Capital Oversight

Hobbes, but why, or on what principle, I never could understand, was not murdered. This was a capital oversight of the professional men in the seventeenth century; because in every light he was a fine subject for murder, except, indeed, that he was lean and skinny; for I can prove that he had money, and (what is very funny,) he had no right to make the least resistance; for, according to himself, irresistible power creates the very highest species of right, so that it is rebellion of the blackest die to refuse to be murdered, when a competent force appears to murder you. However, gentlemen, though he was not murdered, I am happy to assure you that (by his own account) he was three times very near being murdered.

Thomas de Quincey, Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts

Preventive System

Today is the feast of St. Giovanni Bosco, who developed the Salesian Preventive System of education, based on the three pillars of reason, religion, and loving-kindness, or even more fundamentally, on the words of St. Paul in 1 Corinthians 13: Love is patient, love is kind, bearing all things, hoping all things, enduring all things. John Bosco became a teacher of students in poverty, often orphans, who had few options in the burgeoning Industrial Revolution. He came to the conclusion that standard approaches to student discipline were too repressive and punishment-focused; many of the problems that one had with students could be nipped in the bud if one simply exercised a greater degree of gentle guidance. Rather than laying down the law, one should talk with students, explaining to them why they should be doing this rather than that, and acting with goodwill and gentleness toward them, quietly warning them when they are forgetting the rules and getting near to punishable behavior, and one should particularly recognize that the point of discipline is not to force the students to behave a certain way but to help them cultivate the habits required to avoid sinning against God and neighbor. Punishment might still be necessary, but as St. John noted, students tended not to resent punishments whose rationale they understood, particularly if the punishments were fairly mild and coming from someone with whom they interact regularly; and when they understood the rationale, mild punishment was more effective than severe punishment.

The approach has shown itself historically to be very effective; it also very intensive, however, and, I suspect, requires a certain kind of temperament to pull off effectively. But, then, perhaps that's not surprising.

From some comments by St. John Bosco to his fellow teachers in the Salesian order:

Long experience has taught me that patience is the only remedy for even the worst cases of disobedience and irresponsiveness. Sometimes, after making many patient efforts without obtaining success, I deemed it necessary to resort to severe measures. Yet these never achieved anything, and in the end I always found that charity finally triumphed where severity had met with failure. Charity is the cure-all though it may be slow in affecting its cure.

Remember that education is a difficult art and that God alone is its true master. We will never succeed in it unless he teaches us the way. While depending humbly and entirely on him, we should try with might and main to acquire that moral strength which is a stranger to force and rigor. Let us strive to make ourselves loved, to instill into our children the high ideal of duty and the holy fear of God, and we will soon possess their hearts. Then, with natural ease, they will join us in praising Jesus Christ, our Lord, who is our model, our patron, our exemplar in all things, but especially in the education of the young.

Pots and Atoms

Uddyotakara, commenting on the claim in the Nyāya-sūtra, "If the composite whole is not accepted, there would be no knowledge of anything":

In order for something to be perceptible, it must have sufficient size and exist concurrently with the perceiver. if something exists concurrently and is of sufficient size, then it is fit to be perceived by the external organs. And if one rejects composite wholes such as pots, then there would be nothing fit to be perceived by the external organs. And because there would be no perception, inference and the other pramanas could not work....We perceive. Thus the composite, the whole, exists in its own right.

[The Nyāya-sūtra: Selections with Early Commentaries, Matthew Dasti and Stephen Phillips, trs. Hackett (Indianapolis: 2017) pp. 101-102.]

I found this interesting, because the kind of position the Nyaya philosophers had in view here -- that because composites, like pots, are made of ultimate constituent bits, it is the constituent bits that exist, not the composites -- is one that one finds occasionally these days, and Uddyotakara captures perfectly what I've sometimes thought the problem with it: our knowledge of the reality of these elemental bits is dependent entirely on our knowledge of the composites, by inference, and thus there must be composites to know, and from whose reality we can derive the reality of the ultimate parts, or nothing ever gets off the ground. And, as the Nyaya-sutra indicates, this can be pressed even further.

The translation of Dasti and Phillips is fairly nice, incidentally (I can't speak to accuracy, but it is certainly readable); I don't like that they rearranged the work thematically, but they at least provide an outline of the Nyāya-sūtra itself, which makes up for part of that.

Fortnightly Book, January 28

Obviously I'm a day late; a busy and complicated weekend.

The next fortnightly book is The Kanteletar, or, to be more exact, the selections from the Kanteletar in the Oxford World's Classics translation by Keith Bosley. I liked, with some reservations, Bosley's translation of the sister work, the Kalevala, which was a fortnightly book some years ago. And there's not really any convenient edition of the Kanteletar itself, so one makes do with what one has.

The Kanteletar is the premier collection of Finnish folk lyric, pulled together by Elias Lönnrot to play the counterpart to the Kalevala as a Finnish national epic. Kanteletar literally means 'kantele-daughter', the kantele being the Finnish national instrument, and thus the title is usually taken to suggest a Muse.

While it has never been as widely regarded as the Kalevala, the Kanteletar has often made its mark; it was a significant influence on Sebelius (to take just the most famous example). Finding versions of the lyrics has been quite a task, because Bosley -- in what I can already tell is an error given that this is a book of selections -- does not give the Finnish titles of the lyrics and, worse, sometimes changes them, but after some coordination, here is Sebelius's version of the lyric "Sortunut ääni", "The Stifled Voice" in Bosley's translation, as sung by a Copenhagen choir (lyrics here):



But if you want to hear how kantele sounds, and something a little bit more like how the originals probably sounded, listen to this ("Paimenen hätä", from the Kanteletar, but not, alas, one that Bosley includes):

Jules Verne, The Adventures of Captain Hatteras

Introduction

Opening Passage:

'Tomorrow, on the ebb tide, the brig Forward, captain KZ and second-in-command Richard Shandon, will leave New Prince's Docks; destination unknown.'

Thus read the Liverpool Herald of 5 April 1860. (p. 5)

Summary: The mystery of who the captain might be will lay the seeds of mutiny. Even the second-in-command starts the voyage not knowing who the captain is, or what the destination is. It's clear that the Forward is designed for an arctic expedition, but nothing is known beyond that. The rumors around the docks are that the ship is captained by a dog. And the captain, John Hatteras, doesn't even reveal himself until chapter 12.

Hatteras is obsessed with a single idea: to plant the British flag at the North Pole. His crew is not so interested, except for Dr. Clawbonny, a genial man who has read everything about arctic exploration and is hoping for the chance to participate himself. Hatteras has failed before, in one case being the only member of the expedition to survive, which is very likely the reason for the secrecy. It is thus not surprising that it all reaches a point at which the crew mutinies and strands Hatteras, Hatteras's dog Duke, Clawbonny, and a few loyal crewmen on the Arctic ice. Due to Clawbonny's encyclopedic knowledge and the talents of each of the crew, they survive, and come across a survivor from another expedition, Altamont, who, to Hatteras's horror, is an American. The expedition will inevitably proceed to a catastrophic success, symbolized by Verne's placement of the North Pole in a volcano in the middle of tempest-tossed sea.

From the manuscripts, it is clear that this was one of Verne's primary interests. He had originally planned to have Hatteras and Altamont fight a duel over naming rights, and Hatteras would succeed in his mission only to die at the North Pole. His publisher didn't like this, and Verne had to re-write the tale, creating a sort of reconciliation and softening Hatteras's end from death to madness, the death of reason. But the tale is one of obsession driving toward catastrophe. In some ways it reminded me a great deal of Moby Dick.

On the other hand, despite the title, there is a very real argument that the hero of the work is Dr. Clawbonny. He's certainly British (presumably Scottish), but he has the larger view. Hatteras, and to a lesser extent Altamont, are driven by visions of national glory; Clawbonny is interested in the greatness of humanity. He draws from the whole experience of the human race in its attempt to explore the Arctic, and it is his irreplaceable knowledge of that experience that makes the expedition's success possible, not Hatteras's obsession. He is the peacemaker who keeps the group from falling part, and whose enthusiasm bubbles through most of the book. Hatteras is not a sympathetic character; he is not intended to be. It is Clawbonny who shows humanity at its best: scientific, benevolent, enthusiastic in the achievement of great deeds.

Part of the reason for this duality is that there is a sense in which the book is two stories. Two of Verne's favorite kind of tale were Expeditions -- thus the voyages part of Voyages extraordinaires -- and Robinsonades. This tale is a melding of both; it's a Robinsonade interwoven into the framework of an Expedition, with Hatteras being the driving force behind the Expedition and Clawbonny being the primary figure of the Robinsonade. The result is an interesting contrast between understanding exploratory and scientific discoveries as national achievements and understanding them as human achievements -- a duality that is certainly a major part of all the great discoveries of the nineteenth century, and one that occasionally raises its head even today.

Favorite Passage:

It was a curious and touching sight to see the pretty animals running, jumping, and leaping trustingly; they landed on the good Clawbonny's shoulders; they lay down at his fee; they spontaneously offered themselves to the unaccustomed caresses; they did their utmost to welcome the unknown guests; the many birds, joyously chirping, called to each other and came from all points of the valley; the doctor resembled a veritable charmer. The huntsmen continued their journey by climbing up the soggy banks of the stream, followed by this friendly group; and at a bend in the valley they spotted a herd of eight or ten reindeer, grazing on some lichen half-buried under the snow, charming animals to look upon, gracious and calm, the females bearing antlers as proudly as the males. Their woolly hides were already exchanging wintry whiteness for the brown and dull grey of summer; they appeared no more frightened and no less tame than the hares or birds of this peaceful country. Such must have been the relationship between the first man and the first animals when the world was young. (p. 285)

Recommendation: Recommended.

*********
Jules Verne, The Adventures of Captain Hatteras, Butcher, tr. Oxford UP (New York: 2005).

Redundantia (Re-Post)

This is a lightly revised version of a post from 2014.

Redundantia originally conveyed the image of waves -- after one wave, another wave comes, and this re-undulation is what redundantia originally meant. You can see how this would connect to our word 'redundancy'. Historically, however, the word meant a superabundance in a broader sense, and not necessarily a mere redundancy; it suggests being overwhelmed (you manage to get through one wave and another hits you) or having more than you know what to do with. Usually you will find it and its cognates translated as 'overflow'. I would suggest that redundantia in a slightly more technical -- but still connected -- sense is an important idea in the thought of Aquinas that has almost universally been overlooked.

Aquinas uses the term, or cognates, in a wide number of circumstances, but all of them have important links to each other. I'll just briefly note a few cases.

I. Providence

Divine order is such that excellence overflows from higher to lower, like the clarity of sun into the air: ST 2-2.83.11. Compare ST 2-2.175.2 ad 1, which uses the related word abundantia in a quotation from Dionysius on the overflow of divine goodness, thus linking it to the idea of participation.

II. Human Cognition

Desire in the superior part of the soul can be so vehement that it overflows lower desire, so that the latter, in its own way, tends toward the spiritual good of the higher desire; in this way, the body serves the spiritual: ST 2-1.30.1 ad 1.

In the human soul there is an overflow from higher to lower, so that the delight of contemplation can overflow so as to mitigate sensible pain or sorrow: ST 2-1.38.4 ad 3.

Human cogitative and memorative powers owe their excellence (compared to the corresponding capabilities in other animals) simply to their association with reason, which in a way overflows into them: ST 1.78.4 ad 5.

Vocal prayer is an overflow from the soul to the body through a vehemence of affection: ST 2-2.83.12

III. Virtue

The qualities of prudence overflow into all other virtues, and likewise with the other cardinal virtues: 2-1.61.4 ad 1.

Because lower powers follow the motion of higher powers, the states of intellectual desire following from virtues overflow into sensible desire to cause passions; so, for instance, if joy in the will is increased through justice, it will cause the passion of joy in the sensible appetite: ST 2-1.59.5.

IV. Christ in the Transfiguration

That Christ's manifest glory did not overflow His body from conception was due to a special dispensation, but he retained the power of pouring out the glory of His soul into His body; in Christ's transfiguration, the glory of His Godhead and His soul overflowed His body not as an innate quality but as a transient passion, like the clarity of the sun in the air, and thus miraculously: ST 3.45.2.

Since Christ was still on earth, in His Passion there was no overflow of glory from the higher part of his soul to the lower part, nor from his soul to his body, but the higher part of his soul still enjoyed contemplation of God: ST 3.46.8.

V. Christ as Head of the Church

Grace was bestowed on Christ not merely as an individual but as Head of the Church, so that it might overflow into His members: ST 3.48.1. Christ as man is mediator between God and men, so it is appropriate for him to have a grace that overflows to others: ST 3.7.1. Christ was predestined to be the Son of God in power of sanctification, so it was appropriate for Him to have a fullness of grace overflowing to all, while the Virgin Mary is full of grace as being close to Him and dispensing grace to us by receiving Him: ST 3.27.5 ad 1. The Virgin Mary was full of grace in that the grace she was given overflowed from her soul to her body, from which was conceived the Son of God; and even further, so as to extend to all: Exp. Sal. Ang. art. 1.

To know the secrets of the heart belongs properly to God alone, but Christ Ascended may also know and judge human hearts as man through an overflow from His Godhead: ST 3.59.2 ad 3.

VI. Glory to Come

The soul desires to enjoy God in such a way that its enjoyment may overflow into the body, as far as this is possible: ST 2-1.4.5 ad 4.

Some people attribute Christ's Ascension to the glorified soul itself, whose overflow glorifies the body, as Augustine suggests (Ep. ad Dioscor. cxviii); but as the body is made glorious by participating the soul, so the soul is made glorious by participating God, and thus divine power is the first cause of the Ascension: ST 3.57.3.

Paul's vision of God in the third heaven did not beatify him so as to overflow his body, but only incidentally: ST 2-2.175.3 ad 2.

By divine ordinance, glory overflows from the soul to the body according to merit, so that as we merit by acts of the soul in the body, we are rewarded by the glory of the soul overflowing the body: ST 3.19.3 ad 3. Our bodies are unable to enjoy God by directly knowing and loving Him, but it is through bodily acts that we attain to knowledge of God; so that the enjoyment of the soul overflows into the body with a 'flush of health and incorruption', as Augustine says: ST 2-2.25.5 ad 2. Charity extends to that from which happiness flows, namely, God, and to that which directly perceives happiness, namely, men and angels, and to that to which happiness comes by a kind of overflow, namely, the body: ST 2-2.25.12. Friendship based on full participation in happiness, as with love of neighbor, is a greater reason for love than that based on happiness by overflow, as with love of our own body: ST 2-2.26.5.

The clarity of the soul overflows the glorified body by way of a permanent quality: ST 3.45.2.

*****

There are many other passages that could be added. Interestingly, Aquinas does not seem to apply the concept in the one situation in which modern Catholics are likely to come across it ever being applied: the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. Unction is a sacramental preparation of the soul. Historically it has been associated with all sorts of healings and recoveries, but these have not generally been considered miracles in the proper sense; rather, they are understood as being the result of overflow: as we take courage and consolation from the sacrament, this allows our body to rally, at least temporarily, by taking part in the mental surge and comfort. It is, as we would say, 'psychosomatic'. That it should be understood in this way is unsurprising, I think. First, because all the sacraments and sacramentals involving oil indicate, by the very use of oil, that some kind of overflow is expected or asked for. And second, and most importantly, all the major sacraments are associated with some major aspect of Church doctrine (Baptism with the Trinity, Eucharist with the Incarnation, Matrimony with the Church, and so forth); the aspect of Church doctrine with which Unction is associated is the Resurrection of the Dead and the Life of the World to Come. So the oil is a sign of the overflow of grace into the soul through Christ our Head, which may and sometimes does overflow the body, because strength and consolation of mind are already capable of overflowing the body; and this all is itself a sign of the overflow of glory from God to the soul to the resurrected body in the life to come.

Aquinas, as I said, doesn't see this connection (although we have to keep in mind that we never get his final account, since it would have been in the part of the Summa that was never finished). What he says is entirely consistent with it, but his actual account focuses on an analogy with the sacrament of Baptism (Baptism is to the internal as Unction is to the external), and not on the overflow which later Catholics came to recognize in it, and which has occasionally been noted in various versions of the rite. (It would be interesting to look at the history of this development.)

Through Mist and Darkness, Light Will Break

Extreme Unction
by Ernest Dowson

Upon the eyes, the lips, the feet,
On all the passages of sense,
The atoning oil is spread with sweet
Renewal of lost innocence.

The feet, that lately ran so fast
To meet desire, are soothly sealed;
The eyes, that were so often cast
On vanity, are touched and healed.

From troublous sights and sounds set free;
In such a twilight hour of breath,
Shall one retrace his life, or see,
Through shadows, the true face of death?

Vials of mercy! Sacring oils!
I know not where nor when I come,
Nor through what wanderings and toils,
To crave of you Viaticum.

Yet, when the walls of flesh grow weak,
In such an hour, it well may be,
Through mist and darkness, light will break,
And each anointed sense will see.