Melancholia

"Ich steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe"


(I am standing with one foot in the grave),

Friday, November 30, 2012

Quotes



A handful of good life is better than a bushel of learning. 
— George Herbert 




Descartes does not use this first certainty, the cogito, as a foundation upon which to build further knowledge; rather, it is the firm ground upon which he can stand as he works to restore his beliefs. As he puts it:

Archimedes used to demand just one firm and immovable point in order to shift the entire earth; so I too can hope for great things if I manage to find just one thing, however slight, that is certain and unshakable.
(AT VII 24; CSM II 16)


.... the goal of Descartes in establishing this first truth is to demonstrate the capacity of his criterion — the immediate clarity and distinctiveness of self-evident propositions — to establish true and justified propositions despite having adopted a method of generalized doubt.


As a consequence of this demonstration, Descartes considers science and mathematics to be justified to the extent that their proposals are established on a similarly immediate clarity, distinctiveness, and self-evidence that presents itself to the mind. 

The originality of Descartes' thinking, therefore, is not so much in expressing the cogito — a feat accomplished by other predecessors, as we shall see — but on using the cogito as demonstrating the most fundamental epistemological principle, that science and mathematics are justified by relying on clarity, distinctiveness, and self-evidence. 

Baruch Spinoza in "Principia philosophiae cartesianae" at its Prolegomenon identified "cogito ergo sum" the "ego sum cogitans" (I am a thinking being) as the thinking substance with his ontological interpretation. It can also be considered that  

Cogito ergo sum is needed before any living being can go further in life".







 

Life is short and other philosophical phrases


vita summa brevis spem nos vetat incohare longam

the shortness of life prevents us from entertaining far-off hopes



"bis vincit qui se vincit"

 ("he/she who prevails over himself/herself is twice victorious")



virtus et scientia

virtue and knowledge




vivat crescat floreat

 may it live, grow, and flourish!



vivere est cogitare

To live is to think


Cicero. Compare with "cogito ergo sum".

Cogito ergo sum (French: "Je pense donc je suis"; English: "I think, therefore I am") is a philosophical Latin statement proposed by René Descartes. The simple meaning of the phrase is that someone wondering whether or not he or she exists is, in and of itself, proof that something, an "I", exists to do the thinking.

vive memor leti

 live remembering death

(Persius. Compare with "memento mori")is a Latin phrase translated as
 "Remember your mortality",
 "Remember you must die" or
 "Remember you will die"



vita incerta, mors certissima

Life is uncertain, death is most certain


In simpler English, "The most certain thing in life is death".








Sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memento_mori

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cogito_ergo_sum

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Latin_phrases_%28V%29




Wise Ideas

vir prudens non contra ventum mingit"[A] wise man does not urinate [up] against the wind








Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Mortimer J Adler: Intellect Mind Over Matter part 2 of 2 - YouTube



uploaded by on May 3, 2008


Buckley and Adler discussing the most important questions on Earth. Transcript of the full interview is found at:
http://radicalacademy.com/adlerinterview2.htm
(if this link fails PM me and I'll give you my private URL of the file)

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Mortimer J Adler: Intellect Mind Over Matter part 2 of 2 - YouTube

The FOUR DIMENSIONS OF PHILOSOPHY: Mortimer J. Adler: 9780025005747: Amazon.com: Books

 



This book is about philosophy's relationship to and difference from other disciplines, such as history, maths, physics, and even poetry. The author demonstrates how philosophy - like history, but unlike physics - is reflexive. That is, one may write a history of history as well as a history of physics, but not a physics of physics.
 
 

From Publishers Weekly

Adler's central thesis, in this concise, lucid survey, is that philosophy not only ranks on a par with science as a means to knowledge, but also claims superiority over science in certain areas, for example, in telling us what ends we ought to pursue. The prolific author of Six Great Ideas equips the armchair thinker with a road map to Western philosophy's peaks, abysses and abiding questions as he underscores the pitfalls to be avoided, and fruits to be won, in pursuing four distinct philosophical realms--metaphysical, moral, objective (i.e., understanding of ideas) and categorical (understanding of subjects). Adler's approach ranges widely, moving from "disorders" of medieval thought to the modern "political illnesses" of nationalism, tribalism and xenophobia. This invigorating introduction to how philosophy works emphasizes the importance of philosophical introspection in the lives of ordinary men and women.
Copyright 1993 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal

Adler's 53rd book is an introduction to such questions as "What is philosophy?" "What are its relations to other forms of thought?" and "What are the structures through which philosophical knowledge is derived and validated?" No new ground is covered, but Adler writes in a competent, nontechnical style that will be appreciated by the general reader, who is the most likely candidate for this book. Later sections of the text lean heavily on the topical outlines found in the multivolume Great Books of the Western World , published by Encyclopaedia Britannica. Readers unfamiliar with this collection, or with the supplementary materials accompanying it, may find Adler's text more accessible after examining the Great Books. For an alternative, readers should examine Thomas Nagel's What Does It All Mean?: A Very Short Introduction to Philosophy ( LJ 10/1/87).
- Terry Skeats, Bishop's Univ. Lib., Lennoxville, Quebec
Copyright 1993 Reed Business Information, Inc. 
 
 
Macmillan Pub. Co., 1993 - 273 pages
 
In Greek and Roman antiquity, philosophy was supreme in the domain of learning. Philosophy was the name for the pursuit of truth about the most fundamental things to be known or understood. It was the most desirable of all the goods of the mind.
But today we live in an age dominated by science and technology - an age that has witnessed not only the rise of positivism, but the retreat of academic philosophy to an analysis of language. Professorial philosophy has become as specialized a subject as logic and mathematics. If anyone asks why we should be concerned with the intellectual respectability of philosophy, this book provides the answer.
Try to imagine a world from which philosophy is totally absent. Imagine a world in which no one philosophizes to any degree - that done almost unconsciously by ordinary men and women or inexpertly by scientists, historians, poets, novelists, and dramatists. Imagine a world in which philosophy is completely expunged. Philosophy is not taught, even poorly in our colleges. No philosophical books are written.
In the Prologue to this book, Dr. Adler asks us to consider whether that deprivation would make any difference to us. Though we might not realize it, a great many of our opinions and beliefs would go unquestioned; for any enlightenment about those beliefs can come only from philosophizing about them, about the shape of the world and our place in it: questions about what we should be doing and what we should be seeking; questions that are not answerable by empirical science and historical research.
What, then, are philosophy's four dimensions? Science gives us only partial knowledge and superficial understanding of the reality about which philosophy gives us a more penetrating analysis and a deeper understanding (Dimension One). Science gives us no knowledge or understanding of the good life and the good society. This moral and political philosophy gives us Dimension Two. Science gives us no understanding at all of the intelligible objects of thought - the great ideas (Dimension Three). It does not even enable us to understand science and history. This requires a philosophical understanding of all the intellectual disciplines and branches of learning (Dimension Four).
The Four Dimensions of Philosophy not only explains why philosophy must be revived in the coming century, but it also throws light on what must be done to revive it, by overcoming all the obstacles to be found in philosophy's long past.
 Source:
 
 
 
 
 
 

Biography

Mortimer Jerome Adler (December 28, 1902 - June 28, 2001) was an American philosopher, educator, and popular author. As a philosopher he worked within the Aristotelian and Thomistic traditions. He lived for the longest stretches in New York City, Chicago, San Francisco, and San Mateo. He worked for Columbia University, the University of Chicago, Encyclopædia Britannica, and Adler's own Institute for Philosophical Research. Adler was married twice and had four children.

Born in New York, Mortimer Adler was educated at Columbia University. Later as a philosophy instructor there, he taught in a program focused on the intellectual foundations of Western civilization. Called to the University of Chicago in 1927 by President Robert Maynard Hutchins, Adler played a major role in renovating the undergraduate curriculum to center on the "great books." His philosophical interests committed to the dialectical method crystallized in a defense of neo-Thomism, but he never strayed far from concerns with education and other vital public issues. From 1942 to 1945, Adler was director of the Institute for Philosophical Research, based in San Francisco, California. Beginning in 1945 he served as associate editor of Great Books of the Western World series, and in 1952 he published Syntopicon, an analytic index of the great ideas in the great books. In 1966 he became director of the editorial planning for the fifteen edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and in 1974, chairman of its editorial board. Adler has been devoted in recent years to expounding his interpretations of selected great ideas and to advocating his Paideia Proposal. That proposal would require that all students receive the same quantity and quality of education, which would concentrate on the study of the great ideas expressed in the great books, a study conducted by means of the dialectical method. Mortimer J. Adler died June 28, 2001 at his home in San Mateo, California at the age of 98.


Philosophical/Educational School of Thought
 Mortimer Adler is Perennialist who believes that philosophy should become part of mainstream public school curriculum. He believes that education should be basically the same for everyone, because children�s �sameness as human beings...means that every child has all the distinguishing properties common to all members of the species.� (Paideia, p.43)  In his Paideia Proposal, which sets out his vision for American public schools, Adler says that children must acquire three different types of knowledge:  organized knowledge, intellectual skills, and understanding of ideas and values.  For each of these types of knowledge, there is a different teaching style.  Organized, or factual, knowledge is to be taught through lectures, intellectual skills are to be taught through coaching and supervised practice, and understanding of ideas and values are to be taught through the Socratic method of discussion and questioning.
 Adler believes in liberal, non-specialized education without electives or vocational classes.  For him, education should serve three purposes:  to teach people how to use their leisure time well, to teach people to earn their living ethically, and to teach people to be responsible citizens in a democracy.  He believes that each person has the innate ability to do these three things, and that education should above all prepare people to become lifelong learners.  Education never ends, in his view -- age 60 is the earliest that anyone can claim to be truly �educated�, and only then if they have devoted their life to learning.
 Philosophy and the arts are central to Adler�s educational vision.  While he believes that every child should study math, science, history, geography, measurement, and other subjects in the lower grades, his plan for upper secondary school and college centers on students gaining insight into works of fiction, poetry, drama, art, and the like.  This, way, Adler believes, students will gain an understanding of their own minds as well as the minds of others.  Philosophy and art are for everyone, in his view.  No one should be allowed to avoid them.  College students, in Adler�s view, should be required to take a core of classes dealing with Western philosophy, politics, and religion.  In short, everyone should be educated in the same way, towards an understanding of truth based on Western philosophy.
Importance to Education
 Although Mortimer Adler has written a plan for all public schools in the United States, his ideas have had the most impact at the college level.  During the 1920s and 1930s, Adler�s belief in the importance of Classical education led a significant number of American colleges and universities to adopt �Great Books� programs -- cores of required classes that focus on key works of Western philosophy and literature.  Columbia University, Adler�s alma mater, adopted a form of this program that endures today:  all undergraduates are required to take one year-long class in �Masterpieces of Western Literature� and one more year-long class in �Masterpieces of Contemporary Civilization�.  In addition, students must take one semester in �Masterpieces of Western Art� and one semester in �Masterpieces of Western Music�.  Many other colleges use some form of the Great Books program, inspired by Adler�s ideas.
 In primary and secondary education, Adler�s ideas about great books of Western Philosophy seem to have influenced the education of prior generations more than the education of today�s children.  Any literature curriculum that involved reading great works of Western literature and/or philosophy can be said to be influenced somewhat by Adler�s type of ideas.
 
Selected Publications by Mortimer Adler
Books
Dialectic (1927)
London, Kegan Paul, Trench Trubner and Co, Ltd., and New York, Harcourt, Brace and Company, Inc.
with Jerome Michael,
The Nature of Judicial Proof:  An Inquiry into the Logical, Legal, and Empirical Aspects of the Law of Evidence (1931)  New York, Columbia University Law School
with Maude Phelps Hutchins,
Diagrammatics (1932), New York, Random House, Inc., 1935
with Jerome Michael,
Crime, Law, and Social Science (1933), London, Kegan Paul, Trench Trubner and Co, Ltd., and New York, Harcourt, Brace and Company; reprinted with Introduction by Gilbert Geis, Montclair, N.J., Patterson Smith, (1971)
Art and Prudence:  A Study in Practical Philosophy (1937), New York and Toronto, Longmans, Green and Co.  Chapters 1-5; 12, reprinted with Introduction by Samuel Hazo as Poetry and Politics (1965)  Pittsburgh, Pa., Duquense University Press
Aristotle for Everybody:  Difficult Thought Made Easy (1978) New York, Macmillan Publishing Company;  Bantam Books, 1980;  Collier Books, 1991.
The Paideia Proposal:  An Educational Manifesto (1982)  (On Behalf of the Paideia Group)  New York, Collier Books, Macmillan Publishing Company, 1982.
 
Articles
�The Human Equation in Dialiectic�  Psyche 28 (April 1927), 68-82.
�An Analysis of the Kinds of Knowledge�  May, 1935. (mimeograph)
�The Crisis in Contemporary Education�  The Social Frontier V (February 1939),
140-145
�Are the Schools Doing their Job?�  Town Meeting, Columbia University Press, 4(March 6, 1939), 11-16
�Education in Contemporary America�  Better Schools, 2 (March-April 1940), 76-80.
�Progressive Education?  No!�  The Rotarian, September 1941, 29-30;  56-57
�The Great Books of 2066�  Playboy, January 1966, 137; 224-226; 228
�The Joy of Learning�  KNOW, 1 (1974), Chicago, Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., 18-21
�The Disappearance of Culture�  (My Turn), Newsweek, August 21, 1978, 15.
�Children Must by Taught how to Learn�  Long Island Newsday, September 17, 1978.
�Revising American Education�  The Commonwealth, LXXVII (December 19, 1983), The Commonwealth Club of San Francisco, California, 380-381, 384
�Is Philosophy Worthwhile?� (1993)  William F. Buckley, Jr. interviews Mortimer Adler about The Four Dimensions of Philosophy.  Firing Line videotape.
 
 
References
1. Online:  Microsoft Encarta;  July 7, 2000,  �On Adler�
 http://www.thegreatideas.org/adler.html
2. Online;  Adler Archives; July 7, 2000, �Mortimer Adler -- A Biography�
 http://www.radicalacademy.com/adlerbio.htm
3. Adler, Mortimer.  The Paideia Proposal:  An Educational Manifesto (1983)  New  York, MacMillan Publishing Co., Inc.
 
 source:  Margaret Farrand
  Link:

http://www2.southeastern.edu/Academics/Faculty/nadams/educ692/Adler.html




The FOUR DIMENSIONS OF PHILOSOPHY: Mortimer J. Adler: 9780025005747: Amazon.com: Books

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Photography Collections Online:

 

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Photography Collections Online:

A steadily growing digital image sampler and browsing resource for the vast photography holdings of George Eastman House. 

Select any of the section headings to explore the items we have digitized to date. 



In cooperation with Eastman House, Ryerson University in Toronto is to offer a Master of Arts in Photographic Preservation and Collections Management. More Information

Photography Collections Indexed by photographer
Photography Collections Stereo Views
Photography Collections Lantern Slides
Photography Collections Subject
Photography Collections Books and Albums
Collection Guide: Photography from 1839 to today A sampler of the collection
The Gabriel Cromer Collection A sampler
Pre-Cinema Project Images of media and devices used before motion picture film
Technology Collection Images of Photographic equipment and related technologies
Conversion from Videodisc - Quality Check
Web publication of Photography Collections Online has been supported by the George Eastman House Publishing Trust with additional funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities.


Header2.jpg

Otis Span


Otis Spann, Hubert Sumlin, Muddy Waters, and James “Killer” Triplet at the Jones Hotel in Memphis, 1956.

 (via If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger,There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats: When Legends Gather )

tumblr_m5foc0JkYD1qe3dt2o1_1280.jpg (720×710)


710.jpg (531×800)


 1319002019_DiadelosMuertos_1.jpg (500×710)


tumblr_ma4fsfFkbe1qjiz8bo1_500.jpg (500×710)


beardedlady2.jpg (600×710)











Tuesday, November 20, 2012

From The Anxiety to The Anatomy of Influence: A Conversation with Harold Bloom - YouTube



uploaded by on May 3, 2011


With Harold Bloom and Paul Holdengräber

On the closing day of the PEN World Voices Festival, Yale University's Sterling Professor of the Humanities Harold Bloom will join Paul Holdengräber for a discussion LIVE from the NYPL. 

Now in his eighth decade, Bloom will reflect back on his life-long love affair with literature and recite some of his favorite poems. In a far-ranging conversation, he will revisit his classic work of literary criticism, The Anxiety of Influence. 

Bloom will also discuss Till I End My Song, his recent collection of poems, and his career-spanning "critical self-portrait" The Anatomy of Influence.

For more, visit http://www.pen.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5739/prmID/2126

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From The Anxiety to The Anatomy of Influence: A Conversation with Harold Bloom - YouTube


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWi0AMyniYc&feature=related





Harold Bloom - How to Read and Why1 - YouTube



































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Harold Bloom - How to Read and Why1 - YouTube

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vq7zNT3SJ3o&feature=related



Harold Bloom on Shakespeare - YouTube



Published on Apr 24, 2012 by

 
Eminent literary critic and author of "Shakespeare and the Invention of the Human," Harold Bloom, expounds on Yahweh, Hamlet, Cleopatra, Falstaff, being, and the great playwright himself in this culminating lecture of "Shakespeare at Yale," a term-long festival of the Bard.

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Harold Bloom on Shakespeare - YouTube

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4TzzWi5kPnA&feature=related


Forum Network | Free Online Lectures from PBS and NPR

 Never be BORED!!!
...........................



The Forum Network is a PBS and NPR public media service in collaboration with public stations and community partners across the United States.

Through an expanding network of local public stations producing content with their community partners, we intend to bring a diverse range of perspectives on both local and global issues to audiences around the world.

The Forum Network online library features thousands of lectures by some of the world's foremost scholars, authors, artists, scientists, policy makers and community leaders, available to citizens of the world for free. The Forum Network collaborates with hundreds of community partners in cities across the US, including libraries, museums, academic institutes, public lecture forums, public policy think tanks, cultural councils, and various other community organizations.

The Forum Network and its partners are dedicated to providing life-long learning opportunities to citizens worldwide by leveraging both broadcast and online resources. 

Lectures are organized by Topics and Series that are aligned with public station local and national programs, when possible. By aligning lectures with PBS and NPR programs [including NOVA, Frontline, American Experience, Nature, NewsHour, Great Performances, among others] the Forum Network facilitates audiences exploring topics in greater depth.

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The Forum Network and it’s partners are proud of the role we serve to citizen’s worldwide, of protecting and projecting the public voice; and of informing and inspiring that public voice to foster deeper understanding of and engagement in the culture, education, politics, science, and literature of our time.





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Forum Network | Free Online Lectures from PBS and NPR

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Shakespeare: The Man Behind the Plays - YouTube



Uploaded by on Oct 8, 2008


Roundtable discussion with Robert Brustein, Alvin Epstein, Eugene Mahon, Ron Rosenbaum, Daniela Varon, and J.P. Wearing.

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Shakespeare: The Man Behind the Plays - YouTube

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30jzw0v629Q&feature=related




Stephen Greenblatt - Shakespeare's Freedom - YouTube



Published on Sep 5, 2012 by

 
Shakespeare scholar Stephen Greenblatt discusses his book, "Shakespeare's Freedom," presented by Harvard Book Store. 

Greenblatt discusses how Shakespeare was averse to the authorities of his time -- religion, monarchs, and social structure -- and how this spirit manifested itself in his work. 

More lectures at http://forum-network.org

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Stephen Greenblatt - Shakespeare's Freedom - YouTube

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhCsL2UDJ5A



Jefferson, Lucretius, Epicurus; Declaration of Independence; Pursuit of Happiness - YouTube



uploaded by on Nov 3, 2011


"I take the liberty of observing that you are not a true disciple of our master Epicurus, in indulging the indolence to which you say you are yielding. One of his canons, you know, was that "that indulgence which presents a greater pleasure, or produces a greater pain, is to be avoided." Your love of repose will lead, in its progress, to a suspension of healthy exercise, a relaxation of mind, an indifference to everything around you, and finally to a debility of body, and hebetude of mind, the farthest of all things from the happiness which the well-regulated indulgences of Epicurus ensure; fortitude, you know, is one of his four cardinal virtues. That teaches us to meet and surmount difficulties; not to fly from them, like cowards; and to fly, too, in vain, for they will meet and arrest us at every turn of our road....

[A paragraph follows, inviting Short and his friend Correa to Monticello, with some news of the progress at the University]

I will place under this a syllabus of the doctrines of Epicurus, somewhat in the lapidary style, which I wrote some twenty years ago; a like one of the philosophy of Jesus, of nearly the same age, is too long to be copied. Vale, et tibi persuade carissimum te esse mihi."
- LETTER: Thomas Jefferson to William Short - October 31, 1819

{I don't mean to bore my subscribers with wierd stuff like this, but it is all history, and in this case it is directly connected to the founding of the United States of America, and because of that, it should interest us.
jbranstetter04}

That was only the beginning. When he read the poem initially, Greenblatt recalls, he was amazed at its apparent prescience. "So much that is in Einstein or Freud or Darwin or Marx was there," he says. "I was flabbergasted." And indeed, from Galileo to Darwin to Einstein, who paid tribute to Lucretius in the preface to a 1924 translation of the poet's work, science would begin to describe empirically a universe of atomic particles with behaviors dictated by forces independent of the divine. Meanwhile, Greenblatt finds Lucretius in the very roots of the American tradition: "I am an Epicurean," proclaimed Thomas Jefferson, the owner of at least five editions of De rerum natura, who put his stamp on a Declaration of Independence emphasizing the "pursuit of happiness."

In the end, Greenblatt acknowledges, history is complicated—there is not a straight line between Lucretius and the modern world. "And yet the vital connection is there," he writes. "Hidden behind the worldview I recognize as my own is an ancient poem, a poem once lost, apparently irrevocably, and then found."

Lucretius - Roman Poet and Philosopher Titus Lucretius Carus

Titus Lucretius Carus (c. 98-55 B.C.) was a Roman Epicurean epic poet who wrote De rerum natura (On the Nature of Things). De rerum natura is an epic, written in 6 books, which explains life and the world in terms of Epicurean principles and Atomism. Lucretius may have died before De rerum natura was finished.


Epicurus

Epicurus (341-270 B.C.) was born in Samos and died at Athens. He studied at Plato's Academy when it was run by Xenocrates. Later, when he joined his family on Colophon, Epicurus studied under Nausiphanes, who introduced him to the philosophy of Democritus. In 306/7 Epicurus bought a house in Athens. It was in its garden that he taught his philosophy. Epicurus and his followers, who included slaves and women, secluded themselves from the life of the city.

The Virtue of Pleasure

Epicurus and his philosophy of pleasure have been controversial for over 2000 years. One reason is our tendency to reject pleasure as a moral good. 

We usually think of charity, compassion, humility, wisdom, honor, justice, and other virtues as morally good, while pleasure is, at best, morally neutral, but for Epicurus, behavior in pursuit of pleasure assured an upright life.

"It is impossible to live a pleasant life without living wisely and honorably and justly, and it is impossible to live wisely and honorably and justly without living pleasantly. Whenever any one of these is lacking, when, for instance, the man is not able to live wisely, though he lives honorably and justly, it is impossible for him to live a pleasant life."

- Epicurus, from Principal Doctrines

http://ancienthistory.about.com/od/philosophyscience/a/Epicurus.htm

Here is where you can watch the entire Charlie Rose interview of Stephen Greenblatt:
http://www.charlierose.com/view/interview/11977

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Robert Lewis



Jefferson, Lucretius, Epicurus; Declaration of Independence; Pursuit of Happiness - YouTube

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DOv4KPkUDY&feature=related




Friday on the NewsHour: Stephen Greenblatt, Author of 'The Swerve' | Art Beat | PBS NewsHour | PBS




Published on May 25, 2012 by
 
For more arts coverage, visit Art Beat:
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/art/blog/

Pulitzer Prize-winning author Stephen Greenblatt reads an excerpt from "The Swerve: How the World Became Modern."

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Stephen Greenblatt is considered one of the greatest authorities on Shakespeare and received wide acclaim for his book "Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare," which was published in 2004.
Jeffrey Brown recently sat down with him at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., to discuss his latest book, "The Swerve: How the World Became Modern," which won the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction. In a kind of literary detective case, Greenblatt describes how a work by ancient Roman writer Lucretious helped pave the way for modern thought.
Watch him read an excerpt from "The Swerve" above. We'll post Friday's program segment here later.
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Friday on the NewsHour: Stephen Greenblatt, Author of 'The Swerve' | Art Beat | PBS NewsHour | PBS

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/art/blog/2012/05/friday-on-the-newshour-stephen-greenblatt-author-of-the-swerve.html




Stephen Greenblatt, The Swerve: How the World Became Modern - 2011 National Book Award Nonfiction Winner, The National Book Foundation



The Swerve: How the World Became Modern

W. W. Norton & Company

Stephen Greenblatt


ABOUT THE BOOK

In the winter of 1417, a short, genial, cannily alert man in his late thirties plucked a very old manuscript off a library shelf, saw with excitement what he had discovered, and ordered that it be copied. The man was Poggio Braccionlini, the greatest book hunter of the Renaissance. His discovery was the last surviving manuscript of an ancient Roman philosophical epic, On the Nature of Things by Lucretius—a beautiful poem of the most dangerous ideas: that the universe functioned without the aid of gods, that religious fear was damaging to human life, and that matter was made up of very small particles in eternal motion, colliding and swerving in new directions.
The copying and translation of this ancient book fueled the Renaissance, inspiring artists such as Botticelli and thinkers such as Giordano Bruno; shaped the thought of Galileo and Freud, Darwin and Einstein; and had a revolutionary influence on writers such as Montaigne and Shakespeare and even Thomas Jefferson.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephen Greenblatt is John Cogan University Professor of the Humanities at Harvard University. Among his books are Will of the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare, a Finalist for the 2004 National Book Award in Nonfiction and a New York Times best seller, and Hamlet in Purgatory. He holds honorary degrees from Queen Mary College of the University of London and the University of Bucharest.














Stephen Greenblatt, The Swerve: How the World Became Modern - 2011 National Book Award Nonfiction Winner, The National Book Foundation






‘From Austen to Zola’ | Harvard Gazette


Amy Lowell’s vast collection at Harvard's Houghton Library

Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Amy Lowell — a controversial, cigar-smoking, outspoken, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet — collected works by prominent creative artists such as Jane Austen, Ludwig von Beethoven, William Blake, Charlotte Brontë, John Keats, Michelangelo, Walt Whitman, and Émile Zola.

Works from Lowell’s collection are showcased in “From Austen to Zola: Amy Lowell as a Collector,” Houghton Library’s fall exhibition. This exhibit opens on Sept. 4 and will run through Jan. 12, 2013.

Lowell’s (1874-1925) larger-than-life personality often overshadowed her writing and collecting. Early in her career she became deeply interested in imagism, a new school of poetry led by Ezra Pound. Imagism, in Lowell’s words, aimed to “produce poetry that is hard and clear, never blurred nor indefinite.” She became its champion, and lectured tirelessly, edited anthologies, and provided discreet support for young writers of promise, notably D.H. Lawrence. In 1925, Lowell won the Pulitzer Prize for her posthumously published collection “What’s O’Clock.”

Lowell was one of the few women competing in the male-dominated world of collecting. She began at age 17 by purchasing Sir Walter Scott’s “Waverly” novels with her Christmas money. Thanks to her inheritance and her income as a poet, critic, and lecturer, Lowell continued collecting throughout her life. The exhibition includes a beautifully hand-colored copy of Edward Young’s “Night Thoughts,” with illustrations by William Blake; Blake’s “Songs of Innocence”; and his engravings for an edition of Dante. Other artistic gems include a sketch by Michelangelo on the back of a work order (1523) and the delicately colored woodblock prints of Hokusai’s “Kachō gaden” [Drawings of birds and flowers] (1848).

Literary women were another, and natural, collecting interest. The exhibition includes a letter from Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra, six miniature storybooks written by the 13-year-old Charlotte Brontë, the manuscript notebook “quarry” from which George Eliot mined characters and events to write “Middlemarch,” manuscript poems by Emily Dickinson, and more.

And there is Lowell’s Keats collection. In its day it was the most important single collection of Keats autograph material in private hands and now forms the center of the Harvard Keats Collection, which is the largest collection of original Keats material in the world. Lowell, a romantic (and a Romantic) at heart, was particularly interested in rehabilitating Keats’ relationship with Fanny Brawne. The first Keats letter she purchased, in 1902, was a love letter from Keats to Brawne. Lowell later purchased other love letters, the volume of his “Poems” Keats gave Brawne, and a lock of Brawne’s hair. The working manuscript of “To Autumn,” Shelley’s letter inviting Keats to visit him in Italy, and the manuscript of Shelley’s “A Proposal for Putting Reform to the Vote,” also included in the exhibition, show how Lowell’s interest in Keats, which culminated in the two-volume biography of Keats she published shortly before her death, grew from collecting him into developing a research collection to support her writing.

Other themes in Lowell’s collecting are highlighted in the exhibit, including her focus on “association books” (books owned and often annotated by famous authors), including volumes belonging to Gibbon, Robert Browning, Charles I, and the Empress Josephine; and on autographs and manuscripts, including a passionate letter from Lord Nelson to Lady Hamilton, and manuscript poetry by Ben Jonson, Whitman, and Coleridge, and a manuscript essay by Thoreau. French literature was another passion, and Lowell collected manuscripts by La Fontaine, Voltaire, and Verlaine, as well as books presented by Flaubert, Mallarmé, and Zola to friends. The exhibition concludes with a look at Lowell’s collecting of her own contemporaries, such as Thomas Hardy, Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and D.H. Lawrence.

“The Amy Lowell Collection forms the core of our 19th-century English literature holdings,” said Curator of Modern Books and Manuscripts Leslie Morris, exhibition organizer, “as well as providing incredibly important individual manuscripts and books in other fields. It’s time we highlighted Miss Lowell’s key role in building the Harvard Library collections.”

From October through January, a companion exhibition, “Six Decades of Treasure Hunting: Purchases with the Amy Lowell Fund,” will be in the Amy Lowell Room at Houghton, focusing on the important library acquisitions made possible by the funds bequeathed by Lowell to further develop the Harvard collections.


Included in Lowell’s collection is William Blake’s “Songs of Innocence,” 1789. The title page is shown.




‘From Austen to Zola’ | Harvard Gazette

Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare by Stephen Greenblatt - Reviews, Discussion, Bookclubs, Lists

Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare


Stephen Greenblatt, the charismatic Harvard professor who "knows more about Shakespeare than Ben Jonson or the Dark Lady did" (John Leonard, Harper's), has written a biography that enables us to see, hear, and feel how an acutely sensitive and talented boy, surrounded by the rich tapestry of Elizabethan life; full of drama and pageantry, and also cruelty and danger; could have become the world's greatest playwright. A young man from the provinces a man without wealth, connections, or university education moves to London.

In a remarkably short time he becomes the greatest playwright not just of his age but of all time. His works appeal to urban sophisticates and first-time theatergoers; he turns politics into poetry; he recklessly mingles vulgar clowning and philosophical subtlety. How is such an achievement to be explained? Will in the World interweaves a searching account of Elizabethan England with a vivid narrative of the playwright's life.

We see Shakespeare learning his craft, starting a family, and forging a career for himself in the wildly competitive London theater world, while at the same time grappling with dangerous religious and political forces that took less-agile figures to the scaffold.

Above all, we never lose sight of the great works A Midsummer Night's Dream, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, and more that continue after four hundred years to delight and haunt audiences everywhere.

The basic biographical facts of Shakespeare's life have been known for over a century, but now Stephen Greenblatt shows how this particular life history gave rise to the world's greatest writer.

Bringing together little-known historical facts and little-noticed elements of Shakespeare's plays, Greenblatt makes inspired connections between the life and the works and deliver "a dazzling and subtle biography" (Richard Lacayo, Time).


Readers will experience Shakespeare's vital plays again as if for the first time, but with greater understanding and appreciation of their extraordinary depth and humanity.

 A Best Book of the Year The New York Times 10 Best Books of 2004; Time magazine's #1 Best Nonfiction Book; A Washington Post Book World Rave; An Economist Best Book; A San Francisco Chronicle Best Book; A Christian Science Monitor Best Book; A Chicago Tribune Best Book; A Pittsburgh Post-Gazette Best Book; NPR's Maureen Corrigan's Best.











Source:

Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare by Stephen Greenblatt - Reviews, Discussion, Bookclubs, Lists

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/137717.Will_in_the_World




Will Power : The New Yorker


hy do we read critical biographies of Shakespeare? The reasons that we shouldn’t have been ably given by his best critics. “Reader, looke / not on his Picture, but his Booke” was Ben Jonson’s advice right there at the start, on the title page of the First Folio, confronting the familiar Droeshout portrait of the unprepossessing bald guy with the ruff. The advice not to look at the life continues to this day. Artists, Auden insisted, should be anonymous; Shakespeare, for all intents and purposes, is, and we should revel in it. But Auden filled his criticism with confident assertions about Shakespeare’s love life, and Jonson himself couldn’t help but chat compulsively about the man: he couldn’t write Latin or Greek, he was a social climber, he needed an editor. Whatever our official pieties, deep down we all believe in lives. The sternest formalists are the loudest gossips, and if you ask a cultural-studies maven who believes in nothing but collective forces and class determinisms how she came to believe this doctrine, she will begin to tell you, eagerly, the story of her life.
The life and works of a man whose life is so plain and whose works are so fancy produces the kind of book that belongs less to a scholarly genre than to a performing genre, a hoop for a scholar to jump through when he no longer has anything to prove, as Lear is a role for an actor to jump through when he has done all the others. To the long run of such life-and-works books, the Harvard professor Stephen Greenblatt now offers his own reading, with the perfect punning title “Will in the World” (Norton; $26.95). Greenblatt’s book is startlingly good—the most complexly intelligent and sophisticated, and yet the most keenly enthusiastic, study of the life and work taken together that I have ever read. Greenblatt knows the life and the period deeply, has no hobbyhorses to ride, and makes, one after another, exquisitely sensitive and persuasive connections between what the eloquent poetry says and what the fragmentary life suggests. A fully postmodernized critic, he knows the barriers of rhetoric and artifice that make us write the poems and then have the feelings as often as we have the feelings first. But he does not make the postmodern mistake of overestimating those barriers, either. Poets may often write things they do not feel, but they rarely feel things that they do not, sooner or later, write. The absence of one emotion in Shakespeare, the undue intensity of another are powerful indicators of a mind and a man at work.
Drawing on surprisingly fertile decades of biographical scholarship, Greenblatt is not afraid to make definite assertions. He begins with a fine, disabused picture of Stratford circa 1564, when the poet was born. Against the old notion of an expansive Elizabethan culture connected by the open English road, he draws a portrait of a society nearly Soviet, or perhaps South American, in its paranoias, public persecutions, and sudden, murderous changes of ideology.
The underlying crisis was religious. In half a century—within the lifetime of Shakespeare’s father, John—England had gone through a very conservative regime of Catholicism, to an uneasy form of improvised state Catholicism under Henry VIII, through a period of radical Protestantism under King Edward VI, back to Roman Catholicism under Queen Mary, and then on to the staunchly Protestant monarchy of Elizabeth. As each sect seized power, it set about burning and disembowelling those who had been ascendant moments before. By the time Shakespeare was a young man, to be a Catholic priest at all was a capital offense.
The fear and brutality of this unending religious civil war was relieved by the richness of the surrounding folk culture: May Days and Robin Hood pageants, morality plays in tavern courtyards and miracle plays on holidays. “Folk culture is everywhere in his work, in the web of allusions and in the underlying structure,” Greenblatt writes. And this folk culture was, for Shakespeare, inextricably tied up, as it is in the Mediterranean world to this day, with the rituals and calendar and enveloping presence of the old faith. Greenblatt is assured here, where earlier generations of scholars were reserved: little doubt remains that Shakespeare, whose father, mother, and daughter were all, at times, secret Catholics, was at some level a partisan of the old religion. (A disinterested record remarks after his decease that “he dyed a papist.”) His mother, Mary Arden, came from an old, distinguished, and ardently Catholic family. His father, John, a glovemaker (and therefore an artisan, but one who dealt in luxury goods), was a leading citizen of Stratford, an alderman and bailiff, who participated in the Protestant ascendancy, arranging to have the local church ripped up and its icons and paintings removed—but who at the same time helped make sure that the schoolmasters hired for the public school were Catholic sympathizers, and secretly signed a Roman Catholic “Spiritual Testament” and hid it in the rafters of his house. (The testament of faith was found, still concealed, in the eighteenth century.)
There is no evidence that Shakespeare was a believing or a churchgoing Catholic; in his London years, he must have gone regularly to a Protestant church, or there would have been recorded legal consequences. Catholicism seems tied up for him, as it was for Englishmen well into the nineteenth century, with a love of ceremony and theatricality, a longing for a set of rituals that Protestant sobriety was eager to forbid. It was the pagan part of Catholicism that he loved—“Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang”—and the Puritan part of Protestantism, its Malvolio-ism, that he feared. In 1575, Greenblatt tells us, when Shakespeare was eleven, a group of local artisans, exactly like those in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” wanted to put on a play for the Queen on her visit to Kenilworth Castle, just twelve miles from Stratford. Playacting had been banned, however, and they wrote to complain tactfully about “certain of their preachers, men very commendable for behavior and learning, and sweet in their sermons, but somewhat too sour in preaching away their pastime.” It was this preaching away of his favorite pastime that Shakespeare associated with Protestantism. The medieval part of his imagination, his delight in lists of local flowers (“I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows / where oxlips and the nodding violet grows”), the light of fairy tale and fable that shines through all his comedies, was haunted by the old faith and its rituals. Greenblatt uses “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” as a road map in his section on Shakespeare’s childhood, and persuasively so. The play, one of the very few in the entire canon without any previous literary model, is the most deeply autobiographical of Shakespeare’s works, in that it encompasses the three formative sources of his imagination: the fairy world of pagan folk memory and ritual; his father’s world of rustic tradesmen and artisans, joiners and tailors and glovers; and the world of young lovers having sex in the woods, which eventually got him trapped in a bad marriage—all seen from the safe point of view of the aristocratic life that he would get to know in London.


Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2004/09/13/040913crat_atlarge#ixzz2Cl6f7C5W
hy do we read critical biographies of Shakespeare? The reasons that we shouldn’t have been ably given by his best critics. “Reader, looke / not on his Picture, but his Booke” was Ben Jonson’s advice right there at the start, on the title page of the First Folio, confronting the familiar Droeshout portrait of the unprepossessing bald guy with the ruff. The advice not to look at the life continues to this day. Artists, Auden insisted, should be anonymous; Shakespeare, for all intents and purposes, is, and we should revel in it. But Auden filled his criticism with confident assertions about Shakespeare’s love life, and Jonson himself couldn’t help but chat compulsively about the man: he couldn’t write Latin or Greek, he was a social climber, he needed an editor. Whatever our official pieties, deep down we all believe in lives. The sternest formalists are the loudest gossips, and if you ask a cultural-studies maven who believes in nothing but collective forces and class determinisms how she came to believe this doctrine, she will begin to tell you, eagerly, the story of her life.
The life and works of a man whose life is so plain and whose works are so fancy produces the kind of book that belongs less to a scholarly genre than to a performing genre, a hoop for a scholar to jump through when he no longer has anything to prove, as Lear is a role for an actor to jump through when he has done all the others. To the long run of such life-and-works books, the Harvard professor Stephen Greenblatt now offers his own reading, with the perfect punning title “Will in the World” (Norton; $26.95). Greenblatt’s book is startlingly good—the most complexly intelligent and sophisticated, and yet the most keenly enthusiastic, study of the life and work taken together that I have ever read. Greenblatt knows the life and the period deeply, has no hobbyhorses to ride, and makes, one after another, exquisitely sensitive and persuasive connections between what the eloquent poetry says and what the fragmentary life suggests. A fully postmodernized critic, he knows the barriers of rhetoric and artifice that make us write the poems and then have the feelings as often as we have the feelings first. But he does not make the postmodern mistake of overestimating those barriers, either. Poets may often write things they do not feel, but they rarely feel things that they do not, sooner or later, write. The absence of one emotion in Shakespeare, the undue intensity of another are powerful indicators of a mind and a man at work.
Drawing on surprisingly fertile decades of biographical scholarship, Greenblatt is not afraid to make definite assertions. He begins with a fine, disabused picture of Stratford circa 1564, when the poet was born. Against the old notion of an expansive Elizabethan culture connected by the open English road, he draws a portrait of a society nearly Soviet, or perhaps South American, in its paranoias, public persecutions, and sudden, murderous changes of ideology.
The underlying crisis was religious. In half a century—within the lifetime of Shakespeare’s father, John—England had gone through a very conservative regime of Catholicism, to an uneasy form of improvised state Catholicism under Henry VIII, through a period of radical Protestantism under King Edward VI, back to Roman Catholicism under Queen Mary, and then on to the staunchly Protestant monarchy of Elizabeth. As each sect seized power, it set about burning and disembowelling those who had been ascendant moments before. By the time Shakespeare was a young man, to be a Catholic priest at all was a capital offense.
The fear and brutality of this unending religious civil war was relieved by the richness of the surrounding folk culture: May Days and Robin Hood pageants, morality plays in tavern courtyards and miracle plays on holidays. “Folk culture is everywhere in his work, in the web of allusions and in the underlying structure,” Greenblatt writes. And this folk culture was, for Shakespeare, inextricably tied up, as it is in the Mediterranean world to this day, with the rituals and calendar and enveloping presence of the old faith. Greenblatt is assured here, where earlier generations of scholars were reserved: little doubt remains that Shakespeare, whose father, mother, and daughter were all, at times, secret Catholics, was at some level a partisan of the old religion. (A disinterested record remarks after his decease that “he dyed a papist.”) His mother, Mary Arden, came from an old, distinguished, and ardently Catholic family. His father, John, a glovemaker (and therefore an artisan, but one who dealt in luxury goods), was a leading citizen of Stratford, an alderman and bailiff, who participated in the Protestant ascendancy, arranging to have the local church ripped up and its icons and paintings removed—but who at the same time helped make sure that the schoolmasters hired for the public school were Catholic sympathizers, and secretly signed a Roman Catholic “Spiritual Testament” and hid it in the rafters of his house. (The testament of faith was found, still concealed, in the eighteenth century.)
There is no evidence that Shakespeare was a believing or a churchgoing Catholic; in his London years, he must have gone regularly to a Protestant church, or there would have been recorded legal consequences. Catholicism seems tied up for him, as it was for Englishmen well into the nineteenth century, with a love of ceremony and theatricality, a longing for a set of rituals that Protestant sobriety was eager to forbid. It was the pagan part of Catholicism that he loved—“Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang”—and the Puritan part of Protestantism, its Malvolio-ism, that he feared. In 1575, Greenblatt tells us, when Shakespeare was eleven, a group of local artisans, exactly like those in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” wanted to put on a play for the Queen on her visit to Kenilworth Castle, just twelve miles from Stratford. Playacting had been banned, however, and they wrote to complain tactfully about “certain of their preachers, men very commendable for behavior and learning, and sweet in their sermons, but somewhat too sour in preaching away their pastime.” It was this preaching away of his favorite pastime that Shakespeare associated with Protestantism. The medieval part of his imagination, his delight in lists of local flowers (“I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows / where oxlips and the nodding violet grows”), the light of fairy tale and fable that shines through all his comedies, was haunted by the old faith and its rituals. Greenblatt uses “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” as a road map in his section on Shakespeare’s childhood, and persuasively so. The play, one of the very few in the entire canon without any previous literary model, is the most deeply autobiographical of Shakespeare’s works, in that it encompasses the three formative sources of his imagination: the fairy world of pagan folk memory and ritual; his father’s world of rustic tradesmen and artisans, joiners and tailors and glovers; and the world of young lovers having sex in the woods, which eventually got him trapped in a bad marriage—all seen from the safe point of view of the aristocratic life that he would get to know in London.


Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2004/09/13/040913crat_atlarge#ixzz2Cl6Jwoa1

hy do we read critical biographies of Shakespeare? The reasons that we shouldn’t have been ably given by his best critics. “Reader, looke / not on his Picture, but his Booke” was Ben Jonson’s advice right there at the start, on the title page of the First Folio, confronting the familiar Droeshout portrait of the unprepossessing bald guy with the ruff. The advice not to look at the life continues to this day. Artists, Auden insisted, should be anonymous; Shakespeare, for all intents and purposes, is, and we should revel in it. But Auden filled his criticism with confident assertions about Shakespeare’s love life, and Jonson himself couldn’t help but chat compulsively about the man: he couldn’t write Latin or Greek, he was a social climber, he needed an editor. Whatever our official pieties, deep down we all believe in lives. The sternest formalists are the loudest gossips, and if you ask a cultural-studies maven who believes in nothing but collective forces and class determinisms how she came to believe this doctrine, she will begin to tell you, eagerly, the story of her life.

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2004/09/13/040913crat_atlarge#ixzz2Cl6vs5tj



hy do we read critical biographies of Shakespeare? The reasons that we shouldn’t have been ably given by his best critics. “Reader, looke / not on his Picture, but his Booke” was Ben Jonson’s advice right there at the start, on the title page of the First Folio, confronting the familiar Droeshout portrait of the unprepossessing bald guy with the ruff. The advice not to look at the life continues to this day. Artists, Auden insisted, should be anonymous; Shakespeare, for all intents and purposes, is, and we should revel in it. But Auden filled his criticism with confident assertions about Shakespeare’s love life, and Jonson himself couldn’t help but chat compulsively about the man: he couldn’t write Latin or Greek, he was a social climber, he needed an editor. Whatever our official pieties, deep down we all believe in lives. The sternest formalists are the loudest gossips, and if you ask a cultural-studies maven who believes in nothing but collective forces and class determinisms how she came to believe this doctrine, she will begin to tell you, eagerly, the story of her life.
The life and works of a man whose life is so plain and whose works are so fancy produces the kind of book that belongs less to a scholarly genre than to a performing genre, a hoop for a scholar to jump through when he no longer has anything to prove, as Lear is a role for an actor to jump through when he has done all the others. To the long run of such life-and-works books, the Harvard professor Stephen Greenblatt now offers his own reading, with the perfect punning title “Will in the World” (Norton; $26.95). Greenblatt’s book is startlingly good—the most complexly intelligent and sophisticated, and yet the most keenly enthusiastic, study of the life and work taken together that I have ever read. Greenblatt knows the life and the period deeply, has no hobbyhorses to ride, and makes, one after another, exquisitely sensitive and persuasive connections between what the eloquent poetry says and what the fragmentary life suggests. A fully postmodernized critic, he knows the barriers of rhetoric and artifice that make us write the poems and then have the feelings as often as we have the feelings first. But he does not make the postmodern mistake of overestimating those barriers, either. Poets may often write things they do not feel, but they rarely feel things that they do not, sooner or later, write. The absence of one emotion in Shakespeare, the undue intensity of another are powerful indicators of a mind and a man at work.
Drawing on surprisingly fertile decades of biographical scholarship, Greenblatt is not afraid to make definite assertions. He begins with a fine, disabused picture of Stratford circa 1564, when the poet was born. Against the old notion of an expansive Elizabethan culture connected by the open English road, he draws a portrait of a society nearly Soviet, or perhaps South American, in its paranoias, public persecutions, and sudden, murderous changes of ideology.
The underlying crisis was religious. In half a century—within the lifetime of Shakespeare’s father, John—England had gone through a very conservative regime of Catholicism, to an uneasy form of improvised state Catholicism under Henry VIII, through a period of radical Protestantism under King Edward VI, back to Roman Catholicism under Queen Mary, and then on to the staunchly Protestant monarchy of Elizabeth. As each sect seized power, it set about burning and disembowelling those who had been ascendant moments before. By the time Shakespeare was a young man, to be a Catholic priest at all was a capital offense.
The fear and brutality of this unending religious civil war was relieved by the richness of the surrounding folk culture: May Days and Robin Hood pageants, morality plays in tavern courtyards and miracle plays on holidays. “Folk culture is everywhere in his work, in the web of allusions and in the underlying structure,” Greenblatt writes. And this folk culture was, for Shakespeare, inextricably tied up, as it is in the Mediterranean world to this day, with the rituals and calendar and enveloping presence of the old faith. Greenblatt is assured here, where earlier generations of scholars were reserved: little doubt remains that Shakespeare, whose father, mother, and daughter were all, at times, secret Catholics, was at some level a partisan of the old religion. (A disinterested record remarks after his decease that “he dyed a papist.”) His mother, Mary Arden, came from an old, distinguished, and ardently Catholic family. His father, John, a glovemaker (and therefore an artisan, but one who dealt in luxury goods), was a leading citizen of Stratford, an alderman and bailiff, who participated in the Protestant ascendancy, arranging to have the local church ripped up and its icons and paintings removed—but who at the same time helped make sure that the schoolmasters hired for the public school were Catholic sympathizers, and secretly signed a Roman Catholic “Spiritual Testament” and hid it in the rafters of his house. (The testament of faith was found, still concealed, in the eighteenth century.)
There is no evidence that Shakespeare was a believing or a churchgoing Catholic; in his London years, he must have gone regularly to a Protestant church, or there would have been recorded legal consequences. Catholicism seems tied up for him, as it was for Englishmen well into the nineteenth century, with a love of ceremony and theatricality, a longing for a set of rituals that Protestant sobriety was eager to forbid. It was the pagan part of Catholicism that he loved—“Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang”—and the Puritan part of Protestantism, its Malvolio-ism, that he feared. In 1575, Greenblatt tells us, when Shakespeare was eleven, a group of local artisans, exactly like those in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” wanted to put on a play for the Queen on her visit to Kenilworth Castle, just twelve miles from Stratford. Playacting had been banned, however, and they wrote to complain tactfully about “certain of their preachers, men very commendable for behavior and learning, and sweet in their sermons, but somewhat too sour in preaching away their pastime.” It was this preaching away of his favorite pastime that Shakespeare associated with Protestantism. The medieval part of his imagination, his delight in lists of local flowers (“I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows / where oxlips and the nodding violet grows”), the light of fairy tale and fable that shines through all his comedies, was haunted by the old faith and its rituals. Greenblatt uses “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” as a road map in his section on Shakespeare’s childhood, and persuasively so. The play, one of the very few in the entire canon without any previous literary model, is the most deeply autobiographical of Shakespeare’s works, in that it encompasses the three formative sources of his imagination: the fairy world of pagan folk memory and ritual; his father’s world of rustic tradesmen and artisans, joiners and tailors and glovers; and the world of young lovers having sex in the woods, which eventually got him trapped in a bad marriage—all seen from the safe point of view of the aristocratic life that he would get to know in London.


Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2004/09/13/040913crat_atlarge#ixzz2Cl6f7C5W



Will Power : The New Yorker