April
by Ella Higginson
Hey, pretty maid! Whence comest thou
With violets linked about thy brow,
And zone of buttercups' own gold?
The currant blossoms round thee fold
Their delicate beauty, red and sweet,
And star-flowers faint beneath thy feet.
Thou dear coquette! A tear, a frown,
Dark lashes drooping shyly down,
To bid one hope the while he fears,
Then sudden laughter thro' thy tears;
May all thy sweethearts now take care,
And of thy ravishments beware.
See how the soft wind kisses thee,
And how the rough wind misses thee,
And fruit trees blow and bend and sigh
When thy glad feet come twinkling by;
And thou dost laugh thro' sparkling tears
And kisses fling at hopes and fears.
Ah, May is fair, and June is sweet,
And August comes with loitering feet;
July's the maid to lie and dream,
Beside some blue and lilied stream;
But April's sweetheart never yet
Could her tear-mingled smiles forget.
Saturday, April 02, 2016
Tear-Mingled Smiles
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Philosophy, Academic Research, and Practical Engagement
I hope that after this week I'll be able to get back into more of the usual kinds of posts; the past three weeks have been hectic and this week hasn't been any sort of slow-down at all.
However, I notice that Frodeman and Briggle's argument that philosophy has lost its way continues to stir up some discussion. Besides Soames's response, which I questioned here, skholiast at "Speculum Criticum" had two posts commenting on the discussion:
* Philosophy Departments, Nihilism, Psychic Research, and the Continental / Analytic Divide. And a few other things you didn't think were related. Part i
* Philosophy Departments, Nihilism, Psychic Research, and the Continental / Analytic Divide. And a few other things you didn't think were related. Part ii
Recently there has been some back-and-forth on the subject in Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective:
* Maring, Luke. “Abandoning the Academy is the Single Worst Thing Philosophers Could Do: A Reply to Frodeman and Briggle.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 5, no. 3 (2016): 54-58.
* “Comments on Luke Maring’s Post Regarding ‘When Philosophy Lost Its Way'”, Bob Frodeman and Adam Briggle.
* “Philosophy, the Academy, and the Public: A Reply to Frodeman and Briggle”, Luke Maring
* “Is Anyone Still Reading? A Second Response to Maring”, Adam Briggle and Bob Frodeman
* Bowman, W. Derek. “Philosophy Hitherto: A Reply to Frodeman and Briggle.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 5, no. 3 (2016): 85-91.
* "Toward New Virtues in Philosophy: A Reply to Derek Bowman," Bob Frodeman and Adam Briggle.
They also reposted a discussion (of the original article and Soames's response) by Steve Fuller at ABC Religion and Ethics.
Maring's arguments, I think, make a significant misstep in assuming that philosophical participation in academia necessarily means participating in academia in the way in which philosophers happen to do so now; but as has been pointed out by a few people, in fact the way philosophers participate in academia currently is largely the result of historical contingencies -- the narrowing of philosophy discipline-wise did not occur simply by philosophical participation in academia (which, in any case, happened for centuries, during some of which philosophy was absolutely thriving) but by a particular philosophical group (those that opposed the treatment of psychology as a science and especially the creation of Psychology Departments) getting the funding and institutional recognition of themselves as the Philosophy Department, and then others, usually at first with similar views, doing the same. The whole thing is a result of a particular set of moves in academic politics at a certain time, not an inevitable result of academic engagement.
Maring also has a conception of the ideals of academic research that I regard as problematic, although I don't think it is as central to the issue at hand:
This is how it often does work, to be sure. That this is how it is "supposed to work" is much more dubious, however. If you look at cases where you can really and indisputably see the kind of thing that Maring has in mind, what you generally get are cases where either (1) the ideas are of very little general interest in the first place and thus almost entirely ivory tower; or (2) the ideas are in fact important to society, and disasters build up because the academic field struggles to keep the public informed and so the public responds by filling the void with whatever seems good at the time. I can hardly imagine that Maring thinks that the ideal of academic research is to study evolutionary theory that the public continually misunderstands so that biologists are constantly having to deal with the consequences of the misunderstanding. But this is one perfectly good example -- and not at all isolated -- of exactly the sort of thing he is describing. And arguably the lesson that has been learned is that ordinary everyday biologists can't just sit around waiting for people to come into the classroom to learn these things.
Nor, it should be pointed out, has this always been seen as the way academic research should work in the first place. If you look at a lot of nineteenth-century academics, they often saw themselves, or at least described themselves, as partners with the public in their inquiry. Natural history in the nineteenth century flourished because it consisted of a constant cooperation and interaction between university researchers and a broader public outside of academia -- yes, the researchers often did the work of hammering out the difficult technicalities, but they were technicalities arising out of a broader discussion rather than just an academic one, and those technicalities were only of value to the extent that they could be brought back to that broader discussion. It wouldn't have made much sense to see it in Maring's way -- to do something on the scale of natural history, particularly at the time when collections were often just getting started and field work could sometimes be quite expensive and time-consuming, you needed the help of more than just a few researchers at universities even to deal with the basics. So why not get the gardeners and hikers, and the public generally, involved in collecting and identifying specimens? A lot of the great work in nineteenth-century natural history was done by amateurs working with experts, either immediately or by correspondence. Nor is natural history the only area of academic interest in which this was the case. Bringing scientific results to the broader public was part of what scientists saw themselves as doing; there's a reason why a lot of top nineteenth-century academics are often out and about talking to people outside of academia -- indeed, not uncommonly, people who may not have had more than a basic education in the first place. And, on the other side, there's a reason why things like Faraday's Christmas lectures were immensely popular.
Nor is it even the case that this is the way it has always been seen today. Academic mathematicians often deal with the most technical of technicalities; a lot gets done that only experts with time on their hands explicitly devoted to the problem can do. But mathematics has always had an important, non-stop interaction between experts and amateurs -- indeed, for very much the same reason that natural history in the nineteenth century did. Mathematics is an endless field; no matter how expert you are, it's a sign of irrationality to think you and a small band of others can always on your own do all the work that needs to be done. The dabbling of mathematical amateurs has often made very useful discoveries in mathematics; and the amateurs in making those discoveries have freed up the professionals to build on them and do other things that need to be done to get the math in good order. And in other fields, there is a slow increasing appreciation of the work of non-academics -- citizen science and the like.
And indeed, this is precisely the problem with Maring's characterization: he assumes that "the milieu that makes really impactful work possible" is necessarily an academic one. But historically it has sometimes been the interaction between academics and the broader public that actually created this milieu. And fields in which this has not been the case have tended to be very narrow fields in the first place. Big, sprawling fields like natural history or mathematics have at times had to spill out of academia to get the research done in the first place. Now, perhaps the conditions of philosophy are different, or maybe the conditions of academia have changed enough that it should now be usually done differently even if there are exceptions like certain fields of mathematics. (Certainly it's true that natural history started freezing the amateurs out toward the end of the nineteenth century and the more recent attempts to start up active cooperation have been sporadic and limited.) But the point is that Maring's conception of academic research is not written in stone in the foundations of the halls of learning. It's just the status quo. And precisely the point of Frodeman and Briggle was that the status quo requires treating philosophy as a narrow and very limited discipline. If we are talking about how academic research is supposed to work, Maring's claim can't be taken uncritically; it is precisely the thing that would need to be established.
I think Bowman's argument starts on a stronger foot. He argues that "reluctance to engage with practical affairs was a feature of philosophy long before the advent of the modern university" and then sets out to show that in fact philosophers are doing a lot of practical engagement anyway. The problem is that his example of the reluctance to engage with practical affairs -- Socrates and Plato -- doesn't seem to involve any actual reluctance to engage with practical affairs. Yes, philosophers were sometimes ridiculed -- but the ridicule itself is part of the actual engagement between the philosophers and the public. Aristophanes' The Clouds was not some obscure little work in an obscure venue; it was a criticism of Socrates, who was already a public figure, in the most public venue in the ancient Greek world. It's true that Plato's Socrates is clearly limited in his options as to how he can operate, but this is quite clearly not put forward as a restriction by Socrates himself, but simply by the unwillingness of the citizens of Athens. (And notably, Socrates in Plato's Gorgias says that he's the only one of his contemporaries who practices the true politics.) And the reluctance of Plato's philosopher-kings to rule is quite clearly just due to the fact that the Kallipolis is rigged so that corruptions leading to injustice are difficult to find -- just as parenthood is obscured to make nepotism impossible, and the noble lie is perpetuated simply to make bribery impossible, so the only people allowed to rule are those who aren't motivated simply by a desire to rule, so that self-aggrandizement is impossible. But there's nothing even here about a reluctance for engagement in practical affairs; 'practical affairs' is much broader than 'ruling the city'. What Bowman actually seems to be picking up on is the ancient view that philosophy requires leisure, that philosophy should not be subordinated to other affairs simply because the latter get labeled as more 'practical' or 'useful'. This is not ambivalence about practical engagement; this is an insistence that philosophy has value in its own right.
Frodeman and Briggle seem to be running out of steam at this point; their responses have been getting weaker as time goes on. But, of course, the question is still worth considering.
However, I notice that Frodeman and Briggle's argument that philosophy has lost its way continues to stir up some discussion. Besides Soames's response, which I questioned here, skholiast at "Speculum Criticum" had two posts commenting on the discussion:
* Philosophy Departments, Nihilism, Psychic Research, and the Continental / Analytic Divide. And a few other things you didn't think were related. Part i
* Philosophy Departments, Nihilism, Psychic Research, and the Continental / Analytic Divide. And a few other things you didn't think were related. Part ii
Recently there has been some back-and-forth on the subject in Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective:
* Maring, Luke. “Abandoning the Academy is the Single Worst Thing Philosophers Could Do: A Reply to Frodeman and Briggle.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 5, no. 3 (2016): 54-58.
* “Comments on Luke Maring’s Post Regarding ‘When Philosophy Lost Its Way'”, Bob Frodeman and Adam Briggle.
* “Philosophy, the Academy, and the Public: A Reply to Frodeman and Briggle”, Luke Maring
* “Is Anyone Still Reading? A Second Response to Maring”, Adam Briggle and Bob Frodeman
* Bowman, W. Derek. “Philosophy Hitherto: A Reply to Frodeman and Briggle.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 5, no. 3 (2016): 85-91.
* "Toward New Virtues in Philosophy: A Reply to Derek Bowman," Bob Frodeman and Adam Briggle.
They also reposted a discussion (of the original article and Soames's response) by Steve Fuller at ABC Religion and Ethics.
Maring's arguments, I think, make a significant misstep in assuming that philosophical participation in academia necessarily means participating in academia in the way in which philosophers happen to do so now; but as has been pointed out by a few people, in fact the way philosophers participate in academia currently is largely the result of historical contingencies -- the narrowing of philosophy discipline-wise did not occur simply by philosophical participation in academia (which, in any case, happened for centuries, during some of which philosophy was absolutely thriving) but by a particular philosophical group (those that opposed the treatment of psychology as a science and especially the creation of Psychology Departments) getting the funding and institutional recognition of themselves as the Philosophy Department, and then others, usually at first with similar views, doing the same. The whole thing is a result of a particular set of moves in academic politics at a certain time, not an inevitable result of academic engagement.
Maring also has a conception of the ideals of academic research that I regard as problematic, although I don't think it is as central to the issue at hand:
But, as I explained before, that is not how academic research works. Even if they do not directly impact the public, our small individual contributions create the milieu that makes really impactful work possible. To repeat an example: John Rawls’s A Theory of Justice has been hugely influential; Rawls was in a position to write his book only because he was immersed in an academic back-and-forth, most of which the public never saw. The public does not read most philosophical scholarship (or scientific scholarship, or anthropological scholarship, or…). That is not a problem; that is how academic research is supposed to work.
This is how it often does work, to be sure. That this is how it is "supposed to work" is much more dubious, however. If you look at cases where you can really and indisputably see the kind of thing that Maring has in mind, what you generally get are cases where either (1) the ideas are of very little general interest in the first place and thus almost entirely ivory tower; or (2) the ideas are in fact important to society, and disasters build up because the academic field struggles to keep the public informed and so the public responds by filling the void with whatever seems good at the time. I can hardly imagine that Maring thinks that the ideal of academic research is to study evolutionary theory that the public continually misunderstands so that biologists are constantly having to deal with the consequences of the misunderstanding. But this is one perfectly good example -- and not at all isolated -- of exactly the sort of thing he is describing. And arguably the lesson that has been learned is that ordinary everyday biologists can't just sit around waiting for people to come into the classroom to learn these things.
Nor, it should be pointed out, has this always been seen as the way academic research should work in the first place. If you look at a lot of nineteenth-century academics, they often saw themselves, or at least described themselves, as partners with the public in their inquiry. Natural history in the nineteenth century flourished because it consisted of a constant cooperation and interaction between university researchers and a broader public outside of academia -- yes, the researchers often did the work of hammering out the difficult technicalities, but they were technicalities arising out of a broader discussion rather than just an academic one, and those technicalities were only of value to the extent that they could be brought back to that broader discussion. It wouldn't have made much sense to see it in Maring's way -- to do something on the scale of natural history, particularly at the time when collections were often just getting started and field work could sometimes be quite expensive and time-consuming, you needed the help of more than just a few researchers at universities even to deal with the basics. So why not get the gardeners and hikers, and the public generally, involved in collecting and identifying specimens? A lot of the great work in nineteenth-century natural history was done by amateurs working with experts, either immediately or by correspondence. Nor is natural history the only area of academic interest in which this was the case. Bringing scientific results to the broader public was part of what scientists saw themselves as doing; there's a reason why a lot of top nineteenth-century academics are often out and about talking to people outside of academia -- indeed, not uncommonly, people who may not have had more than a basic education in the first place. And, on the other side, there's a reason why things like Faraday's Christmas lectures were immensely popular.
Nor is it even the case that this is the way it has always been seen today. Academic mathematicians often deal with the most technical of technicalities; a lot gets done that only experts with time on their hands explicitly devoted to the problem can do. But mathematics has always had an important, non-stop interaction between experts and amateurs -- indeed, for very much the same reason that natural history in the nineteenth century did. Mathematics is an endless field; no matter how expert you are, it's a sign of irrationality to think you and a small band of others can always on your own do all the work that needs to be done. The dabbling of mathematical amateurs has often made very useful discoveries in mathematics; and the amateurs in making those discoveries have freed up the professionals to build on them and do other things that need to be done to get the math in good order. And in other fields, there is a slow increasing appreciation of the work of non-academics -- citizen science and the like.
And indeed, this is precisely the problem with Maring's characterization: he assumes that "the milieu that makes really impactful work possible" is necessarily an academic one. But historically it has sometimes been the interaction between academics and the broader public that actually created this milieu. And fields in which this has not been the case have tended to be very narrow fields in the first place. Big, sprawling fields like natural history or mathematics have at times had to spill out of academia to get the research done in the first place. Now, perhaps the conditions of philosophy are different, or maybe the conditions of academia have changed enough that it should now be usually done differently even if there are exceptions like certain fields of mathematics. (Certainly it's true that natural history started freezing the amateurs out toward the end of the nineteenth century and the more recent attempts to start up active cooperation have been sporadic and limited.) But the point is that Maring's conception of academic research is not written in stone in the foundations of the halls of learning. It's just the status quo. And precisely the point of Frodeman and Briggle was that the status quo requires treating philosophy as a narrow and very limited discipline. If we are talking about how academic research is supposed to work, Maring's claim can't be taken uncritically; it is precisely the thing that would need to be established.
I think Bowman's argument starts on a stronger foot. He argues that "reluctance to engage with practical affairs was a feature of philosophy long before the advent of the modern university" and then sets out to show that in fact philosophers are doing a lot of practical engagement anyway. The problem is that his example of the reluctance to engage with practical affairs -- Socrates and Plato -- doesn't seem to involve any actual reluctance to engage with practical affairs. Yes, philosophers were sometimes ridiculed -- but the ridicule itself is part of the actual engagement between the philosophers and the public. Aristophanes' The Clouds was not some obscure little work in an obscure venue; it was a criticism of Socrates, who was already a public figure, in the most public venue in the ancient Greek world. It's true that Plato's Socrates is clearly limited in his options as to how he can operate, but this is quite clearly not put forward as a restriction by Socrates himself, but simply by the unwillingness of the citizens of Athens. (And notably, Socrates in Plato's Gorgias says that he's the only one of his contemporaries who practices the true politics.) And the reluctance of Plato's philosopher-kings to rule is quite clearly just due to the fact that the Kallipolis is rigged so that corruptions leading to injustice are difficult to find -- just as parenthood is obscured to make nepotism impossible, and the noble lie is perpetuated simply to make bribery impossible, so the only people allowed to rule are those who aren't motivated simply by a desire to rule, so that self-aggrandizement is impossible. But there's nothing even here about a reluctance for engagement in practical affairs; 'practical affairs' is much broader than 'ruling the city'. What Bowman actually seems to be picking up on is the ancient view that philosophy requires leisure, that philosophy should not be subordinated to other affairs simply because the latter get labeled as more 'practical' or 'useful'. This is not ambivalence about practical engagement; this is an insistence that philosophy has value in its own right.
Frodeman and Briggle seem to be running out of steam at this point; their responses have been getting weaker as time goes on. But, of course, the question is still worth considering.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Maronite Year XXXIX
The Feast of the Annunciation is normally on March 25, but, of course, this year that occurred during Triduum, which takes precedence. So it was shifted to the next open day after, which, because Easter Monday is treated as an extension of Easter Sunday, is today.
While Annunciation is important, the structure of the Maronite calendar tends to de-emphasize it somewhat; the primary commemoration of the Annunciation is in Advent, feasts that don't fall on Sunday tend to be de-emphasized in general, and the existence of this feast of the Annunciation is primarily a testimony to a combination of the great age of the feast and the tendency of Maronites to recognize Latin holidays as well as their own. However, these are both powerful influences, and while March 25 tends for Maronites to be in practice the secondary celebration of the Annunciation, they certainly do celebrate it and treat it as important.
The Feast of the Announcement to Mary
Galatians 3:15-22; Luke 1:26-38
The Angel went to Nazareth, Alleluia:
"Peace, O Mary, maiden given great grace,
blessed are you among women, greatly favored!
Have no fear! Your God is gracious to you,
and you shall conceive a Son whose name is Jesus."
Mary was with wonder filled: "I am but a girl,
a maiden; how can I bear a son?"
"Mary, the Holy Spirit overshadows you,
with divine might is descending on you,
You shall bear God's Son. With God all is possible."
Then did the holy Virgin say, "Let it be so,
for I am the handmaiden of the Lord!"
O Mary, receiving peace from God, you give peace;
you restored Eve's children to their true place;
in you the Word was made flesh to dwell among us.
O Lord, we do not understand and are amazed;
we are blinded by Your eternal flame.
The incense of our prayer alone can we give;
we hide behind its smoke in Your presence,
for great is the might that comes upon Your altar!
While Annunciation is important, the structure of the Maronite calendar tends to de-emphasize it somewhat; the primary commemoration of the Annunciation is in Advent, feasts that don't fall on Sunday tend to be de-emphasized in general, and the existence of this feast of the Annunciation is primarily a testimony to a combination of the great age of the feast and the tendency of Maronites to recognize Latin holidays as well as their own. However, these are both powerful influences, and while March 25 tends for Maronites to be in practice the secondary celebration of the Annunciation, they certainly do celebrate it and treat it as important.
The Feast of the Announcement to Mary
Galatians 3:15-22; Luke 1:26-38
The Angel went to Nazareth, Alleluia:
"Peace, O Mary, maiden given great grace,
blessed are you among women, greatly favored!
Have no fear! Your God is gracious to you,
and you shall conceive a Son whose name is Jesus."
Mary was with wonder filled: "I am but a girl,
a maiden; how can I bear a son?"
"Mary, the Holy Spirit overshadows you,
with divine might is descending on you,
You shall bear God's Son. With God all is possible."
Then did the holy Virgin say, "Let it be so,
for I am the handmaiden of the Lord!"
O Mary, receiving peace from God, you give peace;
you restored Eve's children to their true place;
in you the Word was made flesh to dwell among us.
O Lord, we do not understand and are amazed;
we are blinded by Your eternal flame.
The incense of our prayer alone can we give;
we hide behind its smoke in Your presence,
for great is the might that comes upon Your altar!
Monday, March 28, 2016
A Quick Trip to Italy, Part VII
Across from the House of the Vestal Virgins is the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina:
In July of 138, Emperor Hadrian died, leaving Antoninus as his heir. Antoninus's wife, Faustina, was widely admired and imitated among Roman women. When the Empress died in 140, Antoninus convinced the Senate to deify her and to build a temple to her in the Roman Forum. After Antoninus Pius died in 161 and was deified as well, Marcus Aurelius had Senate re-dedicate the temple to both Antoninus and Faustina. The inscriptions reads, "Divo Antonino et Divae Faustinae Ex S.C.", i.e., "To divine Antoninus and divine Faustina, by decree of the Senate". At some point in the early Middle Ages, the temple was repurposed as a church, the church of San Lorenzo in Miranda. (Nobody knows the origin of the 'Miranda' part of the name.) In the fifteenth century, Pope Martin V gave the church to the Collegio degli Speziali, a guild of chemists and herbalists, giving it its full name of San Lorenzo de' Speziali in Miranda, and a descendant institution, the Collegio Chimico Farmaceutico, still makes use of the nearby guildhall. Not long after parts of the temple were hauled off to help repair St. John Lateran. The building was returned to its character as ancient temple for the visit of the Emperor Charles V in 1536, but the church still exists inside part of the temple, accessed from the other side. After that point, the general area became a cattle market, which is why one of its Italian names for the longest time was Field of Cows; the return to display of ancient remains began in serious in the nineteenth century.
One of the great architectural mysteries of the temple is why there are angle doubled grooves cut into the pillars of the temple; nobody knows why this was done. An old theory is that at some point in the Middle Ages this was done in a failed attempt to destroy the portico, the grooves being cut for ropes, but this is purely speculative, and, as some people have pointed out, it's unclear, if you were trying to pull down the pillars, why anyone would attempt to do it in this way -- or, indeed, why, failing to do it in this way, they would not have simply tried another until they succeeded. More recently people have suggested that they may have been cut to help support a temporary structure at some point, or that they might have been a side effect of the occasional building of other structures around the gateway.
A little farther on, also across from the House of the Vestal Virgins, you can see the remains of the Basilica of Maxentius and Constantine:
It was the largest building of its day, and the largest ever built in the forum, and its large groin vaults were closely studied by architects in the Renaissance who worked with large buildings. The effect of the size is quite impressive even now, but nothing of the Basilica survives except its north aisle -- as many large buildings are, it was vulnerable to earthquakes, and over the centuries it has had to endure a few. (Its only surviving great column was carted off in the seventeenth century after one of these earthquakes to St. Mary Major, where it still stands in the Piazza.)
Walking along in the general direction of the Colosseum one soon comes to the Arch of Titus:
'
The Arch is an interesting monument in its own right. It was constructed by Domitian in the 80s to commemorate the victories of his elder brother Titus, and in particular the victory in the Siege of Jerusalem in AD 70. Thus the northward panel depicts Titus in triumphant procession, led by Valor and crowned by Victory:
But the southward panel is even more interesting, because it shows Titus bringing home the spoils, and one of the looted trophies is very, very recognizable:
Notice the Great Menorah from the Temple. Other objects that are identifiable are the golden trumpets, the firepans for the altar, and the Table of Shewbread. There's good evidence that these trophies in the panel were originally painted golden-yellow.
There are some inscriptions on the arch. On one side is, Senatus Populusque Romanus divo Tito divi Vespasiani filio Vespasiano Augusto, "The Roman Senate and People, to divine Titus Vespasian Augustus, son of divine Vespasian". Another is Insigne religionis atque artis, monumentum, vetustate fatiscens: Pius Septimus, Pontifex Maximus, novis operibus priscum exemplar imitantibus fulciri servarique iussit. Anno sacri principatus eius XXIV, "The monument, notable for religion and for art, had weakened with age: Pius VII, Supreme Pontiff, by new works in imitation of the ancient exemplar, commanded it to be reinforced and preserved in the 24th year of his sacred reign."
Soon after we came to the most famous sports stadium in the world:
The Flavian Amphitheater, the largest amphitheater built in the ancient empire, was begun by Vespasian in 72 and was finished by his son Titus in 80. It could hold approximately 50,000, perhaps as many as 80,000, spectators. Nobody knows how it got its most common name, the Colosseum (or Coliseum); the most common suggestion is that there was a statue, or colossus, associated with it at some point.
Domitian remodeled it and put in the hypogeum, the underground tunnels for the animals and slaves.
The fortunes of the Colosseum went up and down throughout the Middle Ages, with the building being used at times for various odd functions and at other times for a quarry. A turning point was reached under Pope Benedict XIV in 1749; he argued that it was a site of Christian martyrdom, and thus forbade its use as a quarry and consecrated it to the Passion of Christ. There is in fact no evidence that any Christians were ever martyred there, although it is certainly possible that some were. It's even rare for there to be any attribution of martyrdom to the building in legend; Ignatius of Antioch, by a very late tradition, is sometimes said to have been fed to lions here, but that's almost all, and medieval pilgrimage guides tend not even to mention it at all. (Most Christians who were martyred seem actually to have been martyred at the Circus Maximus.) The association with martyrdom seems to have been an entirely modern idea, beginning to gain ground in the sixteenth century. However, the idea meant that people stopped using it as a source of stone and that money and effort were put into maintaining it. A cross was placed in it (fairly recently, I believe):
Pope Benedict XIV also began to do Stations of the Cross in the Colosseum, and every evening of Good Friday the Popes have continued the tradition. They were doing preliminary set-up for this when we were there.
After the Colosseum, we went searching for the Circus Maximus. We walked past the Arch of Constantine:
The Arch, the last and largest of the great Roman triumphal arches, was dedicated in 315 to celebrate Constantine's victory over Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge. Famously it is a mix of new work and spolia from other arches, since, it is sometimes said, Constantine could not find sculptors up to his standards. In reality, there are any number of things that might be true here; the Arch may have been rushed into construction, so the spoliage could perhaps have been a time-saving maneuver. Some people have even suggested that the Arch was actually built by Maxentius, and Constantine just repurposed it after his victory, using parts from other monuments to get it together in short order. Because the Arch is such a mix of styles, it has long been a key evidence in attempts to reconstruct the history of art, and its possible decline, in the late Roman Imperial period. The main inscription:
It reads in English: "To Emperor Caesar Flavius Constantinus, greatest, pious, and blessed Augustus: because he, inspired by the divine and by greatness of mind, has delivered the state from the tyrant and all of his followers at one time, with his army and just force of arms, the Senate and People of Rome have dedicated this arch, decorated with triumphs."
And finally we came to the Circus Maximus. At one time it was the greatest entertainment venue in the world, although now it is little more than a large ditch:
Now a public park, it still functions occasionally as an entertainment venue for concerts, and it seems to be common enough for people to incorporate it into their evening walks.
Thus we had toured a bit of ancient Rome.
Returning from the Circus Maximus to our hotel, we got turnd around a bit and passed by the Theatre of Marcellus:
It was originally planned by Julius Caesar, but he died before construction could begin, and it fell to Augustus to finish it. It was later used as a fortress and then as part of a residence for the Orsini.
In all the wandering, I also snapped a quick picture of some churches. Here is the Basilica di Sant'Anastasia al Palatino:
It is one of the stational churches for Lent. There has been a church on this site since the third or fourth century; the current one is a seventeenth century restoration. According to a very old tradition, Saint Jerome said Mass here. Despite its history, it almost ceased to exist in the early twentieth century because no one ever went there. A restoration in the 1960s revived it a bit. But it had to be closed in the eighties and nineties because its foundations were crumbling; they have since been restored. Since its re-opening it has become one of the most flourishing churches in the area.
Here is a relatively minor church, Santa Maria della Consolazione:
I didn't even know what church it was; I had to search online for it. It used to be near an execution site for criminals; an icon was put here to console them while they were being executed, and thus the name. That's a story you would never expect beforehand. It became a notable spot in the fifteenth century when someone was being hanged nearby; the man had claimed he was innocent, and when they tried to hang him, it somehow failed. So, as was common, since he had survived the attempt to kill him, they cut him down. He claimed to have had a vision of the icon, with the Virgin reaching out her hand and supporting him. So a church was built to house the icon. It was rebuilt in the sixteenth century, when it was connected to a hospital, which itself was associated with a number of saints. The hospital no longer operates and is now a police station; and the streets around it have been restructured, leaving this once flourishing church in a very bustling piazza no more than a very lonely and isolated church in the middle of a zigzag of narrow streets.
And above is the church of San Nicola in Carcere. Nobody knows for sure where it got the 'in prison' tag; since it incorporates the remains of previous temples, some have suggested that there was a jail associated with them. It is one of the stational churches for Lent and is famous for its celebrations of Our Lady of Pompeii and Our Lady of Guadalupe. It is said to have a reproduction of the tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe that was sent here in 1773. Mussolini's meddlings with Rome and the twentieth-century passion for ancient remains led to the destruction of most of the medieval neighborhood of the church and a restructuring of the area that left this ancient parish church with almost no parish. So it was made a dependent church of Santa Maria in Portico in Campitelli.
It was by accident, but the three churches happen to make an interesting study of the lives of old churches.
One last picture for the day, the Quirinal Palace shining over the rooftops:
And that was Wednesday.
to be continued
In July of 138, Emperor Hadrian died, leaving Antoninus as his heir. Antoninus's wife, Faustina, was widely admired and imitated among Roman women. When the Empress died in 140, Antoninus convinced the Senate to deify her and to build a temple to her in the Roman Forum. After Antoninus Pius died in 161 and was deified as well, Marcus Aurelius had Senate re-dedicate the temple to both Antoninus and Faustina. The inscriptions reads, "Divo Antonino et Divae Faustinae Ex S.C.", i.e., "To divine Antoninus and divine Faustina, by decree of the Senate". At some point in the early Middle Ages, the temple was repurposed as a church, the church of San Lorenzo in Miranda. (Nobody knows the origin of the 'Miranda' part of the name.) In the fifteenth century, Pope Martin V gave the church to the Collegio degli Speziali, a guild of chemists and herbalists, giving it its full name of San Lorenzo de' Speziali in Miranda, and a descendant institution, the Collegio Chimico Farmaceutico, still makes use of the nearby guildhall. Not long after parts of the temple were hauled off to help repair St. John Lateran. The building was returned to its character as ancient temple for the visit of the Emperor Charles V in 1536, but the church still exists inside part of the temple, accessed from the other side. After that point, the general area became a cattle market, which is why one of its Italian names for the longest time was Field of Cows; the return to display of ancient remains began in serious in the nineteenth century.
One of the great architectural mysteries of the temple is why there are angle doubled grooves cut into the pillars of the temple; nobody knows why this was done. An old theory is that at some point in the Middle Ages this was done in a failed attempt to destroy the portico, the grooves being cut for ropes, but this is purely speculative, and, as some people have pointed out, it's unclear, if you were trying to pull down the pillars, why anyone would attempt to do it in this way -- or, indeed, why, failing to do it in this way, they would not have simply tried another until they succeeded. More recently people have suggested that they may have been cut to help support a temporary structure at some point, or that they might have been a side effect of the occasional building of other structures around the gateway.
A little farther on, also across from the House of the Vestal Virgins, you can see the remains of the Basilica of Maxentius and Constantine:
It was the largest building of its day, and the largest ever built in the forum, and its large groin vaults were closely studied by architects in the Renaissance who worked with large buildings. The effect of the size is quite impressive even now, but nothing of the Basilica survives except its north aisle -- as many large buildings are, it was vulnerable to earthquakes, and over the centuries it has had to endure a few. (Its only surviving great column was carted off in the seventeenth century after one of these earthquakes to St. Mary Major, where it still stands in the Piazza.)
Walking along in the general direction of the Colosseum one soon comes to the Arch of Titus:
The Arch is an interesting monument in its own right. It was constructed by Domitian in the 80s to commemorate the victories of his elder brother Titus, and in particular the victory in the Siege of Jerusalem in AD 70. Thus the northward panel depicts Titus in triumphant procession, led by Valor and crowned by Victory:
But the southward panel is even more interesting, because it shows Titus bringing home the spoils, and one of the looted trophies is very, very recognizable:
Notice the Great Menorah from the Temple. Other objects that are identifiable are the golden trumpets, the firepans for the altar, and the Table of Shewbread. There's good evidence that these trophies in the panel were originally painted golden-yellow.
There are some inscriptions on the arch. On one side is, Senatus Populusque Romanus divo Tito divi Vespasiani filio Vespasiano Augusto, "The Roman Senate and People, to divine Titus Vespasian Augustus, son of divine Vespasian". Another is Insigne religionis atque artis, monumentum, vetustate fatiscens: Pius Septimus, Pontifex Maximus, novis operibus priscum exemplar imitantibus fulciri servarique iussit. Anno sacri principatus eius XXIV, "The monument, notable for religion and for art, had weakened with age: Pius VII, Supreme Pontiff, by new works in imitation of the ancient exemplar, commanded it to be reinforced and preserved in the 24th year of his sacred reign."
Soon after we came to the most famous sports stadium in the world:
The Flavian Amphitheater, the largest amphitheater built in the ancient empire, was begun by Vespasian in 72 and was finished by his son Titus in 80. It could hold approximately 50,000, perhaps as many as 80,000, spectators. Nobody knows how it got its most common name, the Colosseum (or Coliseum); the most common suggestion is that there was a statue, or colossus, associated with it at some point.
Domitian remodeled it and put in the hypogeum, the underground tunnels for the animals and slaves.
The fortunes of the Colosseum went up and down throughout the Middle Ages, with the building being used at times for various odd functions and at other times for a quarry. A turning point was reached under Pope Benedict XIV in 1749; he argued that it was a site of Christian martyrdom, and thus forbade its use as a quarry and consecrated it to the Passion of Christ. There is in fact no evidence that any Christians were ever martyred there, although it is certainly possible that some were. It's even rare for there to be any attribution of martyrdom to the building in legend; Ignatius of Antioch, by a very late tradition, is sometimes said to have been fed to lions here, but that's almost all, and medieval pilgrimage guides tend not even to mention it at all. (Most Christians who were martyred seem actually to have been martyred at the Circus Maximus.) The association with martyrdom seems to have been an entirely modern idea, beginning to gain ground in the sixteenth century. However, the idea meant that people stopped using it as a source of stone and that money and effort were put into maintaining it. A cross was placed in it (fairly recently, I believe):
Pope Benedict XIV also began to do Stations of the Cross in the Colosseum, and every evening of Good Friday the Popes have continued the tradition. They were doing preliminary set-up for this when we were there.
After the Colosseum, we went searching for the Circus Maximus. We walked past the Arch of Constantine:
The Arch, the last and largest of the great Roman triumphal arches, was dedicated in 315 to celebrate Constantine's victory over Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge. Famously it is a mix of new work and spolia from other arches, since, it is sometimes said, Constantine could not find sculptors up to his standards. In reality, there are any number of things that might be true here; the Arch may have been rushed into construction, so the spoliage could perhaps have been a time-saving maneuver. Some people have even suggested that the Arch was actually built by Maxentius, and Constantine just repurposed it after his victory, using parts from other monuments to get it together in short order. Because the Arch is such a mix of styles, it has long been a key evidence in attempts to reconstruct the history of art, and its possible decline, in the late Roman Imperial period. The main inscription:
It reads in English: "To Emperor Caesar Flavius Constantinus, greatest, pious, and blessed Augustus: because he, inspired by the divine and by greatness of mind, has delivered the state from the tyrant and all of his followers at one time, with his army and just force of arms, the Senate and People of Rome have dedicated this arch, decorated with triumphs."
And finally we came to the Circus Maximus. At one time it was the greatest entertainment venue in the world, although now it is little more than a large ditch:
Now a public park, it still functions occasionally as an entertainment venue for concerts, and it seems to be common enough for people to incorporate it into their evening walks.
Thus we had toured a bit of ancient Rome.
Returning from the Circus Maximus to our hotel, we got turnd around a bit and passed by the Theatre of Marcellus:
It was originally planned by Julius Caesar, but he died before construction could begin, and it fell to Augustus to finish it. It was later used as a fortress and then as part of a residence for the Orsini.
In all the wandering, I also snapped a quick picture of some churches. Here is the Basilica di Sant'Anastasia al Palatino:
It is one of the stational churches for Lent. There has been a church on this site since the third or fourth century; the current one is a seventeenth century restoration. According to a very old tradition, Saint Jerome said Mass here. Despite its history, it almost ceased to exist in the early twentieth century because no one ever went there. A restoration in the 1960s revived it a bit. But it had to be closed in the eighties and nineties because its foundations were crumbling; they have since been restored. Since its re-opening it has become one of the most flourishing churches in the area.
Here is a relatively minor church, Santa Maria della Consolazione:
I didn't even know what church it was; I had to search online for it. It used to be near an execution site for criminals; an icon was put here to console them while they were being executed, and thus the name. That's a story you would never expect beforehand. It became a notable spot in the fifteenth century when someone was being hanged nearby; the man had claimed he was innocent, and when they tried to hang him, it somehow failed. So, as was common, since he had survived the attempt to kill him, they cut him down. He claimed to have had a vision of the icon, with the Virgin reaching out her hand and supporting him. So a church was built to house the icon. It was rebuilt in the sixteenth century, when it was connected to a hospital, which itself was associated with a number of saints. The hospital no longer operates and is now a police station; and the streets around it have been restructured, leaving this once flourishing church in a very bustling piazza no more than a very lonely and isolated church in the middle of a zigzag of narrow streets.
And above is the church of San Nicola in Carcere. Nobody knows for sure where it got the 'in prison' tag; since it incorporates the remains of previous temples, some have suggested that there was a jail associated with them. It is one of the stational churches for Lent and is famous for its celebrations of Our Lady of Pompeii and Our Lady of Guadalupe. It is said to have a reproduction of the tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe that was sent here in 1773. Mussolini's meddlings with Rome and the twentieth-century passion for ancient remains led to the destruction of most of the medieval neighborhood of the church and a restructuring of the area that left this ancient parish church with almost no parish. So it was made a dependent church of Santa Maria in Portico in Campitelli.
It was by accident, but the three churches happen to make an interesting study of the lives of old churches.
One last picture for the day, the Quirinal Palace shining over the rooftops:
And that was Wednesday.
to be continued
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Fortnightly Book, March 27
I have been puzzling over what to do for the next fortnightly book. My original idea was Tristram Shandy, but there are some reasons for not doing that now. (1) On my trip to Italy, I took Sigrid Undset's massive Kristin Lavransdatter to read, and I am about two-thirds of the way through. Given other things I have to do, I don't think I'm up to finishing Kristin and starting Tristram simultaneously. (2) The past three weeks have been utterly exhausting for me, so it might be a good idea to start up the series again with something lighter.
So I am going with Tarzan of the Apes. It was first serialized in 1912 in All-Story Magazine, with the book published in 1914. It was an instant hit, and provided a perfect material for the newly developing cinematic arts -- since the first silent Tarzan movie in 1918, it has come to the screen again and again. Edgard Rice Burroughs would eventually write twenty-three Tarzan novels.
If I have time, I will also read the sequel, The Return of Tarzan, in which Tarzan tangles with the last outpost of Atlantis.
So I am going with Tarzan of the Apes. It was first serialized in 1912 in All-Story Magazine, with the book published in 1914. It was an instant hit, and provided a perfect material for the newly developing cinematic arts -- since the first silent Tarzan movie in 1918, it has come to the screen again and again. Edgard Rice Burroughs would eventually write twenty-three Tarzan novels.
If I have time, I will also read the sequel, The Return of Tarzan, in which Tarzan tangles with the last outpost of Atlantis.
Maronite Year XXXVIII
Resurrection Sunday needs no particular introduction. But Easter opens a special week, the Week of Hawareyeen, or, as it is often translated, White Week. During the weekdays of White Week, also called the Week of Weeks, the readings celebrate the appearances of Christ after His resurrection: to Mary Magdalene (Monday), at the Sea of Tiberias (Tuesday and Wednesday), the Road to Emmaus (Thursday), the Upper Room (Friday and Saturday). The running theme through the week is that the joy of the Resurrection never ends.
Great Sunday of Resurrection
Philippians 2:1-11; Matthew 28:1-10 (Midnight)
1 Corinthians 15:12-26; Mark 16:1-8 (Morning)
I.
O great Savior, You reconciled heaven and earth,
shedding Your own blood on the wood of the cross.
Through Your rising You brought joy to heaven and to earth,
You brought peace and faithfulness where there was none.
Make Your faithful, O Lord, rejoice always in Your peace.
Your mercy is great, Lord, beyond all words;
with Your resurrection You gladden us.
Let us rejoice in the day You have made,
the dawning day that sent the night fleeing.
On this crowning jewel of all days and feasts,
grant us forgiveness of all of our sins.
Through the incense of prayer grant justice,
through the sacrifice of praise grant comfort.
Make your children radiant with true light
that we may celebrate the greatest feast,
the feast that never ends, with all Your saints.
Treasury of reconciliation,
Source of peace, send us the Spirit of peace.
By peace was Noah saved from the great flood;
by peace the dove led him to the sure land.
By peace the sea parted for Israel;
by peace they crossed over to Your freedom.
By peace the angel came to the Virgin;
by peace You gave peace through the Word made flesh.
By peace You calmed the storm upon the sea;
by peace You calmed the fear in quaking hearts.
Your peace You gave us, Your peace You left us,
a peace that surpasses understanding;
may Your church be one in the kiss of peace.
that Your justice may ever be our way
and Your peace our foundation in all things.
O Lord, Your death has put to death the oldness in us;
through Your resurrection we are clothed anew.
Let us celebrate passover with unleavened bread,
the sweet bread of sincerity and justice,
and not with the old leaven of our old deeds.
II.
Light from Light, God from God, You endured death of body,
yet You live forevermore in the Spirit.
By this day of Your great resurrection from the dead,
grant us blessings without end, hope without failing,
turn us from the death of sin that we may praise Your name.
You made us in Your image, O Lord God,
and the Son of God restores that image,
through Your compassion bringing salvation.
Source of life, You became a man for us,
descended to the dead to bring great joy;
You who raise the dead obeyed to the death,
led human captivity to freedom,
dispelled all darkness and awoke the just.
Destroying death, You brought glory and peace,
calling forth nations to sing God's praises.
Maker of life, by Your rising grant life;
Crafter of men, sculpt us in Your image,
restoring our marred features to true form.
Adorn us with the vestment of glory,
that in Your light we may see divine light.
The sharp blade entered Your side on the cross;
the baptismal waters pour forth today.
A crown of thorns You wore upon Your head;
You crown us with immortal life today.
Darkness covered the earth at Your dark death;
the world is radiant with light today.
The disciples fled, scattered with terror;
they are brought together in hope today.
Creation groaned with anticipation;
gladness covers the universe today.
The omnipotent was nailed to the cross;
by Your power the dead have life today.
All people mocked the Lord with scoff and scorn;
throughout the world the church is heard today.
Your resurrection is a fount of joy,
a joy that surpasses understanding;
may Your church shout forth the joy You have brought,
that the world may know the message of hope,
and that You have made all things new today.
For three days You were buried in the tomb for us all;
by Your resurrection You broke death's cold bonds.
Through Your grace, break the bonds of sin that enslave our souls.
Invest us with immortality and light,
that we Your children may give You glory forever.
Great Sunday of Resurrection
Philippians 2:1-11; Matthew 28:1-10 (Midnight)
1 Corinthians 15:12-26; Mark 16:1-8 (Morning)
I.
O great Savior, You reconciled heaven and earth,
shedding Your own blood on the wood of the cross.
Through Your rising You brought joy to heaven and to earth,
You brought peace and faithfulness where there was none.
Make Your faithful, O Lord, rejoice always in Your peace.
Your mercy is great, Lord, beyond all words;
with Your resurrection You gladden us.
Let us rejoice in the day You have made,
the dawning day that sent the night fleeing.
On this crowning jewel of all days and feasts,
grant us forgiveness of all of our sins.
Through the incense of prayer grant justice,
through the sacrifice of praise grant comfort.
Make your children radiant with true light
that we may celebrate the greatest feast,
the feast that never ends, with all Your saints.
Treasury of reconciliation,
Source of peace, send us the Spirit of peace.
By peace was Noah saved from the great flood;
by peace the dove led him to the sure land.
By peace the sea parted for Israel;
by peace they crossed over to Your freedom.
By peace the angel came to the Virgin;
by peace You gave peace through the Word made flesh.
By peace You calmed the storm upon the sea;
by peace You calmed the fear in quaking hearts.
Your peace You gave us, Your peace You left us,
a peace that surpasses understanding;
may Your church be one in the kiss of peace.
that Your justice may ever be our way
and Your peace our foundation in all things.
O Lord, Your death has put to death the oldness in us;
through Your resurrection we are clothed anew.
Let us celebrate passover with unleavened bread,
the sweet bread of sincerity and justice,
and not with the old leaven of our old deeds.
II.
Light from Light, God from God, You endured death of body,
yet You live forevermore in the Spirit.
By this day of Your great resurrection from the dead,
grant us blessings without end, hope without failing,
turn us from the death of sin that we may praise Your name.
You made us in Your image, O Lord God,
and the Son of God restores that image,
through Your compassion bringing salvation.
Source of life, You became a man for us,
descended to the dead to bring great joy;
You who raise the dead obeyed to the death,
led human captivity to freedom,
dispelled all darkness and awoke the just.
Destroying death, You brought glory and peace,
calling forth nations to sing God's praises.
Maker of life, by Your rising grant life;
Crafter of men, sculpt us in Your image,
restoring our marred features to true form.
Adorn us with the vestment of glory,
that in Your light we may see divine light.
The sharp blade entered Your side on the cross;
the baptismal waters pour forth today.
A crown of thorns You wore upon Your head;
You crown us with immortal life today.
Darkness covered the earth at Your dark death;
the world is radiant with light today.
The disciples fled, scattered with terror;
they are brought together in hope today.
Creation groaned with anticipation;
gladness covers the universe today.
The omnipotent was nailed to the cross;
by Your power the dead have life today.
All people mocked the Lord with scoff and scorn;
throughout the world the church is heard today.
Your resurrection is a fount of joy,
a joy that surpasses understanding;
may Your church shout forth the joy You have brought,
that the world may know the message of hope,
and that You have made all things new today.
For three days You were buried in the tomb for us all;
by Your resurrection You broke death's cold bonds.
Through Your grace, break the bonds of sin that enslave our souls.
Invest us with immortality and light,
that we Your children may give You glory forever.