the intellect, for there is properly speaking no heterogenous epistemic contribution from sensibility itself. Taken as an interpretation of the divided line, we can see that Leibniz’s Socratic conception must hold that there is no philosophical theory of the cave wall. Kant’s interest, on the other hand, is not unlike the dualist Timaeus’, for whom givenness must be traced back to a second principle. Timaeus proposed his receptacle as the ultimate ground of the givenness of things, as the reason why things can be given to the senses at all. This question reappears in a new guise in Kant’s account of “sensibility,” defined as receptivity— not, to begin with, the receptivity of the world for intelligible forms, but the receptivity of our own mode of knowing; the openness, one could say, of our minds for things as given. In its second step, the transcendental aesthetic clears out from intuition what Kant calls the “matter” of sense, leaving nothing but the “form.” Kant claims there are two sorts of sense for us: space, the form of “outer sense”, and time, the form of “inner sense.” Kant’s space, in this respect, like the receptacle, is invisible, inaudible, and impalpable. Taken together, these two steps reveal an object not properly available to either the understanding or to sensation. Rather, the philosopher must abstract from the matter of things sensed outside of us to the form of their being “outer” at all. The underlying precondition for juxtaposition, extension, and orientation is not any spatial thing, but space itself– or perhaps better, spatiality. This spatiality is not thought up by us, and is not derived from experience. It is the form or ultimate pre-intuition of whatever could be given as ‘outside.’ This form itself is a “pure manifold”– not merely many, like the spatial stuff of outer sense, but the ordered, stuff-less multiplicity of orientations in which sensations are always given, and to which they cannot themselves contribute. Recalling the warnings of the difficulty of the inquiry voiced by Timaeus, Kant tells us in the introduction of his 13 �book that “it may be that we are not in a position to distinguish [the form of knowledge] from the raw material, until with long practice of attention we have become skilled in separating it” (B1-2). This ultimate priority of space ahead of all outer things means that, like the receptacle, it cannot have come to be. And on precisely the grounds of this priority does space make necessary knowledge of the outer world possible. Our geometrical demonstrations draw their necessity from the way the pre-intuited field in which they are inscribed or imagined determines those inscriptions and images. Thanks be to the board, where we may draw our figures. But greater thanks be to space, which opens out to make room for the board, and opens out for our imaginations to spread and discover what must follow from what among our figures. It is essentially one, embracing all particular spaces. It is both given, in that we do not spontaneously think it at all, and infinite, in that no bounds can be set for its magnitude. It is empty, in that it is the container or receptacle for all sensible content, and unremovable, in that we cannot imagine it away. Timaeus introduced the receptacle, not as an aspect of particular material things, but as a single underlying whole which pre-exists them, so that it may receive them. This seems to be what Aristotle, for one, was most at pains to resist about Plato’s Timaean conception– for the later thinker, the places of things, along with their shape and their magnitude, are accidents of their individual existences: a thing is in a place as the contact boundary of what surrounds it. There is no whole receiver, only a nested series of surrounding containers. Hume’s argument reaches a similar conclusion: no impression comes to us without some spatial magnitude, he claims, and so space itself is only a subsequent abstraction made possible by the accumulation of spatial particulars. Kant, filling in argumentation absent from his ancient comrade Timaeus’ account, argues that the nature of spatiality requires independent singularity and wholeness. For, each particular place is bounded only in so far as these boundaries are between spatial regions. That is, bounded spaces are always “limitations” of the same one space. Just as what recieves limitation must be priori to the result of its limitation, so divisions into particular places presuppose the field which they limit. Accordingly, larger spaces cannot be assembled originally out of smaller ones, and so space is not an aggregate; it is rather, Kant claims, a “totum” (B466), preceding the particular parts we may carve out of it. Recall also how Timaeus brought in the receptacle as an additional “kind” to ground his mathematical science of material nature. Kant seems to have agreed that the nature of geometrical knowledge of things required a heterogenous, spatial source of knowing; indeed, he thought the necessity of mathematical sciences was the strongest evidence for his sense/thought dualism. He points out that geometrical demonstration, for example, reveals that 14 �necessary predicates about figures cannot be derived out of their concepts by analysis, but must rather be synthesized or constructed out of the intuited figures. That the third side of a triangle is shorter than the sum of the other two does not fall out of the concept of what a triangle is, but only from the determination of the sensible field in which we inscribe triangles. The blackboard must play its role. Kant here is taking Socrates’ second reservation about mathematics– that it could not extricate itself from sensible conditions– as decisive evidence that sensibility is, after all, an epistemic resource, and that human knowledge is dual. Idealism Taking up the torch of ‘bastard reasoning,’ Kant finally explains the unacknowledged source of scientific knowledge of sense objects, by reasoning back to the invisible, nonintellectual condition of sensibility. This condition, however, is– unlike Timaeus’ receptacle– not a self-subsisting, eternal being, but a mere form of our own sensibility. It is in us, not in a psychological sense, as if it were a figment of each thinker’s mind, but in a metaphysical sense, as a feature of our knowledge of things, and not of the things as they are in themselves. Space is not ‘in our heads’-- indeed, our heads are in space. But space is ‘in’ our own, human knowing of things, such as our knowledge of the heads in this room. The radically blank ‘non-thing’ that is space, therefore, does not exist in itself. Kant writes (this is on the handout) that those who “maintain the absolute reality of space” as “subsistent...(which is generally the view taken by the mathematical students of nature),... have to admit [an] eternal and infinite self-subsistent non-entity, which is there, yet without being anything real, only in order to contain in itself all that is real” (A39/B56). He was probably thinking of Newton here, but the description fits the deep cosmology of the Timaeus, as well. 13 As we saw, Timaeus’ chora made knowledge possible, but only by way of an existence which is neither being nor becoming. Like Timaeus, Kant infers that there is a determining source of knowledge in receptivity. But to elude the paradox, Kant makes clear that this source, space, is nothing but an epistemic condition. The receptivity, and thus the receptacle– the form of outer sense–, is ours. This position of sensibility– both subjective and essentially sharable– may be more familiar to us from the realm of thought. That is, when we think a concept together, each The receptacle is eternal, but Timaeus never calls it infinite. This is perhaps because qua unformed, it has no quanitity. What did Newton mean by calling space “empty” in the Principia? In the Optics, Newton writes that space is “the sensorium of God.” 13 15 �one of us shares the same universal in our thought. The mind’s concept is not a psychological event, but a form or standard. According to Kant’s account, mind is present in sensibility, as well. The space of things is not a psychological feature of their images in our minds, but rather a necessary feature of how they can known by beings like us. This is what Kant means by “the transcendental ideality of space.” Kant does declare his form of outer sense to be “empty,” which might make us think it is pure, void extension. Where is the living, expectant energy of Timaeus’ receptacle? We might say that its energy has been idealized. The expectancy, the power to hold the shape of what will come to be in it-– that is, the maternal power of space– this is in Kant’s space as well. But we can now see this power as life-like, precisely because it is a power of the mind. Space as the form of intuition is not a null void, but a manifold field ready for knowledge to be generated in. The pure manifold, the cave wall, is alive, because it is sensibility. Kant’s journey down into sensibility has none of the metaphorical images of Timaeus’. On the contrary, it strikes a scientific pose, where Timaeus’ story was only “likely.” Kant speaks in his own voice as philosophical inquirer, rather than through a fictional character whose own relation to philosophy is obscure. Kant’s account appears first in his book, as the starting place for a looming system, where Timaeus’ appears as a “revision” or “retreat” part-way through a narrative. The highly metaphorical, fictive frame of the receptacle might suggest that the receptacle as described is a poetic manifestation of knowable principles, according to which what is transcendentally ideal (space) is depicted as if it were real, in itself, but in a likeness, in a mythos. This would certainly not be the only time Plato has characters speak in a metaphorical mode, rendering as material what cannot properly speaking exist in that way. Such a depiction generates paradox, as we have seen, and this paradox raises questions about subjectivity and the knowability of the world that Plato was content to leave as questions. By demythologizing the receptacle, showing that it is not an alien, quasi-divine being outside of us, but rather a constitutive principle within us all, pulling the depiction out of the poetic sphere of the ‘likely’, Kant gives himself the opportunity to answer these questions. Whether his answers are satisfactory, is a question for us. 16 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and 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 Microsoft Word 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 Philosophy and the Cave Wall: Plato and Kant on the Form of the Given Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on March 31, 2023, by Matthew Caswell as part of the Formal Lecture Series. <br /><br />Mr. Caswell describes his lecture: "<span>The lecture will compare inquiries into the nature of sensibility offered by Plato, and by Kant. That </span><i>space</i><span> might be the ultimate ground of a certain kind of sensible givenness is a possibility investigated by both thinkers. What can our love of wisdom gain from pointing itself downward, into the senses?</span>" Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Caswell, Matthew 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 2023-03-31 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 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 Subject The topic of the resource Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804 Plato Philosophy Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Caswell_Matthew_2023-03-31 Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/6123bf2a56fc2c0a1270d7db12a12586.pdf c887904b211a810d381bcef70b143f75 PDF Text Text �L------------...l �Burma eet workers of Szczecin returned to ,..~,...,.-.~,'° .. strike at the ~ues1an coal mine continued. The strikes have ..,U.J''-'"· ......""j.;.'-""'" 15 when coal miners struck after not 'lt"P'~"''''"' ...'"" ised raise for the strike started a chain reacof strikes all over Poland. Lech the leader of the trade met with both workers go 1Ternn1er1t officials but was unable to all the strikes. It was the first time repreWalesa has met with sentatives since 1 �1988 4 _____, ' Anne Leonard '89 year abroad in Santa Fe over, I~~·~·,~·""" innumerable boxes with what seemed "Ar.e you a freshman?" How would it have cn:am:?:ectf '-''--'.JIJ.1.'"-· to h ""''~ ......r.. ~- ............., m<:Lrchu:ur: one considers the was a step away. And I can walk to Rite-Aid to Santa Fe in part to meet but most of the met senses. It's a great relief to have those a friend of mine the campus The smug NOT one of them can be so wonand I need all the smugness I can �.t 1r ~a ue the idirick :)ne :ure Ken non ion- ,but to lutit true~ tions. credit for courses com1JH:~teia fellow summer are counted towards �1988 6 _______ I, Miss welcome you back to the covered walls of this venerable institution we call First, I would like to relate to you a "',..,,,...,.,.>T '"""*'' 1 eJrot~m:~nce I had last Thurs- choose ;)uu1.._...... 1.., and I am shocked and cw;arm<)Ullte·a that it is necessary for me would like to say a word bruises I've noticed necks of some bers. Such behavior lacks refinement. Should you wish to have on ttc>st~ess suggests a .........._..._1iJ~"''u.1.·"-· strand of I C\ I I I I , Uf-$!£ as a are followed. shudder to even have to mention this to you, but the uu.1.J.uJ..1.1.:. Lest I should sound too negaHostess would like to rr.·mrdi-n-..o-.... + the freshman on their first All of the -n.p,r.-n 11 "" strong enout!h in my condemnation of such a To add insult to these freshman socialites were missing well-attended and '"'""''"' ..... +.......... one reaps immense rewards from honest hard work sense and beloved Please refrain from such behavior in the future. hallowed advice. u ... ,.,.-........ ~ Pearls and Miss .. u-..;u ............ as is forever Hostess �~a- to rst :he ing is re· ft er nse ~al· llCh �1988 The Karen B-1 ~,.,...,,""'11" '89 In their lecture which oo,en.ea the school year, Eva Brann and lanbrook used music and the music tutorial to demonstrate what it means for St. maintained that there exists no such established way to go about the of the visual arts. means of Allanbrook'' s discussion of music as seems an art rather than a science, to be sure, Brann's discussion of the historical tradition which names music rather than the visual arts "liberal" and Allanbrook's deft of the historical traditions in music theory each to an answer to this r classroom. cool. ten as I-''-'""'·..., .. ·~· Whenever you have or to be passing -th•·,-..,,,,.." coffee check your mailbox should be done no less than ten times per At first you will look at mailboxes there are .,...,,._,..,....,., 1""' lecan attempt to .....U.•JOJ..._,...,.1 the way in which this commuSocratic. Brann said that its purpose was to show that_.._~.._.._~·~""-"· .LJLIU,U-U.VAV''VA. ture was and submit every last little doodle to the forpubuca1~011. ...... ,pr-oc-,pllu on a in the form as much content is a nice of one of Plato's favorite aevices. Without the ask questhink about them with St. would m<~arung �should know the of the develoo1 m(~nt differs beit. You won't have the time. We won't even a sule summary of the of relevant conversation. You're welcomed to consult but that will be to you. So we will ask the equally Your lab will be sornetnm,g contrast, students sct1ocns, flown to the same was confront You live in the world. You have an elaborate mental construction · a map, · that tells you what the world is what is and what is related to what. look at ) it a years second sort of exiJec1it1on will tend to make you interpret all tasks that You emotional do be a stronger in first months of freshman lab. Good welcome aboard. fa. ife iatal ~ ..i'll yit Led ya no her ·e it of a conversation. understand that reading, you must the context of that conversation. For understand The tion of the you should Galen's view of the heart's function. You should know the heart's in our maps are not innocent science. at the world be to some extent a review of what we've al- �10,,___ _ _ ,___________________ �discussion. a far seems to be the idea for campus which before now were handled the Brad Stuart was pr<)PC)sea can never reassemble." condition of a haircut. I there's about that in the constitution. The assembled masses about olde Conversation Room deJlegate:s, so the rest of ....... ,,. ............. ,..,,the ie .ty id of I'm called "President Mt~PtlarJlle· Miss Takacks name .. Then of ad he nd tp· ce, he Sen r i I t I r M,.,,,,...,i,,,...,,r1 Law School in 1969. He in the House of Delefrom 1978-1982 and was elected to Senate in where he now serves as Chairman of the Senate Subcommittee on the Environment. He has lectured has had numerous articles ~te. to Senate" conscience a natural resource, as a cosm of national and international envipo11c1tes. HeV\-ill is a ....,,.,,,.._....,,-,, dent received in economics from Western College in 1966 and his J. D. from the UJ1•nPl'lr1t"'lrl forward to an active Political Forum season rer>re:ser1tat:ive from ~et:>texnb(:':f 28th '"''''T'""'"' ........,....... u .... rr•+n,,,. last year, and have missed the rum has been a tremendous,......,....._,.... ..+........ +," JotmnL1es to tune in to the~~·•·+•-~~ DOJlCH~S of the world l:Je\rona sions which the Political Forum has raised issues which extend well beevent. violence initiated do so, and to continue to of events as tenure. We urge everyone to advain.ta,ge of the Political Forum this toseeyou 8:15 pm in the Conversation Room. �1988 Wed. Oct. 5: Sherlock Holmes 268-8778 �Tutors and Students: Rabbinic Literature" will Robert G. Klensin of the SholominAmold. The class '90 "THE ST. JOHNNIE'S" Tuna, Onion lettuce and Tomato on Rye Toast 3.25 �5 our very own campus. down in the admissions office? Does ultra soccer trans beacon a threat to ,,..,...,,,,,.,.,,,....., .,...,,h,,, This son!!! �; GYM FSK Hustlers vs. Waves GYM to take these fitness classes. a 7 week l\.h,,........._ .... ., GYM GYM vs. Maenads 4:00 7:00 8:30-9:30 12:00-12:45 COMING: �----------- _.. � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 16 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 1 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-09-13 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 1 of The Gadfly. Published September 13, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #1 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/85e4e0ce505c59f6e3734c986ae7956a.pdf ecfa57c91ef3ff565908b555c0d485d6 PDF Text Text �1988 Scott Anderson '91 and the other blue." ~~ .. ,AA ... -...·---·--1 featured state of the state of the nation. If you mad or confused let me know and Of course I'll But I with two groups of Middies this past weekend. one conversation and it made the idea ofMidable one. The other conversation The first welcome. better of me there. ~ �war have stalled in Geneva. Iran wants to adhere UN resolution 598 which ended the conflict and calls a withtroops the international dravval boundaries which existed before the war The massive student demonstrations have with the transitions from au:tato1rst1ip racy in South Korea Students have distributed leaflets daimthat some of the members of the ~s li'11 ~r 5S rs tons of corn to �4 _ _ _ _ _, 1988 '89 what are cu:rrentlv u1ndler~)tood chemical elements and the conditions He substantiated this wealth of information from various fields of research what Pascal called the great and the infiniboth molecular Israel -------, I I I I I I I I I I _ _ _ _ _ .J �last year in Santa Fe ........... •-... has become a tackle rages on. count. The Pi , I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I _J ���Megan Smith Shelley Nichols Adam Epp Munir Hussein Sapna Gandhi Campbell Campbell Paca-Carroll Paca-CarroU Chase-Stone West Pinkney East Pinkney Kim Kern Louis Elias Paul Speck Garfield Goodrum Ruzits-Redfield Humphreys Off-Campus Off-Campus weren't in attendance are Charlie Schlueter (Paca-Carroll), Shannon Evans and Nora Briody (East Pinkney). that: -va•u~•l.J"-'";, First names will be used. Proposal method Should be in writing 2. be read ���al g, vs ~e e· It ly te :o S· lS al ~n ie GYM 12:00-12:45 �� 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 12 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 2 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-09-20 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 2 of The Gadfly. Published September 20, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #2 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/465aa73e9cd3ac1dfa70f582f8c8c009.pdf 560ab6c7a498ab9911b980011adaa880 PDF Text Text ���-------~-----··-· 1988 THE GORDONS SAM JEFF PAULA �scored more touchdlmlV!ls. our touchdowns were worth everyone tournament. .Santa Fe group arrive five hours after everyone else. The :first game Then everyone got aepn::ss,ea. Earnest and went the M<:~m1phis which was saw, among other a had better .,..,,....,.,""'""" while seated than than Elvis insofar as music is concerned. After dinner we went back to the Dave Earnest Joe Joe Bouche:r Dave Dilla:rd ���I Officers: Stefanie Takacs, President Stuart, Treasurer Tidge Holmberg, Secretary Delegates: Paca-Carroll West Pinkney East Pinkney Kurt Ruzits-Redfield 131 PRINCE GEORGE STREET ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND 21401 MONDAY THRU SATURDAY 10 AM �tlaltillnoi:e may be boardedatthecomerofSt.John'sStreetandColIege Avenue. Schedules are available switchboard. �r Ill I �Joe The Spartans scored offense; they scored on defense; they scored special teams. results Waves Spartans Spartans Druids Waves 43 Guardians Hustlers Guardians Hustlers �� 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 12 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 3 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-09-27 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 3 of The Gadfly. Published September 27, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #3 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/f22f4eaa335ea177b40c8aa7510251c8.pdf 51bc1a974c885d9c05f471783032a932 PDF Text Text ���October ieaaeirs is exoectt~d. The Soviet Union Soviets have slowed their with- �Locke of the artifice of This situation was intractable for for she not remain true to this statement of woman's essential nature without enterwhat is determined that of man. Yet was not aaeaua.tellv not to act; she self-conscious.__ ......... .Lll.__ ..... to set such limitations on She behaved as a man, and affirmed that she �6 _ _ _ _ __ a riotous afternoon of intramural basketball? St. The ��America, ., ...... '"~'--"--· After therr in Ailmapolis, will have a recital at the Kenn,edy Center on Oct. 24. Tickets for both performances are available. I interviewed the duo in Baltimore them to be an affable we have a sense similar. We don't have to, work a lot at pens. We don't even have to look at nl".>UTI.TPlltQjt.?:et:ne:rand that get music is. you. and there are �r--- 1 I I I I I I ' I I ___ _ L Mon.-Thurs. Fri. Sat. 8:00am-3:00pm ��Stefanie Takacs, President Treasurer Tidge Holmberg, Secretary Jennifer Johnston Campbell Munir Hussein Sapna Gandhi Kim Kem Louis Elias Speck Paca-Carroll Chase-Stone West East Randall Humphreys Off-Campus �I films would also be �assist you. There is a Venereal Disease Clinic located at the Anne Arundel ���� 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 16 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 4 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-10-04 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 4 of The Gadfly. Published October 04, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #4 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/d8ad0a20af23a469f5522bb9dd49b391.pdf 5b0be6adec56371802bc5152dee75dee PDF Text Text �October �be tar~e1:ea Wall the economic resurgence years. Chile After 15 years in Gen.=u~u.~~u Pin.oclaet the of the national which voted Vietnam L _____ _ ���October �mediocre "word" for what "Great Minds" have said over the ages. Itis said Mr. Buchanan intended social '' men and on face one wasn't noticed were out ofhotwater. A communications SUBSIDIARY OF BOOKS PLUS. INC. 38 21 THE JEFF �8 _ _ _ __ �others mirth. ��, cute.> l3l GEORGE STREET ANNAPOLIS. MARYLAND 21401 SATURDAY Hustlers lost.> �October .................................... was dumbest choice Bush ever made." M~mac2er: Adam Eggers Nora Sports Editor: Papadapoulis Art Editor: Elizabeth deMare Musk Editor: Sean LaRocca Circulation Director: Carin Calabirei;e Production Staff: Jennifer Asmuth, Christine Barber, Hallie Leighton, Anne Leonard, Robby Nease Cover by: Boyce information, business su!Jscriptmn available for $28.10. � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 12 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 5 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-10-11 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 5 of The Gadfly. Published October 11, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #5 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/af86ecbc211b4223adf6c16b0bd4b9de.pdf a5ef7f8ca133cfe2d3ede1d42b5a2a27 PDF Text Text �October ·Dinner Main Phone: 269-6737 Md. we can.'' ��-P. 11'""n•P Turner '89 As you may have ........,.................... , ,, ............'"" .. .. fare ,....,,, ........ ,.,.,,,,,.r1 Great Issues series. The Graduate tute, which has to make its presence known in the social scene thanks to cation a low-interest loan for a Member PIM ��manor over lm1g ·w~:el<:enld. co1mtc::>rtin'1~ arms ofher mother and a all appearances, seems to under the im.......,,,""''.'"'.... that the other 21 are in room to listen to him or espouse all of their beliefs on a certain issue. In Hostess D01lit~elv llJ.1.'-J.JL uiJu.J.J.&::.. and was nursed to health with chicken soup. So as not to be inundated with flowers and get well cards from her concerned rest assured that Miss to the attention of Miss that her fellow been displaying some in their seminar. shocked ru5;ao oomt:ea to hear of such Hostess sat down remonstrances Pearls and 1 Hostess Miss self on several different occasions. In .,IJ'-'-"..... situations would inter~.,~._,,,..,.,,,. another be considered ~-·~-,,....,..,....,.,,~ and within the bounds of etiauette. The first case is when 1 Hostess would column withto Mr. the Miss Polity Hostess that some felt it necessary to wear to the editor a few weeks ago where Mr. ~t<:!m~er exion~ssed his concern with her habits. t ...,,..,°'""'.a." Certain handguns generally include the characteristics: tivities; and Whereas, manufacture and sale remove these handguns mate...,..,,......,.,,.,..,,,,., and ' ers of will decide whether or not this law should into effect. In order to citizens to make an educated and informed the Political Forum will host a debate on Wed~ ~~,rl",, Oct. 26. a Bal· and NRA member will qrnestilon this law. Because this is of its kind to be enacted in the NRA and other Second fear that this (301 USE':), RARE AND OUT OF PRINT BOOKS SUBSIDIARY OF BOOKS PLUS, 38 2 THE 267-8761 ��October of his account are free to learn or to say, insomrua. found book is because the book can also be read in a different way,. for identifies with young His childhood memories are an essential of himself. There is no stage in the we can stop and now this is where little the fihn that we on the essential items that he can remember from his past. relates his chronic insomnia. is nothing as such, for you can manage with considerably less five hours being quite sleep than wear and tear comes with the alteredproportions, come and keep me company: anxiety, rage, regret and bored-Om. Even for insomnia, there are rituals: ing beds, switching on the light, reading a listening music, eating biscuits or chocolate, drinking mineral water. A well-timedValium can ing, resulting in petulance and reinforced an:xiety. This n'lr'lt"'rr".lnh Be:rgim.an reveals. is atte1np1tin1g to communicate how he deals Be~r21ma,n relates to The tern as relates to his films. written a work which is ~,,,..,..,.,,.,...,.,,. Inm1ar is not ...,,..,,,..,.,,>.,, camera while actors act out his experiences. This is an where Berruman is both the creator and the the director and the actor. A m(tgi1cl;;mtenrlisanold-fashionedmotion �1"1urrotmamg;>, both int4~llectua1 tual. His main influences are toevski, Balzac, ,,,,~ .. -~ ..... Nietzsche of course, Strim1bc~rg most of whom I have not read. He has a eat love for the country of Sweden that given him such treatm~nt, such as the uncalled for Evasion His of Vararrest in oms and Faro make sound so u.&........... -A··- dark that I have trouble associating with attachment to the It me to believe that one needs to be a Swede to understand would tias deceased's mental competence (yes, stuff like this doesn't ...................... an has been hired. The reason is that it would be ridiculous to involve ourselves and then have the deeds revert 1993 because the courts decided that our efforts were not sufficient. In all we cannot the 3 the two existent camSooner or later such a considered to be made. At the next I intend to mt:etimg to see what has dude. Yanni '91 I saw an excellent movie this summer. Wim Wender's of Desire. A German film. Never I seen the colorless of the 80s used with so much The main �- �, Officers: Stefanie Takacs, President Brad Stuart, Treasurer Tidge Holmberg, Secretary, [Bureaucrat Geek] Delegates: Paca-Carroll Chase-Stone West Pinkney East Pinkney Randall Munir Briody) Kem Louis Elias Paul Polity TelepJ1or1e Circle K Collegium Musicum Croquet Club Febbie Fun Fund Film Club Junior/Senior King William ... _____ _ Outdoor Club Political Forum Pool Table Rowing Club SCI Scutlptiure Club Sons of Bacchus Yearbook Darkroom 11. Those in bold $95.00 $500.00 It was enacted that: I. Off-campus election results are not in yet. II. Mr. Pickens made a the Boat House and its budget. He exipressc::<.t haP1::>1ness at both the heavy student the Rowing and dubs and the launch and motor to 3 boats and Boat House is: $700 for maintenance, S1500 for that Mr. Pickens noted was the fact that in the Gadfly concerning the dispositions and availability of the boats and the facts about joining the dub, etc. the Tide IX Grievance Committee; Lew Foulke, Planniino Committee; Blaise Bechtel, Board of Visitors and ".-:''"''"'-Food Committee; Freshmen on the ...n..,•u.::u~A-u.:: Comnnitl:ee:JeltSymonds,. Ni.Ch4e>U"3l1man, ~Dpllloimo·rel!; or1tt1e !:i.L.C.: Nora Briody,Juniors: Prt•su1Prll" Takacs: good dinner. VIII. The Voter Participation U>.nte,rer1ce was disappointing, reports President re12:ist1ere:d in the recent drive on campus. for student activities (POSTPONED). the Asst. from the Un1verslly aske:cHc>r S.UPDOrt in their campaign against the are extremely students. Polity Attorney Scott fora Coffee FEDERAL SAVINGS ��still more rain. was canceled team. and power of Nature. this? I invite co:mn1ern and .................. .,..,, .. '"".... . ---, ��~-..,.,l'>r•n° Classes are now at too late to get started. Mon.-Fri. 6 a.rn. - 10 p.rn. Sat. 8 a. rn. Sun. lOa.rn. - -Mr. Pickens •• The follows: Beall �October 2 can write them on the blue comment cards near the exit. The Marrido their best to honor which is wrong oec:a"LlSe respect us. recounted a about a student who came in and '-4, "Give me sausage but I don't want any of that sauce." The student is no here. Ms. Be:nsm~~er about it. apcJiogiz,e, but the ...u................. and indicate a lack the students' part. Ms. Simms of the students use them as a Layout: Christine Barber Cover Sara Catania � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 16 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 6 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-10-25 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 6 of The Gadfly. Published October 25, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #6 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/5e04d44d33cb1c14319c58fabf05fc57.pdf bd92c8b0561bda5b094394ee42f5153d PDF Text Text �November ��4 �������groups listed ��Member PIM ��byYanni '91 sexy people. Greenwaves having converting. Working up a sweat. Oww! Ooo baby baby. G-waves the only non integrated plays hard for the Spartans with every fiber of her ardent Hit on this! Anonymous member G-waves assures me his team is inite.i;:ratec:i, too. Pump Ewing sc1:-an11b:les get I don't understand our version of fairness. Fallon gets the ball and connects for a real of a play. He's the eyes out of my head- what a play! Ewing screens to Brendan on the wing, Brendan connects, with a perfect spiral, to Jamie -Jamie SpiU'~tns breath. I calmed myself by repeating over and over, Pickens.'' �November Akiba Covitz ' 91 I have a dream where all and Kareem ... Education ~otJ1ies. Dukakis - Seeks with U.S. allies comt>:renensitve trade emtba:rizc•" favors � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 16 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 7 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-11-01 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 7 of The Gadfly. Published November 01, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #7 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/15b12475f868b490a43ebb142df55b42.pdf 39c00f665f183767740a673b483f458a PDF Text Text ------------.,-'\\\ ~} �a argure~;pc•nsibillitv for contents, I it to believe that he would transcribe his dream in its enand submit it to• ""·"'"~""/1/""h• for ifhe did not endorse views contained therein. I do not find it hard to believe it was a because dreams in tend to be inational. The which Mr. is that nonThis statement, And we indicates the school's interest in its stu- �I I I I I I I I __ _ L ���268-1115 �����! pts. pct. .875 .750 1 1 2 4 5 022 20 115 210 6 1 9 .187 5 5 1 2 2 20 1 19 4 0 16 2 15 2 12 pct. .750 .687 .500 .500 .250 !~ pct. 7 I 6 3 !~ 3 4 3 Guardians 1 5 4 3 3 1 2 2 317 317 0 6 2 .250 Furies Amazons Maenads 319 .125 �Member PIM Co-Editors in Chief: Ray Gifford & Sara Catania Assistant Editor: Brooks Business Manager: Goodrum Advertising Manager: .Adam Eggers Business Staff: Nora Founded 1980, The is an independent review lished weekly and distributed over 550 students and faculty the Annapolis campus as well as the offices at the St. John's Santa Fe campus, tutors emeriti and members of the board of visitors and governors. Tax deductible contributions may be given to The Gadfly by making Art Editor: Elizabeth deMare Circulation Director: Carin Calabrese Art Staff: Beth Heinberg Cover by: Joan Ross Layout: Christine Barber Production: Elizabeth deMare, Robby Nease paper. Send checks to The Gadfly. For advertisement prices and information, call the business manager at ext. 320. Yearly subscription available for $28.10. Deadline: 5 p.m. All submissions should be typed and Opinions expressed are :responsibility of the author. � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 12 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 8 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-11-08 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 8 of The Gadfly. Published November 08, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #8 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/06c9aa1452456af75123d0a980923a1c.pdf 1174571f4b4e91b4b6097ef557bee054 PDF Text Text ����T ����Member PIM 15 years beas --is transmittable as soon as '-'UUU"-'-~" the virus. �November �, j �November seem to me correct, do not agree with their view that the status quo is not in need of and revi- reform revision does continuance of an state of affairs. I have written this letter with the discussion Gifford & Sara Catania Assistant Editor: Brooks Business Manager: Garfield Goodrum Ad'verUsllno- Manager: Adam Eggers Sports Editor: Yanni Pa1)aClapou1.as Editor: Elizabeth and Domestic Yarns Founded in 1980, weekly and ......,u••'-"'"'·.:;u Annapolis campus as � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 12 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 9 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-11-15 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 9 of The Gadfly. Published November 15, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #9 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ab047f97bc28f5c0c6013da764154f64.pdf 950d624c862f5971fbfe296577e30a29 PDF Text Text �your students!--can be sometimes. It remains as an ideal. It could be r-- ---- -, I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I BUNS TEAS e 2 8 1\ l-\L'J S TR.E ET I I I I I I I I I I I _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ .J ~- ����----., I I I I I I I I I _ _ _ _ _ _ JI �USE'.J. RARE lease. JEFF ����a little take the Furies an inch of deredoubtable Nads. had scored 16 J �Member PIM � 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 <em>The Gadfly</em> Description An account of the resource Founded in 1980, <em>The </em><em>Gadfly</em> is a weekly student publication distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="The Gadfly" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=16&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the <em>The Gadfly</em> Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource St. John's College Greenfield Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context thegadfly Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Page numeration Number of pages in the original item. 12 pages Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data paper Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Gifford, Ray (Co-Editor in Chief) Catania, Sara (Co-Editor in Chief) Title A name given to the resource The Gadfly, Vol X Issue 10 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-12-07 Description An account of the resource Volume X, Issue 10 of The Gadfly. Published December 07, 1988. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Vol. 10 #10 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this publication. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Gadfly Student publication