Society of Thought

Final Thoughts

Please click the link to access my final paper for this course.

excellent...

http://www.wineanorak.com/philosophy_of_wine.htm

Derrida

I have a movie/documentary on Derrida that has a bunch of interviews of him. I think it would be worth our time to sit down and watch it. I've only seen 15 mins or so of it, but the part I saw has a distinction between speaking and writing. Derrida seems to believe that writing precedes speaking, but his idea of writing within this context seems to be rather different from what we understand as writing. Either way, Derrida seems of the belief that writing contrary to speaking is something that can allow a deeper insight. This is in opposition to Scorates in the Phaedrus who places speech over writing. The contrast between Derrida and Scorates would thus be a rather interesting one, given the time difference and the understandings of symbols between them.

Plato:

Plato seems to be unique among the philosophers,
1. he is the sole owner of the socratic character
2. He has a philosophy is inextricably intertwined with socrates
3. He was a poet
4. Western philosophy is almost entirely founded on him

We have convered 2 dialogues and a part of the republic. I think that is only a small chunk of Plato. The idea of getting more Platonic dialogues is interesting... but I would prefer readings the profs. themselves pick out, Plato or not.

I agree that the presentation should incorporate a lot of Plato but I am not sure as too how we should. Plato is more like a rock on which everything else we have read stands on. But I would like to see if there is anything that we have today that is beyond Plato.... or is the rest just elaborations on the suttle points in the dialogues? I don't exactly know what "beyond Plato" means...

Also, a theme that has been prevalent throughout our discussion has been on the question of knowledge. How do you get it? what is it? is it a turning around? memory, creativity and knowledge? what do they mean? what am I talking about? hmm... I feeel this is very inadequate discription, but I will try to add more later this week.

Gregory

I just finished the Gregory reading. It took me about 3 hours to complete.

First, I'm curious about what Prof Gregory will say about the First UU Church of Austin sermon. This piece was a serindipidous choice given Naders message Thursday evening. Fascisism seems to be the new buzz word of the left. I'm not sure that I do or do not agree with this claim. It would be prudent of us to brush up on some current economic matters (read The Economist) before this class. I'm really interested to hear the reasons for his choice.

It's also important to see the similarities between these works - they all deal with proper and improper methodology with respect to both philosophy and science. Plato's allegory of the cave is an excellent introduction to these selections. We must first turn around our souls before we can begin to enquire about the more nuanced and specific questions regarding philosophy and science, the relationship between these two disciplines, and the role philosophy is to play in an empiricist's world. These are only some preliminary thoughts. I originally found the reading to be a bit formidable (length, etc.). Although I confess that the diagram-laden selection escapes my grasp, I am eager to tackle these topics.

What do you all think about a common Platonic theme for the presentation? It seems that this is pehaps the most insistant philosophic voice of the course so far. Would it be prudent for us to request that the remaining professors select at least one Platonic dialogue? I think it is of no concern if we have already adressed a particular dialogue with another professor; it's important to gain many perspectives when studying Plato. Let me know...

The Problem of Transworld Depravity

We meet the problem of transworld depravity in Plantinga's God, Possible Worlds and the Problem of Evil selected for us by Professor Mahon. We discussed this work and a Nagel work for our first meeting. Previously, I have played the role of secretary for our little exercise in thought, but in this entry I hope to solve the problem of transworld depravity or at the very least gain more clarity with respect to the scope and severity of the problem.

Plantinga's Transworld Depravity argument is the following:

A person P suffers from transworld depravity iff for every world W in which P is significantly free and always does what is right, there is a state of affairs T and an action A such that
(1) God strongly actualizes T in W and T includes every state of affairs God strongly actualizes in W,
(2) A is morally significant for P in W,
and
(3) If God had strongly actualized T, P would have gone wrong with respect to A.

"What is important about transworld depravity is that, if a person suffers from it, then it wasn't within God's power to acualize any world in which that person is significantly free but does no wrong - that is, a world in which he produces moral good but no moral evil." (Plantinga, "Which Worlds Could God Have Created," 550).

Why is it necessary that God have anything whatever to do with his creations. Couldn't it be the case that God, and omnipotent omniscient God of the kind Plantinga describes, could create a world in which he is not a part. For instance, if I make a sandwich I am not, in any way, a part of my sandwich. It is entirely my creation, but I am not necessary for its existence once created. It's essence, once created, has nothing to do with me. The actual world and any possible world does not require the existence of God in that world in order for God to still exist. God could exist independent of any and all possible worlds. Returning to the problem of transworld depravity, then, it seems it is not actually a problem if we grant that God could exist independent of any and all of his creations.

My argument places the existence of God in question, but I am not concerned with arguing for or against the existence of God. Stictly speaking, I sought to argue that the problem of transworld depravity is not, in fact, a problem at all in any possible world.

Meno

Todays nugget:

The diagonal is to the slave boy, as the slave boy's ability to enquire is to Meno.

We also discussed the difference between rhetoric and speech, dialogue and writing. Specifically, we discussed Plato's claim that "anything written should not be taken seriously." This is both a defense/explanation of the form in which he writes and advice on the proper way to approach his writings. To say that we should not take writing seriously is to view the written word as a catalyst for ones own thoughts. Good writing does not answer questions, but instead it poses questions where one did not see the possibility for enquiry before. Philosophical texts are tools by which we can wonder and ponder. Descartes, for instance, recommended one consider the first part of the Meditations for a year before reading on.

We compared the Meno to the Phaedrus, and we are still left with questions about the role of the cidcadas. Professor Griffith suggests that the myth of the cicadas is to bridge the transition from Socrates's soliloquy and the second dialogue about rhetoric. But we have yet to decide exactly what that means.

Phaedrus

May 3, 2005.
Professor Griffith

I read the Phaedrus for a class once last year, and I found it to be very tough. After reading it again last night, I found it to be much more accessible, but I still had what I thought were some important questions. Upon my second reading, I still didn't have a comfortable grasp the Charioteer metaphor, the cicada metaphor, Plato's choice to break up the dialogue with long soliloquies by Socrates, or Plato's choice to make homosexual love the example of eros. Since it have studied Plato for Plato's sake, I wanted to ask Professor Griffith to compare this work to other Socratic dialogues. Finally, I hoped that we would discuss the role of nature and Socrates's tone toward Phaedrus in this work. This work always seemed unique to me, and also less analytical (I suppose by that I mean more Continental, though I'm not sure if anyone really knows the difference between these two branches of philosophy. To be sure, there appears to be much overlap. [I have begun to think of the difference between them to be about as significant and easy to articulate as the difference between Republicans and Democrats] But I digress).

We touched on these and other themes of the work. I would like to share some of the things I learned today that either gave me a great deal more clarity with respect to this work or that left me with more complicated considerations on which to deliberate.

1. This dialogue is unique in that it does not begin with at "frame conversation." Most Platonic dialogues begin with a retelling of recent events/conversations had by either Socrates or solicited by Socrates from his partner in conversation.

2. That the homosexual physical "love" which Socrates speaks of considerably is actually Pedernasty. I mean Pederasty. The most amusing part of today's discussion were the linguistic dances we performed around this topic.

3. We usually expect to arrive at a "reorienting insight" with a Platonic dialogue - exiting the cave, the turning around of the soul, etc. In the Phaedrus, Plato does not explicitly give us an example of "reorienting insight."

4. Socrates's long speeches are rare in dialogues, especially ones which wax poetic about nature and love. The Phaedrus gives us Socrates the artist, to some degree.

5. "nothing written will capture the Truth (whole, objective, all encompasing Truth), but that is not to say that Truth does not exist." If the Truth could be taught, suppose that anyone who wanted to learn it could. If everyone knew the Truth would we have any reason for language, since language/discussion the means by which we grasp for Truth? Also, can we think without language either before we are able to use language or after we are able to use language?

6. Plato asserts in this dialogue that philosophy is a process of collecting and discriminating things. This is how we classify examples of concepts appropriately. This kind of grouping is the way in which we learn language, and it is also the way we are able to make judgements about our environment in a somewhat crude way. But I am not sure that this is philosophy. There seems to be a bit more to it than conceptual taxonomy. What about the great system builders? Is this just very advanced collecting and discriminating? I think we are missing the move toward seeing and/or making similarities after we have completed "discrimination."

7. Techne is often translated as art, but this 'art' is a broader concept than our modern 'art.' It could also be translated as "creative mimesis."

8. The myth of the cicadas is meant as a bridge between Socrates's long soliloquy and the dialogue that follows.

The diagonal

Ok so socrates was pointing to the diagonal for the slave boy... which is an irrational number... where as the sides are are rational numbers... similarly socrates is pointing in towards that which lies beyond clear and distinct understanding... beyond conceptual understanding... if that makes sense... maybe I'm totally off the mark... but thats just a thought that came up...

Meno

Dunno.. how far you guys are on the readings... but I've gotten myself bogged into a few pages... so here goes the start of some idea sharing...

It seems to me that Meno is not as concerned about what virtue is but rather on how the answer sounds... the words are what give Meno his convictions of truth and knowledge where as Socrates seems to be searching for something beyond the words. It seems to be almost a case of attitude, Meno approaches it with the attitude of one who already knows versus Socrates' attitude of skepticism (maybe too harsh a word... but what exactly seperates a skeptic from socrates? The way I see it Socrates - questioning what we know -> questioning what can be known -> questioning whether we know what we know. Skeptics - doubt - which entails questioning what one knows. Skeptic as used here: not to be confused with one who thinks nothing can really be known.) Meno starts with the assumptions that (1)things can be known through conversation and that (2) he knows or can know. Socrates seems to have the assumptions: 1)things may be knowable but 2) at any point of time he may never fully know/understand something.

I don't know if this makes any sense, but I just watched Hotel Rwanda and draw a parallel here that might be far fetched... The main character, Paul, starts of with the assumption that he knows how the world works... but through the course of the movie realizes his knowledge of humans, politics, hatred, life... are drastically narrow... he never expects the people he lives amoungst would ever commit genocide... never expects the international community to remain silent...never expects racial/ethnic discrimination for whose lives are quote on quote "more worth saving." In many ways a Meno in terms of approach...

Now comparing Paul to teh journalists of the bbc... who starts off with an attitude of cynicism seems actually to have a better understanding of people and politics than Paul... was it the cynicim that allowed him to see the worst?

and finally tying it back up to virtue, did Paul have the better set of virtues? which is clearly what the movie is aiming for... it is hard to say that he did not have the best set of virtues in the movie... but he had it without really knowing anything about people and politics... versus the journalist who had the knowledge but seemed lacking in virtue...

would it be a correct inference to make that one does not need to know what virtue is to be virtuous?
and does knowing anything about virtue change/make you more virtuous?

Hope this makes some sense... I am all about a movie marathon...
I hope some of you have seen the movie...

touching the no-touch items

If we have stuff to read for Pemberton's class on Friday, maybe we should scrap the show and tell. I plan to watch a stanley kubrick film and a foreign language film once each week this spring. You all are welcome to join me in these little exercises. Sunday evenings after dark/dinner. I definitely want company for A Clockwork Orange. I think I'm going to watch them sequentially according to release date. The title of this blog is the epiphany to which I came this evening, and it has nothing to do with Pemberton's class or my Kubrick obsession. Well, maybe that's not entirely the case with my Kubrick obsession.

PHIL 403 - Lounging in Fairfax with the Sensei

Mission/Objective/Direction/Ideal....

we set out to investigate the importance of philosophy in the lives of
our teachers and peers and the influence that it has on the young and
budding minds of students in the modern university. wendell berry
points to the decline of the liberal arts education in today's ivory
towers, but we at W&L claim to have held onto the tradition of a
broadly disciplined mind. within this context, we seek to survey the
place of philosophy, according to philosophers -- both young and old.

The way/route/path/road/highway....

to that end, we have designed a course in which we will confer with one
professor each week, regarding their perspective on the methods, aims,
and effects of philosophy -- as they define it. each professor will
assign a series of readings intended to inspire or provoke us. we will
meet with each professor twice, one hour or more each sitting. the
first will have a lecture-based tone, the second will be discussion
oriented. we will write weekly responses in a blog forum, visible to
each other and the advising professors. to provide a sense of
direction and unity, we will meet with professor emeritus harrison
pemberton for two hours (or more as needed) each week. he, too, will
assign readings and guide us in an effort to coalesce our meanderings.
our first assignment is to read the meno and a commentary written by
professor pemberton. he has also assigned a puzzle for us: to
construct four equilateral triangles using only six unbroken
matchsticks.

as our coup de gras we will present what we've found to the university
community. the form of this performance, speech, reading, is to be
determined by the readings and discussions. the message of the the
presentation will be: why we do (or do not do) philosophy. it will, in
a sense, be an evaluation, meditation, and/or reflection on the meaning
of our formal education within this discipline.

the tentative schedule ---

week 2: mahon
week 3:
week 4: sessions
week 5: gregory/griffith
week 6: kosky

Philosophy 403

I've pasted tallies and mine email on the general idea of the class here.

PHIL 403 -- BEING A PHILOSOPHER: THINKING, LIVING, AND THE ACADEMY
(or something along those lines)
we will ask everyone in the philo dept (plus kosky & eddie v -- the
displaced shamans)
to present to us, the most brilliant & curious of students, what MOVES
them in philosophy
why did they get into it, why do they do it, what is so goddam valuable
about this discipline?
additionally, we'd like to meet with harry each week for continuity's
sake
and because he's the shit, knows his shit, and is fun as shit
shit shit shit

each prof will present their own personal views on the topic stated
above
they may or may not require readings from other authors
(maybe we'll read their own stuff?)
we will ask to cap the page limit at 100 & request they supply a
suggested-reading list
(anything that may help us understand more clearly what each prof
thinks)
we can tell them that this will be "their week to shine"
they will have the opportunity to be people, not just professors

to breakdown the hours:
spring term classes have 6 contact hours per week
so, we'll spend 2 of those with harry
these will be regularly scheduled & preferably @ the cabin, @ UVA, in
DC, somewhere exotic
which leaves 4 for each prof's session with us
the best way to break it up is TWO 2-hour meetings:
the first meeting shall be in the acedemy: a more formalized
lecture/introduction
the second shall be in the vegetable market / woods / rooftops / palms
for discussion & reaction.

we've ordered them as follows: gregory, boggs, mahon, griffith, kosky,
velasquez, sessions
as for the evaluation process... we want to do a one/two pager for each
prof
of course, it'll be free form in nature, and by nature
THEN, get ready:
a presentation open to the campus
not a paper, not a poopy spring term downer shitty mctitty
but a full-of-life, brimming-with-wisdom show of what we've learned
not on paper, not on a computer
rather... in front of PEOPLE, precisely the way they introduced us to
philosophy
multi-media, media-less, who knows! (exclamations)
we shall leave ourselves open to change
we've devised a plan with structure and flexibility

now, we (all four of us) should send an email to the aforementioned men
& woman to ask for their help

Buddhism

Comments, questions, suggestions, thoughts or ideas... based on the Meeting at the Buddhist center?

Eternal Sunshine!

We shall be watching the movie "Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind" at 5pm on Friday in Room 221 of the C-School.
The discussion will take place after the movie at 7pm.

The extended info was given to us by professor Velasquez.

]]> Introduction
Published in 1717 in Pope's Works. The subject was partially selected because John Hughes, an acquaintance of Pope's, had published an English translation. The Latin text had originally been published in 1616 and had been translated into French in 1697. Hughes translated the French version. Pope's poem draws heavily on Hughes' translation. The poem is an example of a genre represented in Latin by Ovid's Heroides. These heroic epistles are always addressed by a woman to a man who has abandoned her. The situations require an "heroic" treatment because they involved important personages. The heroes represent what one critic has described as "sorrowing or rebellious love." Peter Abailard (1079-1142), at thirty-eight a famous scholar, became at this time the tutor of Eloisa, the eighteen-year-old niece of Fulbert, the canon of Paris. Their passionate secret love resulted in Eloisa's conceiving, whereupon Abelard removed her to Brittany. After refusing to agree to marriage for a long time because it would ruin Abelard's career in the church, Eloisa finally consented and the couple returned to Paris for a secret wedding. But the uncle's anger revived. Abelard took Eloisa to a convent at Argenteuil where she was professed as a novice. Her uncle then paid ruffians to attack Abelard in his lodgings and castrate him. After his various attempts at monastic life, students again gathered about Abelard and built him the halls and church of the Paraclete, sixty miles from Paris. Further persecution by his enemies or fear of them eventually led him to accept the Abbey of St. Gildeas in Brittany. When Eloisa's nuns were expelled from Argenteuil, he offered them the Paraclete and visited them as a spiritual director, until his visits caused scandal. Eloisa began the correspondence after a letter, addressed to an unfortunate friend, describing his adversities as a means of comforting the friend, fell into her hands.

Eloisa to Abelard
In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love! � From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand � the name appears
Already written � wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove,
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires;
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all:
Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
No, make me mistress to the man I love;
If there be yet another name more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.
Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
Give all thou canst � and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.
Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
And Paradise was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make a noonday night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.
Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain � do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself � and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.
Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake � no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more � methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold � yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say)
"Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here."
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no � in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,
From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
"Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!"
From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.