With each day, it looks like this isolation will last longer. Even it is eventually lifted, the schools have been called off for the year, which means no chaplain duties until September. So it’s as if my summer is beginning two months early: the routine and habits I take up now could theoretically carry me through the next 5 months, so it’s important to make a good start. I have continued reading since my last post, but not nearly with the consistency I had hoped. My reading chair is placed far too close to the PlayStation, which offers absolutely no help to completing my syllabus. Here’s what I’ve picked up lately though:
Aristotle, Metaphysics XII. I finished reading that book of the Metaphysics where Aristotle arrives at immaterial being and numbers them. I had begun in my last post to consider the notion of circular motion as present in self-movers. Aristotle shows that there must be something which is moved with an unceasing motion, and that this mobile itself must be eternal, and also there must be something which moves that ever-moving mobile. This mover itself is moved by nothing as it moves the mobile, which is the “first heaven”, the outermost sphere of the universe. One might ask, “Is it possible to move another without being moved oneself?” And he points out that this is clear the case with objects of desire: The glass a of beer moves me to pick it up, not by being moved itself, but through being an object of knowledge and desire. This leads to a whole school of interpretation (perhaps the most common) that says, for Aristotle, the unmoved mover only moves in the mode of a final cause and not in the mode of an agent cause. Thomas will disagree with this interpretation, since God must be both final cause and agent cause, but I can see how people arrive at the conclusion based on this text. Aristotle says, “The final cause, then, produces motion as being loved, but all other things move by being moved” (XII.7), the implication being that things which move but are not moved only do so in the mode of a final cause. Other texts, for example the talk about power in Physics VIII (if I recall correctly), indicate that the first mover does indeed move in the mode of an agent cause without being moved. Continue reading
Since coming back to school, I have spent more time reading for my thesis than reading for leisure, but thankfully found time for these two short works.
Aristophanes: The Frogs. I was at a bookstore purchasing a copy of Margaret Atwood’s Penelopiad on someone’s recommendation and, noticing this little volume of Aristophanes for only a few dollars, I threw it on the checkout counter for good measure. And I’m glad I did! Shortly after I started Atwood’s take on an ancient classic, I found myself desiring to read something actually ancient and Aristophanes was ready for that purpose. And how excellent it was! I remember having to read The Clouds and The Birds in college and, though funny in parts, I was mostly put off by the vulgarity and how irreverent it was toward Socrates (someone I held in great veneration). Picking up this one, I was struck by how easy it was to imagine on stage. The early scenes of Dionysus (dressed as Hercules) bantering with his servant sounded like something that would appear on SNL in our own time. As the play goes on, Dionysus goes down to the underworld and for all of its silliness, there is actually worthy reflection on the relative merits of serious, grave literature (represented by Aeschylus) and popular literature (represented by Euripides). Aristophanes does an excellent job in presenting caricatures of these poets while also composing the poems by which they duel against each other to claim top spot in the underworld. I wonder if Dante had the works of Aristophanes and was in some way influenced when he depicted his own favorite poets in the underworld. This work did what good writing should do: It made me want to keep reading. I started looking for the plays of Euripides after this and also wanted to discover how difficult Aristophanes is to read in Greek, since I’m sure the poetry jokes have much more nuance in the original. I can easily recommend this to anyone who ever has or will read Greek drama. If you didn’t like other plays by Aristophanes, give this one a shot.
Rainer Maria Rilke: Letters to a Young Poet. I bought this at a used bookstore in Jerusalem. I think I was buying a copy of Boswell’s Life of Johnson and the worker couldn’t make change, and so he said I could take another book at half price, and it was Rilke’s that caught my eye. It is a series of letters which Rilke wrote to another aspiring poet, containing advice and helpful criticism. Although I did not care for all the advice, I appreciated his recommendation to spend time with things. His view was that a poet communicates something of reality, and so a poet must place himself in front of things in order to have an object to communicate. His observations on sexuality also indicate a bit of wisdom, even in the midst of folly. One example is his understanding that sex is ordered to procreation, to the begetting of the next generation, and that this is not unique to man but is common among all animals. Seeing through the sentimental and individual aspects of sexuality to the natural and universal is not something one sees so often, so I appreciate this. Another observation in this area is that even if one seeks to escape institutions (for example, that of marriage), one ends up inventing institutions all the same and being caught up in them. He sounds a bit fatalistic when he says this, but it is true observation that should encourage one to make the most of existing institutions. One last piece of advice that is worth repeating was his recommendation to avoid writing satire while feeling uninspired. He says that one should only write satire at one’s best because it is far too easy to write bad satire and does not contribute to becoming a poet. I would recommend these letters of Rilke, probably not to everyone, but to anyone who has some aspiration to be a poet.
[These works are #24 and #25 on my classics reading challenge.]
After the receiving many a recommendation and finding the first volume quite short, I finally decided to begin C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy. And what an enjoyable read! I did not care for the first 40 or so pages, since they involved unpleasant characters and drawn-out descriptions. The one observation in this first section that encouraged me to continue was that space is not so much space—empty and void—but something full and bright, and that planets are more truly considered dark and void-like. This theme is revisited throughout the book, and I think makes it ironic that the series is called the Space Trilogy, and perhaps why some editions call it rather the Cosmic Trilogy. I am also not so sure I would call it science-fiction, as I would fantasy (or a fairy-tale as Lewis says in the third volume). There are certainly themes and tropes of science-fiction, but no one calls Dante’s Paradiso science-fiction on account of his visiting several planets. So many of the “scientific” bits of the book don’t hold in light of consequent space-exploration, but I don’t think they were all that important for the story anyway. Continue reading
The Metamorphoses of Ovid is a collection of Greco-Roman mythological stories, from Creation to Caesar, weaved into a continuous narrative of epic dactylic hexameter verses. (My sister once accused Virgil of being an author of fan-fiction, having based his writing on the events of the Iliad and the Odyssey. If that is so, then Ovid is doubly a fan-fiction author, even recounting the events of the Aeneid.) Continue reading