I have previously said that ecumenism is a conversation best left to saints, so I tend to avoid discussion of East-West matters beyond the point where I think I myself will benefit (like clarification of what the Council of Florence implies) or where I think there is some truly egregious and awful misunderstanding (like the bizarre tendency of certain Orthodox to take Augustine's arguments on consubstantiality as arguments for the completely fictional bugbear they call Absolute Divine Simplicity, thus actually attacking Augustine for being a vehement opponent of Arianism). I really don't have the holiness or wisdom to say much about the problems as such, so when Aaron asked me a few weeks ago if I would say something about the 'Great Schism' and Tap recently asked me to say something about Zizioulas and the Monarchy of the Father, I wasn't really sure I could say anything of significance. But I think I can manage a few scattered fragments, less extended discussion than a few hints that seem to me to be promising or important.
(1) The 'Great Schism' is historically clearly motivated more by politics than by theology. There were genuine theological issues, of course, but one regularly finds that they played less of a role than one might think. The theological issues that led Cerularius to close the Latin churches in Constantinople and the mutual excommunications of 1054 were no more severe than any other temporary breakings of communion that had occurred, and almost everyone at the time seems to have regarded it as a tiff that would blow over. Rather remarkably the bulk of the split was driven not by relations between the Patriarch and the Pope but between the Emperor and the various Western political leaders. The Venetians became major trading partners with the Byzantines, but in an attempt to reduce Venetian influence Manuel I Komnenos began to encourage trade with other Italian city-states, like Genoa and Pisa. This turned out to be a terrible mistake; rivalries among the Italian city-states were severe, and the Emperor could not maintain the peace between the different groups. Fighting became so severe among the city-states that the Venetians eventually went on a rampage through the Genoese quarter of Constantinople. In retaliation the Emperor arrested all the Venetians in the Empire and confiscated their property, which led to a war between Venice and the Empire. This took decades to settle down, but the heat between Venice and Constantinople remained. Things became even worse when Manuel I died, leaving his wife, Maria of Antioch, as regent for a few years. She was a Crusader princess, and an enthusiastic supporter of the Italians. When the regency government was overthrown by Andronikos I Komnenos, rioting led to a terrible massacre of the Italians in the city, with deaths in the tens of thousands. Trade eventually renormalized, but the hostility increased. The Normans of Sicily sacked Thessalonica (an event which led to the overthrow of Andronikos I's government), complete with its own massacre. The Fourth Crusade deviated from its intended destination to sack Constantinople -- the Fourth Crusade was essentially co-opted by the Venetians -- at which it succeeded in 1204. The Latin Kingdom of Constantinople was eventually overthrown, but the damage was irreparable: the Byzantine Empire remained fractured, weakened. The conquest led to the establishment of opposing hierarchies in the Empire, Latin and Greek, exacerbating the problem. When Michael VIII Palaiologos reestablished the Empire, an attempt was made to heal the rift, with the Second Council of Lyons in 1272, but the Emperor overplayed his hand and pushed things far too hard, leaving things worse off (he managed to get himself excommunicated by both sides at various points of time), as the Byzantines were repeatedly promised that they wouldn't have to do things that they were eventually forced to do, and as the Latins were repeatedly promised that the union was going fine, which they repeatedly discovered was not true. Tensions rose, and things got worse for both sides. The Black Plague hit Constantinople in the 1340s, decimating the population. The Fourteenth century sees a Papacy completely unable to do anything of significance: caught between the French and the Holy Roman Empire, we see the Avignon Papacy from 1309-1376, the Western Schism from 1378-1417. In the meantime, the weakened Byzantine Empire is becoming desperate in its attempt to repel the Ottoman Turks. John VIII Paleologus tried again the Michael Komnenon tack, and thus was born the Council of Basle-Ferrara-Florence, usually just known as the Council of Florence. I use the longer name because it shows one of the several problems faced by this Council: the West was in no shape to host an Ecumenical Council. Convened at Basle, the participants in the Council repeatedly tried to dictate policy to the Pope, which led to Pope Eugene IV transferring the Council to Ferrara; at this point the deal to bring Byzantine delegates was concluded, and the Council at Ferrara prepared to receive them. (A remnant remained at Basle, however, and elected an anti-pope, eventually moving itself to Lausanne, where the anti-Pope resigned and the council dissolved a decade later.) Nearly bankrupt, the Pope had the Council moved to Florence to save on expenses from the hundreds of Byzantine delegates. The Byzantines, not unreasonably, were somewhat irritated at the treatment. But they battled through and came to an agreement in 1439, and the Byzantines went back home, and nothing was done -- there was no broad acceptance, nor even time for any to build, and there was no second chance: Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks in 1454. From then on the East is under Muslim rule, and the Muslim governments actively seek to increase the isolation of the Eastern Church from the West. The West was in no position to do anything about it, the Reformation begins in the sixteenth century, and here we are. Obviously there are other complications in the story, like the Prussian-Russian tensions, but they only are more of the same.
The point of this long litany of devastations is that almost none of this has to do with the Filioque; it has nothing at all to do with leaven in the bread or any of the other things that mattered canonically or liturgically or theologically. The Venetians were not imprisoned for these things, Constantinople was not sacked for these things, attempts at union did not fail because of these things. Some of these, like the Filioque, are undeniably important. But anyone who thinks that we ended up where we are simply because the Latins were too stubborn to reject the Filioque, or the Greeks too proud to accept it, is not looking at actual history but at their own self-righteous complacency. Much of the division began as an inability to rise above the politics of the time; the division remains due to the inability to rise above the politics of the past; and while that is not the whole matter, it is the overwhelming bulk of it. Another reason why ecumenism is for saints: none of us have any business talking about such matters unless we can throw aside the past and focus on the eternal.
(2) But sometimes we simply need some kind of clarification about where we are. A current major influence on the discussion on the Orthodox side is Metropolitan John Zizioulas, metropolitan of Pergamon. To be wholly honest I can't ever read Zizioulas without thinking this an obvious degeneration; we were all better off when the Orthodox were simply copying Florovsky, his teacher. I can hardly ever read him without seeing him as an obvious example of trying to rewrite the doctrine of the Trinity to fit his philosophical views, which are, in fact, quite modern and not at all derived from the Church Fathers. But I have no studied him extensively and would be willing to concede that perhaps I have simply not understood him. I agree with everything in the Loudovikos essay, to the extent that I've studied the matter. I think Zizioulas's emphasis on person as the dominant issue among the Cappadocians is obviously wrong: they are interested entirely in the question of hypostasis, and contrary to Zizioulas's claim, this does not become a 'synonym' for person: talk of persons only becomes admissible to the extent that it simply means 'hypostasis'. Nor does Zizioulas's disproportionate emphasis on freedom make any sense at all of how they ended up talking about these matters in the first place. Likewise, Basil clearly seems to use the word 'monarchia' to talk about what the Three share as one God. As I said, it's entirely possible that I've misread him, but everything he says about the Cappadocians seems obviously anachronistic.
Nonetheless, on the subject of the Monarchy of the Father itself, I accept the doctrine, and agree with a lot of the substance in his discussion of the Monarchy here. Like most people he forgets that Greek and Latin (and languages influenced directly by them) are not the same language; the most obvious case of this is his claim, "The term "cause" when applied to the Father, indicates a free, willing and personal agent, whereas the language of "source" or "principle" can convey a more "natural" and thus impersonal imagery...", which is exactly the reverse of true in any theological vocabulary dominated by Latin, and overlooks the fact, repeatedly stated over the centuries, that the Latins are uncomfortable with 'cause' because it suggests definite separation. His interpretation of Augustine is wrong throughout precisely because he fails to recognize the difference of languages, and that Augustine could not possibly have said in Latin the sorts of things that Zizioulas wants him to say without suggesting something obviously heretical, and it's incumbent on any Orthodox agreeing with Zizioulas to say what Augustine should instead have said in the Latin of Augustine's day. But this is minor; these things can be adjusted for. I accept St. Maximus's account of the Filioque, and would only add that the Latins understand procession as spiration, and that to deny that the Son spirates the Spirit is equivalent to denying that the Spirit is the Spirit of the Son, which everyone agrees is wrong. Here we run into the usual problem; the West thinks we are really using different words to say the same thing, the East thinks we are not. Determining what is necessary for resolving that problem requires a wiser head than mine.
Looking over all of this, I don't think I've really said much: I think the divisions are in practice mostly propagated by politics, however important the theological differences; I am unimpressed by Zizioulas's theology in general, without having any strong attitude about it; and I accept both the Monarchia and the Filioque along lines laid out by St. Maximus, II Lyons, and Florence. Not much I can contribute beyond that.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Lent XXIV
Try to subdue your passions and bring them and your inclinations under the law of reason and of the holy will of God: otherwise you will never have anything but trouble and uneasiness of soul. God permits or sends to His predestined children, for their good and as a means of bringing them to His glorious beatitude, the afflictions and contradictions of this life. My dearest daughter, if you are so happy as sweetly and patiently to accept all that He sends, then be assured you will begin to taste even here on earth something of the delights of the blessed eternity of glory. But for this you must serve God willingly and love Him supremely, seeking His pleasure, choosing His divine will through holy obedience in preference to your own will, desires, or inclinations.
St. Jeanne de Chantal, Letter XCVIII to the Countess de Toulonjon
Monday, March 11, 2013
Kant on the Importance of Classics
He's very much for Classics. An interesting footnote from Kant's Critique of Judgment:
[Kant, Critique of Judgement. Bernard, tr. Hafner Press (New York: 1951), p. 68.]
Later he mentions, in passing that "we, and rightly, recommend the works of the ancients as models and call their authors classical, thus forming among writes a kind of noble class who give laws to the people by their example" (p. 124). Kant makes a distinction between imitating and following a model, and is very much against the first, which is just copying; what we should do instead is follow in their footsteps by drawing on the same sources as the model, using the model only in order to learn how to do this. But whereas this leads him to disparage models and examples very severely in moral philosophy, he argues that we actually need examples in the philosophy of taste in order to indicate what has received approval, not just in our time, but throughout the ages. Judgments of taste, like all important judgments imply a sort of universality, but the universality in taste is not, as in morals, an objective universality arising from intrinsic necessity, but is instead a subjective universality. This makes it a much less certain thing, and trickier to establish; we need to posit classical models that please through centuries as a sort of minimum supporting this subjective universality and thus preventing us from losing the successes of civilization and thereby sliding back into barbarism. These classical models, however, have to be stable themselves, being examples of well-established and unchanging rules, in order to do this.
I can't help but smile at the idea of Kant talking with some kinds of modern thinkers about the classics.
KANT: It is extremely important for society that people learn Classical Latin and/or Greek.
MODERN: Why Latin and Ancient Greek, when there are so many other languages that can be learned?
KANT (patiently): Obviously because Classical Latin and Greek are dead languages.
Models of taste as regards the arts of speech must be composed in a dead and learned language. The first in order that they may not suffer that change which inevitably comes over living languages, in which noble expressions become flat, common ones antiquated, and newly crated ones have only a short circulation. The second because learned languages have a grammar which is subject to no wanton change of fashion, but the rules of which are preserved unchanged.
[Kant, Critique of Judgement. Bernard, tr. Hafner Press (New York: 1951), p. 68.]
Later he mentions, in passing that "we, and rightly, recommend the works of the ancients as models and call their authors classical, thus forming among writes a kind of noble class who give laws to the people by their example" (p. 124). Kant makes a distinction between imitating and following a model, and is very much against the first, which is just copying; what we should do instead is follow in their footsteps by drawing on the same sources as the model, using the model only in order to learn how to do this. But whereas this leads him to disparage models and examples very severely in moral philosophy, he argues that we actually need examples in the philosophy of taste in order to indicate what has received approval, not just in our time, but throughout the ages. Judgments of taste, like all important judgments imply a sort of universality, but the universality in taste is not, as in morals, an objective universality arising from intrinsic necessity, but is instead a subjective universality. This makes it a much less certain thing, and trickier to establish; we need to posit classical models that please through centuries as a sort of minimum supporting this subjective universality and thus preventing us from losing the successes of civilization and thereby sliding back into barbarism. These classical models, however, have to be stable themselves, being examples of well-established and unchanging rules, in order to do this.
I can't help but smile at the idea of Kant talking with some kinds of modern thinkers about the classics.
KANT: It is extremely important for society that people learn Classical Latin and/or Greek.
MODERN: Why Latin and Ancient Greek, when there are so many other languages that can be learned?
KANT (patiently): Obviously because Classical Latin and Greek are dead languages.
Lent XXIII
He who would give alms as a set plan of his life should begin with himself and give them to himself. For almsgiving is a work of mercy, and the saying is most true: "Have mercy upon your own soul, pleasing God." The purpose of the new birth is that we should become pleasing to God, who is justly displeased with the sin we contracted in birth. This is the first almsgiving, which we give to ourselves--when through the mercy of a merciful God we come to inquire about our wretchedness and come to acknowledge the just verdict by which we were put in need of that mercy, of which the apostle says, "Judgment came by that one trespass to condemnation." And the same herald of grace then adds (in a word of thanksgiving for God's great love), "But God commendeth his love toward us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." Thus, when we come to a valid estimate of our wretchedness and begin to love God with the love he himself giveth us, we then begin to live piously and righteously.
But the Pharisees, while they gave as alms a tithing of even the least of their fruits, disregarded this "judgment and love of God." Therefore, they did not begin their almsgiving with themselves, nor did they, first of all, show mercy toward themselves. In reference to this right order of self-love, it was said, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself."
St. Augustine of Hippo, Enchiridion ch. XX (sect. 76)
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Fortnightly Book, March 10
First, a bit of music:
(Mary Hopkin, "Lirazel".)
The fortnightly book this time around is Lord Dunsany's The King of Elfland's Daughter. Lord Dunsany was born Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany, which is one of the oldest Irish noble families; Dunsany Castle, where he was born and lived, is still in the Plunkett family. Besides being an accomplished writer, he was also brilliant at chess, and still has some fame for being the inventor of the Dunsany's chess variant. He was famous for odd writing habits. He is said to have written while sitting on an old hat and always to have written with a quill pen. He also never revised, publishing only his first drafts.
The King of Elfland's Daughter was Dunsany's second novel, and has come to be regarded as his very best work, and the one likeliest to endure. Because of it he is usually regarded as having a pre-eminent place among the pre-Tolkien authors of fantastic fiction; perhaps only George MacDonald manages to be a serious rival in pre-Tolkien influence and importance for the fantasy genre. I've never I started it once but got distracted from it through no fault of the book, and so I'll set out to make things right.
The reason for the music at the beginning is that some members of the British folk rock group, Steeleye Span, put together a concept album based on The King of Elfland's Daughter, with an astounding array of talent. Wikipedia summarizes it so:
The bits and pieces I've heard of it (including the above song) seem to confirm it's being a pretty awesome achievement of the folk revival, so it might be worth looking into. I leave you with yet more Mary Hopkin from The King of Elfland's Daughter album, this one even better, and also with a sample of Lord Dunsany's poetry.
(Mary Hopkin, "Beyond the Fields We Know")
(Mary Hopkin, "Lirazel".)
The fortnightly book this time around is Lord Dunsany's The King of Elfland's Daughter. Lord Dunsany was born Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany, which is one of the oldest Irish noble families; Dunsany Castle, where he was born and lived, is still in the Plunkett family. Besides being an accomplished writer, he was also brilliant at chess, and still has some fame for being the inventor of the Dunsany's chess variant. He was famous for odd writing habits. He is said to have written while sitting on an old hat and always to have written with a quill pen. He also never revised, publishing only his first drafts.
The King of Elfland's Daughter was Dunsany's second novel, and has come to be regarded as his very best work, and the one likeliest to endure. Because of it he is usually regarded as having a pre-eminent place among the pre-Tolkien authors of fantastic fiction; perhaps only George MacDonald manages to be a serious rival in pre-Tolkien influence and importance for the fantasy genre. I've never I started it once but got distracted from it through no fault of the book, and so I'll set out to make things right.
The reason for the music at the beginning is that some members of the British folk rock group, Steeleye Span, put together a concept album based on The King of Elfland's Daughter, with an astounding array of talent. Wikipedia summarizes it so:
Two members of Steeleye Span (Bob Johnson and Pete Knight) wrote and produced a concept album entitled The King of Elfland's Daughter, which was inspired by the book. The singing talents of Frankie Miller (as Alveric), Mary Hopkin (as Lirazel), P.P. Arnold (as the Witch), and Alexis Korner (as a troll) are featured on the album, and the voice of Christopher Lee as the narrator and the King of Elfland. The musicians included Nigel Pegrum, Herbie Flowers, Ray Cooper and Chris Spedding.
The bits and pieces I've heard of it (including the above song) seem to confirm it's being a pretty awesome achievement of the folk revival, so it might be worth looking into. I leave you with yet more Mary Hopkin from The King of Elfland's Daughter album, this one even better, and also with a sample of Lord Dunsany's poetry.
(Mary Hopkin, "Beyond the Fields We Know")
A Dirge of Victory
by Lord Dunsany
Lift not thy trumpet, Victory, to the sky,
Nor through battalions nor by batteries blow,
But over hollows full of old wire go,
Where among dregs of war the long-dead lie
With wasted iron that the guns passed by.
When they went eastwards like a tide at flow;
There blow thy trumpet that the dead may know,
Who waited for thy coming, Victory.
It is not we that have deserved thy wreath,
They waited there among the towering weeds.
The deep mud burned under the thermite's breath,
And winter cracked the bones that no man heeds:
Hundreds of nights flamed by: the seasons passed.
And thou last come to them at last, at last!
On the Need to Think Through Your Symbolism
John Brennan has recently been confirmed as CIA Director, and the swearing-in ceremony is fraught with symbolism:
Good intentions, no doubt. Except, as some people have been pointing out, the 1787 draft of the Constitution has no Bill of Rights; the Bill of Rights were ratified separately from the main body of the Constitution and so were not added to the Constitution until 1791. Which means that in a time in which people are very concerned about the danger of due process violations in American military and intelligence operations, after having been grilled on these issues in his confirmation, Brennan had himself sworn in on a draft of the Constitution with no provision for protecting due process.
On the other side, to get through his confirmation, Senator Rand Paul had to stop his filibuster:
OK, so the filibuster thing, a symbolic gesture in which the big issue was violation of due process protections against U.S. citizens, was really just to make sure that the President's powers were restricted to assassinating U.S. citizens on U.S. soil, without the usual channels police and federal agents have to go through, when they are threatening imminent harm against the country? We just wanted to make sure that the President waits to blast them off the face of the planet without warrant or trial until they've made a threat to harm the country? We just wanted to make sure that the President wasn't claiming to have the right to blast people into smithereens at a whim? Couldn't the good senator have held out for just a teensy bit more than that?
After a week in which questions about U.S. drone policy and the potential of killing American citizens on U.S. soil dominated the news, John Brennan was sworn in as the new CIA director with his hand on an original draft of the Constitution dating from 1787.
White House spokesman Joshua Earnest said Mr. Brennan requested the copy of the Constitution, which includes George Washington’s personal handwriting and annotations, from the National Archives because he “wanted to reaffirm his commitment to the rule of law as he took the oath of office as director of the CIA.”
Good intentions, no doubt. Except, as some people have been pointing out, the 1787 draft of the Constitution has no Bill of Rights; the Bill of Rights were ratified separately from the main body of the Constitution and so were not added to the Constitution until 1791. Which means that in a time in which people are very concerned about the danger of due process violations in American military and intelligence operations, after having been grilled on these issues in his confirmation, Brennan had himself sworn in on a draft of the Constitution with no provision for protecting due process.
On the other side, to get through his confirmation, Senator Rand Paul had to stop his filibuster:
Mr. Brennan’s confirmation was held up Wednesday when Sen. Rand Paul, Kentucky Republican, staged a nearly 13-hour filibuster against Mr. Obama’s pick, demanding clarifications of the administration’s drone policies targeting American citizens.
Mr. Rand only relented after receiving assurances from the White House that the president did not have the power to order lethal military drone strikes against American citizens in the United States who were not threatening or plotting imminent harm against the country.
OK, so the filibuster thing, a symbolic gesture in which the big issue was violation of due process protections against U.S. citizens, was really just to make sure that the President's powers were restricted to assassinating U.S. citizens on U.S. soil, without the usual channels police and federal agents have to go through, when they are threatening imminent harm against the country? We just wanted to make sure that the President waits to blast them off the face of the planet without warrant or trial until they've made a threat to harm the country? We just wanted to make sure that the President wasn't claiming to have the right to blast people into smithereens at a whim? Couldn't the good senator have held out for just a teensy bit more than that?
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship
Introduction
Opening Passage:
Summary: Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship is a difficult book to summarize, but in nuce it is the story of how Wilhelm Meister learned that he, despite some genuine acting talent, could only fulfill his potential by leaving the stage. There are three themes that particularly stand out.
(1) We are all actors on the stage, playing our comic, tragicomic, or tragic parts. At one point in the book Wilhelm is complaining about the actors he spent much of the book and another character, the worldly-wise Jarno, replies:
Acting is a reflection of living, and this accounts for the rather remarkable fact that most of the middle of the book is concerned with an extended discussion between several characters about how best to put on Shakespeare's Hamlet. Hamlet, of course, is a play which has a play inside it; and there's a sense in which Hamlet itself is a novel within the novel. (A discussion about differences between English and German drama at one point leads to the conclusion that Shakespeare's genius combined with English quirks gives the play a character that is in some ways more novelistic than dramatic, requiring adaptation in order to play it properly on the German stage.)
(2) If acting provides much of the material of the book, wandering provides much of its form. The book is famous for being an early influential Bildungsroman, a novel about how a life is built up; but it manages to be so in a highly wandering way (both in terms of Wilhelm's own wandering and in terms of the way the book itself is structured). The kind of education this wandering involves is described by the abbé, a mysterious figure who pops in and out of the story: "I augur better of a child, a youth who is wandering astray on a path of his own, than of many who are walking aright upon paths which are not theirs." Wilhelm's own wandering is described by a previous character, Theresa:
We learn by wandering freely, discovering things for our own selves, like wandering actors seeing the world.
(3) There is another aspect to the novel, which might be called 'family as destination'. As he wanders through the world, Wilhelm ends up slowly picking up a family to which he can truly belong: little Mignon, the best character in the book; an old harper singing of ancient losses; a vibrant young boy named Felix. As the story proceeds this group becomes more tight-knit, but the family also expands. It begins to experience life as a family, its tragedies and comedies alike, until Wilhelm can finally be said to have reached his destination. Who wanders freely will eventually wander home.
Wilhelm Meister himself is not much of a hero; Carlyle, never averse to saying it plain, calls him a "milksop", and he's quite right. At the end he notes that he has received a reward far in excess of anything that he has deserved. There is a sense in which Wilhelm Meister fails through his life, never quite succeeding at anything, however promising. But part of the point of the story is that just about anyone can educate themslees properly if they are wander in just the right way.
Favorite Passage: There are a few good ones, but here's one candidate.
Recommendation: Recommended, but you might want to re-read Hamlet first.
Opening Passage:
The play was late in breaking up: old Barbara went more than once to the window, and listened for the sound of carriages. She was waiting for Mariana, her pretty mistress, who had that night, in the afterpiece been acting the part of a young officer, to the no small delight of the public. Barbara's impatience was greater than it used to be, when she had nothing but a frugal supper to present: on this occasion Mariana was to be surprised with a packet, which Norberg, a young and wealthy merchant, had sent by the post, to show that in absence he still thought of his love. (p. 3)
Summary: Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship is a difficult book to summarize, but in nuce it is the story of how Wilhelm Meister learned that he, despite some genuine acting talent, could only fulfill his potential by leaving the stage. There are three themes that particularly stand out.
(1) We are all actors on the stage, playing our comic, tragicomic, or tragic parts. At one point in the book Wilhelm is complaining about the actors he spent much of the book and another character, the worldly-wise Jarno, replies:
"Poor dear actors! Do you know, my friend," continued he, recovering from his fit, "that you have been describing not the playhouse, but the world; that out of all ranks I could find you characters and doings in abundance, to suit your cruel pencil?...."
Acting is a reflection of living, and this accounts for the rather remarkable fact that most of the middle of the book is concerned with an extended discussion between several characters about how best to put on Shakespeare's Hamlet. Hamlet, of course, is a play which has a play inside it; and there's a sense in which Hamlet itself is a novel within the novel. (A discussion about differences between English and German drama at one point leads to the conclusion that Shakespeare's genius combined with English quirks gives the play a character that is in some ways more novelistic than dramatic, requiring adaptation in order to play it properly on the German stage.)
(2) If acting provides much of the material of the book, wandering provides much of its form. The book is famous for being an early influential Bildungsroman, a novel about how a life is built up; but it manages to be so in a highly wandering way (both in terms of Wilhelm's own wandering and in terms of the way the book itself is structured). The kind of education this wandering involves is described by the abbé, a mysterious figure who pops in and out of the story: "I augur better of a child, a youth who is wandering astray on a path of his own, than of many who are walking aright upon paths which are not theirs." Wilhelm's own wandering is described by a previous character, Theresa:
My friend, too, I honor on the same principle: the description of his life is a perpetual seeking wihtout finding,--not empty seeking, but wondrous, generous seeking; he fancies others may give him what can proceed from himself alone. (p. 497)
We learn by wandering freely, discovering things for our own selves, like wandering actors seeing the world.
(3) There is another aspect to the novel, which might be called 'family as destination'. As he wanders through the world, Wilhelm ends up slowly picking up a family to which he can truly belong: little Mignon, the best character in the book; an old harper singing of ancient losses; a vibrant young boy named Felix. As the story proceeds this group becomes more tight-knit, but the family also expands. It begins to experience life as a family, its tragedies and comedies alike, until Wilhelm can finally be said to have reached his destination. Who wanders freely will eventually wander home.
Wilhelm Meister himself is not much of a hero; Carlyle, never averse to saying it plain, calls him a "milksop", and he's quite right. At the end he notes that he has received a reward far in excess of anything that he has deserved. There is a sense in which Wilhelm Meister fails through his life, never quite succeeding at anything, however promising. But part of the point of the story is that just about anyone can educate themslees properly if they are wander in just the right way.
Favorite Passage: There are a few good ones, but here's one candidate.
"In the novel as well as in the drama, it is human nature and human action that we see. The difference between these sorts of fiction lies not merely in their outward form,--not merely in teh circumstance sthat the personages of the one are made to speak, while those of the other have commonly their history narrated. Unfortumately many dramas are but novels, which proceed by dialogue; and it would not be impossible to write a drama in the shape of letters.
"But, in the novel it is chiefly sentiments and events taht are exhibited; in teh drama, it is characters and deeds. The novel must go slowly forward; and the sentiments of the hero, by some means or another, must restrain the tendency of the whole to unfold itself and to conclude. The drama, on the other hand, must hasten; and the character of the hero must press forward to the end: it does not restrained, but is restrained...." (p.294)
Recommendation: Recommended, but you might want to re-read Hamlet first.
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