THE FYP REVIEW

FYP SOCIETY EXECUTIVE 2012/2013

President and Editor-in-Chief: Amelia Wilding Secretary: Hannah Muhajarine Treasurer: Karen Gross Communications: Harrington Critchley Academic Consultant: Quinn Harrington Publishing Manager: Megann Licskai Cover Design: Rawb Leon-Carlyle Editorial Team Matthew Buckman Eyo Ewara Ariel Weiner Anne White

Online Publication: http://goo.gl/7i5rGd

This journal is dedicated to the tutors of the Foundation Year Programme. Your tireless patience and your ability to foster a connection between text and student is the cornerstone of the FYP experience.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Letter from the Editor..1 My Weight is My Love: Tracing the Relationship between Love and Movement in the Divine Comedy Kathleen Harper.2 The Ethics of Poverty Meagan Campbell..6 Auditory as Allegory in Dantes Divine Comedy Meg Shields..11 Galileos The Starry Messenger: Undermining the Medieval Religious Perspective by Challenging Classical Interpretations of Nature Clara McGaughey15 The Gender Politics of Beaumarchais' The Marriage of Figaro Rach Klein....20 The Question of Harmony between the Dionysian and the Apollinian Emily Pye...25 Mechanical Objectivity and the Romantic Sublime in Shelley's Frankenstein Matthew Green31 Sin, Rebirth and Redemption: The Monster of Ennui in Baudelaire J. Scott Cooper35 Author Biographies41

To the Reader, When I first thought of producing a journal to chronicle the work done by FYP students, I severely underestimated the amount of time that would be needed to assemble this compilation. However, I also underestimated the amount of willing help and wonderful essays that would pass through my hands over these past 10 months. I have been consistently surprised by the 2012/2013 FYP Class and their ability to bring out nuances from books that I thought I knew inside and out. I have been exposed to beautiful pieces of writing that have moved me in such a way that I have wanted to paint them on buildings to share these beautiful words and ideas with the world. During this process we received over 60 papers from FYP students. With the dedication of nine peer readers we were able to decide, albeit quite difficultly, on eight exceptional papers on core topics that we hope encompass the path that FYP takes each student. We included three research papers of outstanding quality. However, I would like to note that what we have published here is only a sample of the publishable pieces that we received. If not constrained by publishing space this journal would at least be twice as long. I would like to congratulate all students who submitted papers to make this journal possible. Your unexpected insights and wonderful writing have made this process a joy. Thank you to the FYP Society Executive, who worked hard at organizing the reading process and contributed throughout the school year and summer with the intention of making this project a reality. Thank you to the KSU for their generous funding and support, and to Ariel Weiner, Anne White, Matt Buckman, and Eyo Ewara who jumped in and made the mountains of readings into molehills and offered much needed commentary and evaluation. Thank you all for your incredible perseverance and dedication. This journal would not be possible without you and your love of FYP. My sincere thanks and appreciation, Amelia Wilding Editor-in-Chief

My Weight is My Love: Tracing the Relationship between Love and Movement in the Divine Comedy
Kathleen Harper
Love is the omnipresent force that dominates Dantes Divine Comedy he uses it as a tool to engage the reader, it motivates his pilgrimage through the cosmos, but most importantly, he uses it as a propeller for motion on the journey to finding rest with God. Dantes fascination with motion and how it interacts with love is the most pivotal feature of the workings of his poem, so much that he ends his work with a quotation from Aristotle: I felt my will and my desire impelled by the Love that moves the sun and the other stars (Dante, Paradise 585) Dantes perspective on the relationship between love, weight, magnitude, and movement is greatly influenced by his preceding scholars, namely Aristotle in his work On The Heavens and St. Augustine in his Confessions, and how they have defined principles of movement in their own writings. The theories of both Aristotle and Augustine are woven throughout the Divine Comedy and compliment Dantes own ideas seamlessly, creating a rich allegorical setting and inviting the reader to contemplate their own ends to which their love is directed. For Dante, movement throughout the cosmological structure of the Inferno, Mount Purgatory, and Paradise is central to understanding mans relationship to God and the universe. Dante argues that a mans movement is defined by the turning of his will toward the good. His ascension through Purgatory and Paradise is in direct correlation with the purification of his sin and the cultivation of his relationship with the divine; substantially, he experiences a shift in the weight of his body and becomes lighter, allowing him to become transhumanized: to be elevated above the constraints of humanity where he enters into a virtuous divine state of being while physically ascending upwards to the Empyrean (Robertson FYP Lecture). Dantes ascension and inversion of weight as a turning of the will toward higher good synapses perfectly with Augustines famous statement: My weight is my love. Wherever I am carried, my love is carrying me. By your gift we are set on fire and carried upwards: we grow red hot and ascend (Augustine, Confessions 13). This comparison allows us to better understand how weight and magnitude can be directed, or be moved by love (Confessions 13). Love directed toward the good propels us and creates an inversion of logical movement on earth, suggesting that bodies with magnitude can become lighter by the shedding of sin and proper directing of love. Dante describes the climb up Mount Purgatory as becoming easier through ascension; the weight of his earthly sins are being lifted 2

off his shoulders as he views the punishment of the seven deadly sins on each cornice of Mount Purgatory. Dante asks Virgil what heavy thing has been removed from him, I feel as if to keep on climbing would be effortless. Virgil answers, When the Ps that still remain on your brow shall be erased completely like the first, then will your feet be light with good desire; they will no longer feel the heavy road but will rejoice as they are urged to climb. (Dante, "Purgatory 262). Climbing the Mountain is not a strenuous activity, as it would be on Earth, but rather an enlightening and, quite literally, an uplifting experience as Dante comes closer to the Sun, the Stars, God, and Beatrice. Aristotle claims that every weighted body has their own natural tendency of movement simple motion, which is to move either away from or towards or about the center, or the elusive movement of the divine, which is said to be circular, and therefore eternal because something which moves in a circular fashion has no defined beginning or end (Aristotle, On The Heavens 449). The concept of circular motion being the natural tendency of the divine fits immaculately with Dantes description of the concentric spinning spheres of Paradise. Aristotles influence on Augustine, and thus their collective influence on Dante, is especially apparent while discussing fire as an element with a natural tendency to rise upward. Dante takes advantage of both the metaphysical and literal theories of fire being the lightest element and earth being the heaviest from Aristotles work On the Heavens . (On the Heavens 449). The characteristics of movement in the Divine Comedy can be more easily understood if we think about ascent in terms of Aristotle and his physics, describing how fire interacts with other natural elements as it rises upward. Fire finds rest only in heaven, because there it is in its element, rejoining the fire of which the Sun and Stars are made in the same way that a stone falling downhill comes to rest in earth, its own element. Virgil says, you should, in all truth, be no more amazed at your flight up than at the sight of water that rushes down a mountain to its base (Dante, Paradise 396). The climb up Mount Purgatory defies logic it becomes less strenuous the higher and longer you climb. The higher up you get the lighter you are, but the ascent in heaven itself is effortless. The pure soul rises as easily as water runs downhill to its source. Bringing this allegorical concept into a palpable reality, the activity of exploring faith and building a relationship with God on Earth behaves in the same way as Dantes ascent up the mountain the more effort invested into building a relationship with God, moving from restlessness to finding rest with God, the more at peace our souls will be. In the context of this poem, finding rest with God would be considered the highest state of bliss (Robertson FYP Lecture). Augustine also makes this point in Confessions, stating "Our heart is restless until it rests in you (Confessions 1). Certainly Dante experienced a state of 3

restlessness, but on his journey through the levels of the Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise, his restlessness stilled into tranquility as he purified the direction of his love toward God and ascended into the Empyrean. Dante constantly reminds us of the importance of rightly directed love hell becomes a torturous, frozen place where you have what you desired for eternity (when what you desired was something other than God) and heaven means finding your rest in God's everlasting love because of your desire for the good and your enduring hope of salvation. The natural tendency of souls whose desires were directed to earthly pleasures as an end in themselves become subjects of the Inferno for eternity, fitting with both Aristotle and Augustines view of love as weight. Beatrice tells Dante And just as fire can be seen as falling down from a cloud, so too mans primal drive, twisted by false desire, may bring him down (Paradise 396). Love is disordered when it seeks to find an end, or happiness in temporal earthly joys. Misdirected love is an anchor weighing down misguided souls to the depths of the Inferno; the enormity of their weight increases as they descend into hell. Lake Cocytus is the most extreme example of this trajectory the souls who found their rest in its lake are dually frozen in both their bodies and their wills. The ironic sentence of getting what you want for all of eternity as a form of punishment is a theme which streams throughout the Divine Comedy, especially in his description of the Elysium fields, where those who dwell there get what they want... for eternity (Curran FYP Lecture). Those who have had false desires lose hope of redirecting their love to the good, and find their final resting place to be in the Inferno. Essentially, the Divine Comedy is an exploration of how the direction of ones love influences their eternality and the power that man can hold over his own fate by the direction of their love. This is Justice in a Platonic sense our souls will meet our ends in the place that we each deserve to be (Fraser FYP Lecture). The objects to which we directed our love determine where our souls will deserve to meet eternal rest, whether it is in the Inferno, Purgatory, or Paradise. Where we direct our love, we direct both our mortal lives and our eternal fates. Dante directed his love for Beatrice, one of the most divine beings, You know whose Light it was that lifted Me, (Paradise 394) and realizes that it was her goodness and virtue that moved him upward. The things that we love can weigh us down, or they can carry us into a state of restful bliss. Freedom of choice echoes through this Dantean and Augustinian philosophy the only power we possess as humans is our love, and the integrity of the objects in which we direct it to will decide our eternal fate. Aristotles conception of fire as a tool which rises eternally upward is essential to understanding Dantes textual references to stars, sun, and love. Our love can be a fire raising us upward to our place among the Sun and the Stars, or one that drives 4

us downward into the depths of the Inferno. We end up where we justly belong, our fate heeds to the call of our own choices. Works Cited Aristotle. On the Heavens. Foundation Year Programme Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 2012-2013. Augustine. Confessions. Trans. R.S. Pine-Coffin. 1961. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1984. Dante. The Portable Dante, Trans. Musa M., Toronto, Ontario. Penguin Books. 2003. Various FYP lectures

The Ethics of Poverty

Meagan Campbell
In an ambiguous and controversial passage of The Doctrine of Right, Kant proposes that an ideal civil state has the duty to tax the wealthy in order to support the poor. Among the body of writing that criticizes this proposal, James Penners article, The State Duty to Support the Poor in Kants Doctrine of Right argues that distributive justice by means of taxation is incompatible with the states otherwise corrective role. Further, Ernest J. Weinribs essay, Poverty and Property in Kants System of Rights suggests that the poors reliance on tax revenue disengages them from social and economic life. However, by drawing upon Kants explanation of duties in Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, we can show that there are inevitably people who cannot sustain themselves, even in a Kantian ethical community, and that the state, rather than private donors, must support them to ensure morality. Although this discussion indicates that Kant viewed extreme poverty as detrimental to his system of ethics, he only proposed for the state to support those in absolute need. We are therefore left to consider whether we can read Kants political philosophy as liberal on the topic of income gaps, as well as if his own financial hardship influenced his position. Kant introduces, but does not justify, the need for taxation to sustain the poor in his ideal state. He remarks, the state is authorized to constrain the wealthy to provide the means of sustenance to those who are unable to provide for even their most necessary natural needs (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 100). He specifies that constraint entails monetary taxation, but he does not define those who are unable to provide for even their most necessary natural needs. Kants vagueness is the first source of dispute regarding this proposal, and his lack of justification has led critics to deem it unjustifiable. Regardless of who the tax receivers are, any such distribution seems to contradict the nature of the states role. Penner describes the Kantian state as a body that does no more than prescribes and enforces rules to ensure the freedom of its independent subjects. He concludes, this state, qua legal authority, is not the right sort of protector of the people to acquire a duty to support the poor (Penner 103). Indeed, Kant does not propose any additional tasks for the state except for defending the region when necessary to protect freedom. The Doctrine of Right thereby presents a state that only carries out corrective, and never distributive, justice. Yet, Kants proposal for a welfare system seems to introduce a duty to perform the latter. Further, the protection of freedom includes the protection of property, and financial levies seem to undermine the states duty to the wealthy as a guarantor of property rights. More difficultly still, Kant is a philosopher 6

for whom moral actions must arise from, and not merely accord with, duty. Therefore, the states duty to tax the wealthy must somehow come from its duty to protect their freedom and property. As Penner remarks, it is very difficult to see what Kant is up to (103). In addressing these concerns, we must return to Kants passage to show that the tax receivers inevitably cannot sustain themselves. The state provides the conditions for its citizens to act from their free, hence moral, will, and citizens have the moral duty to cultivate their talents. Kant asserts, the moral person necessarily wills that all his faculties should be developed, inasmuch as they are given him for all sort of possible purposes (Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals 31). The tax receivers are therefore unable to support themselves even though they fulfill their potential to do so. Indeed, Kant says, this arrangement [of distribution] does not make poverty a means of acquisition for the lazy (Kant The Doctrine of Right 101). Rather, the poor who Kant refers to may include widows, orphans, and people with physical or mental disabilities who, despite their efforts to cultivate their talents, still require public support to survive. While we have shown that there are necessarily people who require public support to preserve themselves, our next step in proving the necessity of Kants proposal is to show that these people must be supported for the sake of morality. For Kant, ones primary duty to oneself is to act so as to stimulate the furtherance of ones life (Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals 36). The tax receivers cannot fulfill this duty without support, nor could the state maintain its condition of freedom for its citizens. He says that the state must protect the natural laws of freedom and the equality of everyone in the people corresponding to this freedom (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 92). However, if the poor cannot fulfill the moral duty to preserve themselves, they would not be free citizens. He says, a free will and a will subject to moral laws are one and the same (Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals 49). Since the state cannot maintain its rightful condition unless all citizens are free to preserve themselves, we can view the distribution of taxes as nothing more than protecting freedom and therefore as corrective justice. Kants advocacy for the necessity of supporting the poor may have come from his own familys poverty in 18th century Prussia. In the absence of a formal social safety net, Kants parents and eight siblings received assistance from other family members and friends. The profit from his fathers saddle-making business declined with the mans age, leading the family to be declared poor by the state in 1740 so that they paid less than half of regular taxes. Kant was forced to leave college when his uncle could no longer pay for his education, and he is even known to have borrowed clothes when his were being mended (Kuehn 33). As a professor later in life, Kant was not paid a salary from the university but relied entirely on fees from students who attended his lectures. Despite 7

Kants experience with poverty, however, neither he nor his family would have qualified for his proposed state support because education and extra clothing likely surpass what he meant by the most necessary natural needs. If his family met these needs through the help of beneficiaries alone, we should next question why he thought that the state should support the poor instead. Kant presents charity as immoral because it contradicts the practical imperative and does not come from duty. To distinguish between what Kant calls perfect and imperfect duties, the former are duties that must constantly be fulfilled while the latter are those that can never be complete. Individuals have the perfect duties to preserve themselves and to keep promises, as well as the imperfect duties to cultivate their talents and to assist others. On the other hand, the states sole and perfect duty is to ensure the freedom of its citizens. Kant advocates for taxation over charity because the public body has the perfect duty to ensure that the poor are free to preserve themselves, but individuals only have the imperfect duty to assist others. In other words, no single person is obliged to fully support all of the poor; this duty belongs only to the state. Charitable donors and recipients also oppose the practical imperative by using others as a means, rather than as ends in themselves. This imperative decrees, act in such a way that you treat humanity always at the same time as an end and never simply as a means (Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Moral 36). For Kant, charity enables the poor to use the wealthy to evade working. In fact, he describes begging as closely akin to robbery (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 101). Donors can likewise use the poor as a means for self-satisfaction or to improve their reputation. On the other hand, we must not mistake taxation as a system by which the state uses the wealthy to fulfill its duty to the poor. Kant explains, taxation must be done in such a way that the people taxes itself (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 91). The wealthy as members of the state deduce that they collectively have the state duty to pay taxes. Even though charity may produce the same result, the duty-derived act of paying taxes is the only moral way of providing for the poor. For this reason, Kant proclaims, only this arrangement can be considered in keeping with the right of the state (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 101). While Penner considers Kants proposal as contradictory to the corrective nature of the state, Weinrib argues that it would undermine the participatory nature of the tax-receiving citizens. In Poverty and Property in Kants System of Right, he suggests that subsidization enables the poor to not participate in public affairs. He says, the problem is that people in this situation are managing in one way or another to get by while disengaged from the dominant regime of economic and social life (Weinrib 263). Indeed, a welfare system seems to contradict Kants proposal that all subjects must have the attribute of 8

civil independence, which he defines as owing ones existence and preservation to his own rights and powers (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 91). Although the recipients do not owe their existence to their own powers, they still owe it to their rights because receiving support comes from their entitlement to freedom as members of the state. We can account for the poors disengagement from the economy through Kants distinction between active and passive citizenship. Although active citizens, who are males who can vote on legislation, must contribute to the economy because they own property by definition, passive citizens must not. It is unclear what Weinrib means by social life, but there is no obvious ground on which he can prove that receiving public support disengages a person from affiliating with the rest of the community. Considering the moral implications of extreme poverty to the poor and to the state, it is not a problem, but rather a solution, that they should manage to get by. The question of how a Kantian state should respond to extreme poverty is a question of why such poverty arises and what effect it has on the state. For Kant, an income gap is inevitable even in an ethical community due to peoples different capacities, not due to a shortcoming of the state. In this regard, we may read Kant as conservative. Further, he thought that the state should support only those in dire need, which would not have even included his own family. However, we may view him more liberally because he presents supporting the poor as a duty rather than a burden, and one that is just as important to the maintenance of the states rightful condition as it is to the maintenance of the poor. Penner and Weinrib would argue that Kant did not support his proposal because it opposes his conception of an ideal state and citizen. Perhaps more likely though, Kant assumed that readers would accept that a dutiful state should support those who could otherwise not sustain themselves. Morality, understood in Kantian terms, must be a collective enterprise. In the philosophers own words, if the principle of outer freedom is lacking for any one of the members, the framework of all the others is unavoidably undermined and must finally collapse (Kant, The Doctrine of Right 89). Works Cited Kant, Immanuel. Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals. Trans. James Ellington. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishers, 1993. ---. The Doctrine of Right. Ed. Mary Gregor. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Kuehn, Manfred. Kant: A Biography. New York: Cambridge University Press. 2001. Penner, James. The State Duty to Support the Poor in Kants Doctrine of Right. British Journal of Politics and International Relations. 12 (2010): 103. 9

Weinrib, Ernest J. Poverty and Property in Kants System of Right. Notre Dam Law Review. 78 (2003): 263.

10

Auditory as Allegory in Dantes Divine Comedy

Meg Shields
It is not without purpose that Dante presents his vision of the ascent of the soul as an allegory. With the same intention that compelled him to write in the Italian vernacular, the Divine Comedy is presented in illustrative terms so as to provide access to the ineffable the souls resting place in God. Likewise, within this figuration, it is fitting that the senses be exploited to viscerally communicate complicated ideas that are beyond the power of words. As the Pilgrim ascends from the bowels of Inferno to the Celestial Rose of Paradiso where his soul finally finds rest in God, an importance is placed on the illumination of his sight. Hence, as from his initial blindness the Pilgrim progressively becomes able to perceive the incomprehensible brilliance of Paradiso, so too is his soul gradually illuminated to an alignment with God. Though the enlightenment of the Pilgrims sight is an undoubtedly apt metaphor for the allegorical ascent of the soul in the Comedy, his auditory experience of each realm should not be overlooked for it effectively serves the same purpose. Like his gradually illuminated sight, the acoustic progression the Pilgrim experiences from Inferno to Purgatorio to Paradiso effectively communicates the essence of each domain and consequently the progressive states of the soul as it ascends towards God. This progression is indicated in the auditory representation of Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso as a cacophony, monophony and polyphony respectively. Through this progression, Dante presents music as a synthesis of accessible structure and ineffability, as well as a legitimate social tool for the improvement of Christendom. The cacophony the Pilgrim hears in Hell adequately characterizes the nature of the Inferno as well as the souls within it as eternally restless. The vocalization of the souls inhabiting the Inferno lacks any sense of unity, which is analogous to the failure of these suffering souls to properly align their wills with that of God. There the Pilgrim encounters sighs and cries and shrieks of lamentation varying from a language strained in anguish with cadences of anger to shrill outcries and raucous groans (Dante, Inferno III. 22-27). The variety of the souls expressions lacks unity and is utterly disordered in the same fashion that their wills lacked alignment with Gods in their temporal lives. Notably, when entering the circle of the lustful, Dantes language clearly defines this dissonance as music. That the shrieks, laments and anguished cries (Inferno V.35) are characterized as notes of anguish [starting] to play upon [the Pilgrims] ears (Inferno V.25-6) he both defines it as a form of music while also simultaneously, associating this cacophony with the later displays of music in the Comedy. Just as Virgil informed the Pilgrim, and subsequently the reader, that one will know what second death is, from [the] screams, so too does Dante present the 11

quintessence of Inferno through cacophony (Inferno I.117). Ultimately, the restless souls who did not succeed in ordering their wills with God express this in their song, which is unmelodious in the same sense that their souls lacked order. Purgatorio presents the Pilgrim with a monophony, a united song that aptly conveys this domains emphasis on a learned alignment with God. There are numerous examples of music manifesting itself as souls are purified and cleansed, as is the purpose of Purgatory. The first of many songs, one Late-Repentant soul begins to sing, Te lucis ante until the rest [join] in to sing the hymn through to the end (Purgatorio VIII.13-17). Notably the Pilgrim himself experiences this unity, a testament to the power of song; while listening he finds himself lost to any sense of self (Purgatorio VIII.15). Translated as Before the light of You, it may be considered an appeal for continued faith, the very thing the Late-Repentant failed to do in life. Similarly, the Beati misericordes sung by the Wrathful is fitting in that these penitents are celebrating the overcoming of their vice through a song proclaiming the blessedness of the merciful (Purgatorio XV.38). In contrast to the discord they carried in their divisive rage, the Wrathful chant, Agnes Deithe same words, sung in unison (Purgatorio XVI.19-20). Furthermore, in the terrace of the Gluttonous souls in tones inspiring a sweet blend of joy and pain[tearfully] chantLabi mea Domine whose opening lines, Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praises are appropriate given that the mouths once used to satisfy temporal hunger now give thanks to the eternal God (Purgatorio XXIII.10-12). Markedly, while listening to Beati paupers spiritu, an appraisal of those poor in spirit fittingly sung by the Proud, the Pilgrim notes how differentthese passageways [are] from those of Hell and how one enters here to music there, below, to sounds of violent laments (Purgatorio XII.110-114). The Pilgrim acknowledges the united melody of Purgatorio, and its difference to the dissonance of Hell. On Purgatory, a hill where Reason spurs the probing of the soul (Purgatorio III.2-3), a faulted individual may truly repent and ascend through faith. It is suitable that Purgatory, as a realm where souls are reconstructing their community in their love of God, should be portrayed musically as a monophony. In coming together in united song the souls reflect the purpose of Purgatory: for souls to produce integrity through unifying their wills with God. The harmony the Pilgrim encounters in Paradiso is evocative of the domain itself, in that it represents a united song that also celebrates differences. As Infernos dissonance differed radically from the monophonic chanting of Purgatory so too is the unity of Paradisos song unique to that realm. Whereas the songs of Purgatorio were represented in a monophony, those of Paradiso contain a unity that encompasses diversity. The harmony of Paradiso operates the same way that a choir is composed of multiple parts, singing, potentially, in different pitches, with different words and different tempos, but ultimately producing a product 12

that is cohesive and unified despite its variety. The multifarious, disparate voices of the souls of Paradiso blent into sweet tones and likewise sothe disparate ranksin our heavenly life produce sweet harmony among these spheres (Paradiso VI.124-126). Here, grace does not destroy individual natures but rather perfects them harmoniously. The polyphony produced by the music produced by the heavenly spheres may be seen as the combined effect of vast numbers of souls all individually different in their blessedness united in their conformed love in Gods will. Like the harmony of the spheres, God takes the scattered leaves and [fuses] them in a fashion which is so perfectly ordered that the Pilgrims words have no more strength thana babe (Paradiso XXXIII.82-107). Just as the singing of multiple individual souls in Paradiso form a single song of rich harmony, so too is the complicated cosmological separation of Paradiso held in unity by the Celestial Rose. When the Pilgrim so eloquently describes the integration of being as all things bound in a single book by love he might have just as easily employed the metaphor of music (Paradiso XXXIII.86). Unity from multiplicity dominates Paradiso, as the individual wills of the souls within are indeed their own; however, they are united in the allencompassing will of God in the same way their song is harmonious through its diversity. Ultimately, words fail the Pilgrim in the presence of the ineffable visions of Paradiso. Ironically, despite the multitude of tools Dante employs to make the Comedy as accessible as possible (the vernacular, the allegory, the ordered structure), eventually there is a limit to the content he can communicate through language. However, an exception to this lies in Dantes exploitation of the acoustic, as music may be interpreted as the union of the definable and the ineffable. The straightforward ordering of music mathematically is within the capacity of written communication to grasp, as is the allegorical hierarchy of the universe within the Comedy. However despite this explicit, comprehensive aspect, music also contains an opposite principle: the indescribable emotional affect both players and audiences of music experience. Effectively, though a song may be conveyed through sheet music so as to be understood directly, the actualization of said song affects its listener in a fashion that surpasses the ability of notes to communicate on their own. Ultimately, musics definable structure is coupled with the sublime effect it induces, making it the union of the indefinable and the accessible. Likewise, the Comedy, as a work of art, achieves this same duality in that its meaning is imparted both by its structured format and the affect its verse evokes within the reader. Fundamentally, music is an appropriate device for communicating the ascent of the soul through structure to a state that is beyond words, as this is ultimately the spirit of music itself as well as the Divine Comedy. What distinguishes the Pilgrims acoustic experience from his visual one is that whereas vision is treated as the ability to see in 13

general, the auditory is presented in the specific form of song. Music, like the Comedy itself, is a form of art, and through this commonality Dante argues that art has a legitimate social purpose in its celebration and educative value in regards to Christianity. The forms of music presented take the appraisal of God and other ecclesiastical themes as their subject. Dante presents music as a means of transforming the souls of individuals (such as the penitent, supplicant souls in Purgatory) both away from vice and towards an alignment with God. As opposed to the self-interested souls screaming in Hell, the monophonic chanting releases this selfishness until the self is perfected, and in harmony with God in Paradiso. It is possible to interpret this productive presentation of music in the Comedy as Dantes argument for the legitimacy of art as a social tool. This is an understandable stance for him to take considering the political and religious content of the Comedy and the productive social change he most likely hoped to achieve by it. Through a religiously productive presentation of music in the Comedy Dante may have sought to justify and legitimatize his own work as well as art in general. Works Cited Dante. The Portable Dante. Trans. M. Musa. New York: Penguin Books USA Inc., 1995.

14

Galileos The Starry Messenger: Undermining the Medieval Religious Perspective by Challenging Classical Interpretations of Nature
Clara McGaughey
Galileos The Starry Messenger suggests that the ability to understand nature allows humans to possess power over the world, in contrast to the previously prevailing ideology that the movements of the universe drive humans. Throughout the Middle Ages, theologians used Aristotelian cosmology, which was based upon a geocentric model of the universe, to justify Gods existence and to support scriptural passages concerning the structure of the cosmos. By opposing classical notions that necessitated the medieval worldview, The Starry Messenger grants individuals an independence from the power of the church. The text lends plausibility to Copernicus heliocentric model of the universe by eliminating terrestrial and celestial distinctions that dominated medieval thought and by using a scientific method that differs from Aristotles. In Aristotles text On the Heavens, he describes a Ptolemaic universe in which the earth is at rest at the center of a rotating heaven, a view that predominated Western thought throughout the ancient world, the Middle Ages, and into the Renaissance. His text describes a heaven that is of necessity spherical (Aristotle 286.10), specifying that it is earth which is at rest at the centre (285.20-21) of the rotation. He goes on to explain that the earth is made up of four simple bodies (269.6) (earth, water, air, and fire) that move either away from or towards or about the centre (268.24). Aristotle writes that the bodies do not move according to their natures because if they did, the earth would exist in four concentric spheres according to the densities of the bodies, placing earth at the center, followed by water, then air and then fire. Instead, the spherical motion of the celestial bodies that rotate around the earth mixes the simple bodies and orders them. Because everything that exists on earth is a combination of these four simple bodies, everything, including humans, moves according to the movement of the heavens, which move according to a primary body [who is]unaging and unalterable and unmodified (270.2122). Aristotle therefore justifies a divine presence by arguing that if no primary, unmoved mover existed, the elements would not mix, thus humans would not exist. Furthermore, Aristotle writes that the reasoning which applies to the whole applies also to the part (270.11-12), arguing that all of the heavens exist within each human. Throughout the Middle Ages, the church used this Aristotelian cosmology as proof for Gods existence (Stewart FYP Lecture). Theologians argued that all human movement (both physical and 15

emotional) has its root in Gods will, which can be justified using natural philosophy. This justification accords with biblical passages that placed the earth at the center of a rotating heaven, and that identify God as the source of human action. Central to this theory are distinctions between the terrestrial and celestial realms of the universe; the celestial realm is more divine than the terrestrial realm because it is closer to the primary mover, which is demonstrated by the eternal nature of its circular movement. In Galileos The Starry Messenger, he builds a cosmological structure of the universe that contrasts with Aristotles geocentric model and justifies Copernicus heliocentric model by erasing terrestrial and celestial distinctions and by using a scientific method that differs from Aristotles. Firstly, Galileo eliminates the ancient boundary between the terrestrial and celestial realms by describing the moon as similar to the earth rather than as more divine. He writes, "with all the certainty of sense evidence (Galileo 78) that the moon is not robed in a smooth and polished surface but is in fact rough and uneven, covered everywhere, just like the earth's surface, with huge prominences, deep valleys, and chasms" (78). By describing the moons surface as not unlike the face of the earth (79) he further suggests that the moon is not more divine than the earth, regardless of its circular movement. Because the moon and the earth correspond physically, they are not different by nature and are both merely equivalent celestial bodies rotating around the sun. The moons similarities to the earth imply that the moons naturally circular movement does not indicate a divinity that the earth does not exhibit, or that it is closer to the unmoved mover, who medieval Christians identified as God. He also describes the planets other than the earth as looking like little moons (87), blurring the distinctions between the divine natures of the moon and the planets, in addition to the distinctions between the earth and the moon. Galileo further extends this lack of divinity to all the heavenly bodies in his observations of Jupiters moons, which are not unlike the ones that belong to the earth. After [deciding] beyond all question (90) that there [exists] in the heavens four stars wandering about Jupiter as do Venus and Mercury about the sun (90), Galileo concludes that: [he has] not just one planet rotating about another while both run through a great orbit around the sun; [his] own eyes show [him] four stars which wander around Jupiter as does the moon around the earth, while all together trace out a grand revolution about the sun in the space of twelve years, (92) The existence of Jupiters moons lends plausibility to the Copernican theory through Galileos demonstration of the earth as just one of multiple planets that both rotate around the sun and have bodies 16

rotating around themselves. An implication of this absence of a divine presence moving the heavenly bodies, and by implication the earthly ones, is that God is not the root cause of human movement. This notion threatens religion in society by implying that without God as the source of human thought and action, humans can act independently from God, granting them a kind of freedom from and power over the church. Galileo furthers his claims in his observations of the stars. He says: Surely it is a great thing to increase the numerous host of fixed stars previously visible to the unaided vision, adding countless more which have never before been seen, exposing these plainly to the eye in numbers ten times exceeding the old and familiar stars. (Galileo 77) Previous to Galileo, natural philosophers believed that the heavens included precisely 1022 stars, a number that was unchanging and presumably eternal, further reflecting the divine nature of the celestial realm (Stewart FYP Lecture). By observing that the stars are not only more numerous than previously thought, but also that they generate and decay like the earthly bodies, Galileo further intertwines the celestial with the terrestrial. In addition to his justification of the heliocentric model of the universe and his elimination of the terrestrial versus celestial distinction that governed the medieval worldview, Galileo supports his own claims by introducing a scientific method that renders his argument persuasive, increasing his texts threat against the churchs power (though, as will be later discussed, undermining the religious perspective was likely not Galileos intention). The method that Galileo follows involves forming general conclusions based on particular observations. This procedure contrasts with a method that was more widely used at and before Galileos time, which conversely involved applying universal assumptions to particular examples. Galileo begins his work by acknowledging, the instrument by means of which [the subject] has been revealed to our senses (77), referring to his telescope, the instrument that he used to make his observations. With the aid of the telescope, Galileos observations become based on empirical evidence rather than general assumptions. Galileo reminds the reader of this empirical method continuously throughout the text, supporting his claims by an infinitude of arguments drawn from nature (86), and referring multiple times to his use of sense evidence (78) and the things [he has] seen by which he was able to draw [his] conclusions (79). He also mentions how he has ended the dispute about the Milky Way by making its nature manifest to the very senses as well as to the intellect (78), suggesting that knowledge exists in sense experience. The method that Galileo uses here advances his argument by providing observable evidence to readers, while maintaining a possibility 17

for the correction of that evidence. As soon as Galileo, or any other scientist, makes an observation that is inconsistent with the conclusions brought forth in The Starry Messenger, Galileo will stand corrected as long as the same empirical method is used. Furthermore, any skeptic who uses a telescope to observe the sky will most likely find that Galileos conclusions are objectively correct, and not subject to abstract interpretations like those that Aristotle formulated and medieval Christians adapted. Despite the implications of The Starry Messenger concerning religion, the text does not explicitly insult the church. Conversely, Galileo uses some religious language in his writing. For example, when beginning his discussion of the moons of Jupiter, he says: All these facts were discovered and observed by me not many days ago with the aid of a spyglass which I devised, after first being illuminated by divine grace (78). This passage suggests that Galileo believes that a divinity exists within him and that this divinity had approached him for the purpose of discovering these stars, implying that God had intended him to make his observations. His stance on religion becomes clearer in his Letter to Grand Duchess Christina, where he presents a way to reconcile nature with scripture, arguing that the Bible should not be interpreted literally, and that some passages (including the one that says that the earth is at rest at the center of a rotating heaven) were written for the purpose of accommodating the simple minds of common people (Stewart FYP Lecture). Thus it should be noted that Galileos intention is most likely not to offend the church or dismantle religion in society, but rather to simply relate his observations of nature, which happen to contrast with the dominant worldview at a time when the churchs power was already at risk in the wake of the Reformation. Galileos The Starry Messenger suggests that the ability to understand nature allows humans to possess power over the world, in contrast to the previously prevailing ideology that the movements of the universe drive humans. Galileo justifies Copernicus heliocentric model by erasing terrestrial and celestial distinctions that dominated medieval thought and by using a scientific method that differs from Aristotles. The conclusions that Galileo draws consequently undermine the church by challenging classical notions that necessitated the medieval worldview, despite Galileos insistence on the unoffending nature of his texts. Galileos attempts to reconcile his writings with biblical passages proved unsuccessful, when his discoveries resulted in his own arrest and numerous attempts to ban the publication of his works.

18

Works Cited Aristotle. On the Heavens. Foundation Year Programme Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 2012-2013. Galileo. Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina. Foundation Year Programme Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 20122013. ---. The Starry Messenger. Foundation Year Programme Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 2012-2013. Stewart, Ian. Aristotelian Physics and Hellenistic Cosmology. Foundation Year Lecture, November 26, 2012. Stewart, Ian. New Visions of the Cosmos. Foundation Year Lecture, September 26, 2012.

19

The Gender Politics of Beaumarchais' The Marriage of Figaro

Rach Klein
From its opening scene, Beaumarchais The Marriage of Figaro sets the stage for a performance that revolves around sex and gender politics. The play-turned-opera begins with husband-to-be Figaro measuring a bed in his new chambers. Im just thinking about this fine bed which His Lordship is giving us. The question iswill it go here? he wonders aloud (Beaumarchais 107). His eagerness to ensure that the bed fits emphasizes his uncontainable excitement for the consummation of his marriage to Suzanne. However, only moments after the show begins his excitement is marred when Suzanne expresses concern about their prospective living arrangements: This is what its about my dear boyMy Lord, the Count, tired of cultivating rustic beauties, has a mind to return to the castle but not to his wife: its yours he has cast his eye on, understand, and he thinks that this room might well prove quite convenient. (Beaumarchais 108) As a young woman, Suzanne must be constantly aware of the potential sexual threat to her bodily autonomy. However, rather than act as many female characters depicted in theatre of this period do, Suzanne neither gives into the Counts desires nor appeals to Figaro to solve her dilemma for her. Rather, Suzanne is the voice of reason to Figaros nave optimism and is a fully formed and independent person. Through the use of comedy and music, The Marriage of Figaro depicts self-complete female characters and works to value individuals because of their moral worth rather than their gender or social station. The Marriage of Figaro avoids the common depiction of women as either entirely virtuous or filled with vice. The trend of failing to recognize women as multi-faceted can be seen throughout countless historical texts. For example, within St Augustines Confessions, the only women present are his saintly mother and his unnamed concubine. The reduction of women to either/or ensures that they are not given respect as human beingsonly as abstract ideas. While this unrealistic lack of multiplicity is reconciled for men during the quest for self-identity in the Renaissance period, the same cannot be said for women. This discrepancy can be attributed to the misogynistic view that women are neither self-complete nor multi-faceted; their worth can only be judged in relationship to men. For this reason, the majority of female characters portrayed in literature and theatre written by men are one-dimensional. 20

However, an outstanding exception to this attitude is Beaumarchais play, which presents three-dimensional women. This complex characterization, in turn, prompts Mozart to create a variety of performance styles for his female vocalists. The opera begins with the musical equivalent of Beaumarchais opening scene, wherein Susanna and Figaro discuss their new bedroom. The lyrics remain true to the text while adding new possibilities for interpretation through the addition of music. In Mozarts opera, the two different dispositions of Suzanne and Figaro are made clear in their opening air. Despite the dangerous implications of their conversation, Figaro sings in a staccato style while contrastingly, Susanna takes a more expressive and legato manner.

By allowing Suzanne to act as the smooth voice of reason compared to Figaros more reckless temperament, the woman in the relationship is given controlboth musically and symbolically. In thinking of the future and her own self-preservation, Suzanne contributes something consequential to the shows opening scene. She doesnt simply provide exposition; she is the one to move the plot forward. Figaro closes the conversation with the famous aria, Se vuol ballare or, If You Wish To Dance. The rhythm of this aria is consistent with Figaros style, and is sung allegretto and staccato. The aria goes as follows:

The line Dance at your pleasure to my guitar is applicable not only to the relationship of the Count to Figaro but also to the relationship betwixt Figaro and Suzanne. As is seen in their initial duet, when they 21

sing together it is Suzanne who sets the tune. Figaro strives to assert his dominance but it is his fianc, the woman, who leads the melodiesand the plot. Act Two begins with the mournful Countess, desolate over the lack of attention given to her by her husband, He no longer loves me Ah, I have loved him too dearly! (Beaumarchais 130). Mozart writes her a cantabile ballad, wherein she prays for the return of the Counts affection. However, the song is not strictly about emotional fulfillment. The placement of these pleading lyrics within the setting of the Countess bedchamber creates a sexually charged scene. Furthermore, the Countessa proper, upper-class ladyis presented with an unkempt appearance. Clearly, she is missing sexual fulfillment as well.

By introducing the Countess to the audience in such an intimate setting the lady of the house is immediately given the human quality of sexual desire. She is not presented as pure and void of any erotic longings but neither is she reduced to merely an object of lust. Her ongoing flirtations with the cheeky Cherubin are proof of this: The COUNTESSS does not speak for a momenther eyes are on the ribbon while CHERUBIN eyes devour her (Beaumarchais 136). Had she desired it, she could have easily begun an affair with Cherubin. But, unlike her husband, she has no intention to find satisfaction for her desires outside of the marriage. As she exclaims to him, there is nothing in your suspicions (Beaumarchais 139). 22

The Countess is acutely aware of the politics of her marriage. After being caught in the precarious situation of having a half-dressed Cherubin within her closet, Heavens! My husband! You [Cherubin] without your coat, your neck and arms all bare, alone here with me!(Beaumarchais 138), the Countess prevents her husband from causing a scene, Cause a public scandal! Make us the talk of the castle!(Beaumarchais 140). Thus, she acknowledges that their marriage is about appearances as much as it is about love. In this way, she has the self-control as a political figure that the Count lacks. The Countess is neither ruled by physical urges nor emotions, the inverse of her heedless husband. The Count appears to come to this conclusions himself when he exclaims, We men think we know something about dissimulation, but we are only children. Its you, Madam, whom the King should be sending as his Ambassador to London (Beaumarchais 146). In the third act, the subplot of Marcelines intention to marry Figaro emerges. However, it is mere minutes after her scheme seems to be coming to fruition, the Court condemns the defendant to pay two thousand piasters to the plaintiff or to marry her today (Beaumarchais 173), that it is revealed she is Figaros mother, and that doctor Bartolo his father, Behold your motherBehold your father! (Beaumarchais 174). This melodramatic plot twist expresses that womanhood does not stop at motherhood. Despite the fact the Marceline is advanced in years and already has had a child, she still yearns for romantic companionship. This admission prevents her from being a stock character portraying the common notion that once a woman ages, she loses her sexuality. Her transformation from lover to mother also allows for unity among the women of the play. Once competing rivals, Susanna and Marceline are brought together, standing in solidarity with the women of the house. This harmony is brought forth only once the machinations of the menin this instance, Figaroare removed and the women are given the opportunity be self-complete. As Marceline states at the end of Act Four, How we women are drawn to run to each others help against these proud and terrible simpletonsmen (Beaumarchais 196). Once the resident females come together, they create their own community wherein they hold power equal to that of their respective male counterparts. Women are shown to be able to form a functioning sisterhood with as much ease as men form brotherhoods. When analyzing an antiquated performance from a contemporary ethical perspective, it is important to note contextual limitations. Written in 1778, the show does not fulfill the modern criterion for a feminist work. The Marriage of Figaro undoubtedly presents problematic expectations of womensuch the implied notion that it is the primarily the wifes duty to satisfy the husbandhowever, the play still resonates with female empowerment. Beaumarchais and Mozarts heroines are established with moral and intellectual integrity, and are not prisoners of 23

their sex. Works Cited Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus. The Marriage of Figaro: Vocal Score. Alfred Music Publishing, 1985. Print. Beaumarchais, Pierre. The Marriage of Figaro: New York: Penguin Books, 1964. Print

24

The Question of Harmony between the Dionysian and the Apollinian

Emily Pye
The works of Friedrich Nietzsche significantly influenced Thomas Manns Death in Venice, providing the story with its essential theme of the conflict that exists in all creative artists. Nietzsches examination of the dichotomy between the Apollinian and the Dionysian in The Birth of Tragedy helped inspire Mann to incorporate the same ideas in his novel. In his later work, Ecce Homo, Nietzsche explores the Apollinian and Dionysian again in relation to his new model of the philosopher. The relationship between the Dionysian and the Apollinian strands, rather than the differences between the two, is the fundamental element in both Nietzsches and Manns conception of the artist. Both writers agree that the Dionysian and Apollinian are necessary to one anothers existence and must work together to some degree, but Mann asserts that a perfect balance between them is not possible. In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche uses the Greek gods Dionysus and Apollo to describe two different types of artists and art forms, studying these opposing sides to pinpoint the origin of tragedy in Greek art. Greek tragedywhich Nietzsche considers the zenith of artistic creationis a synthesis of the Apollinian and the Dionysian, since it combines the Apollinian concepts of beauty and mere appearance with Dionysian suffering and decay. Nietzsche thinks of the Apollinian and the Dionysian as worlds of dreams and intoxication respectively. Every artist is either an Apollinian artist in dreams, or a Dionysian artist in ecstasies, or finallyas for example in Greek tragedyat once artist in both dreams and ecstasies (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 38). Though the two sides strongly oppose one another, a balance between them is possible when the Apollinian is able to harness the drives of the Dionysian, but the Dionysian is still powerful enough to challenge and fortify the Apollinian. Nietzsche describes Apollo as the god of all plastic energies (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 35); he is the god of dreams and illusions, perfection, and restraint. The Apollinian is free of the unruly, wanton emotions of its Dionysian counterpart. Dionysus, as the god of wine and ecstasy, represents intoxication, contradiction, nature, and pleasure found in suffering. this is the most immediate effect of Dionysian tragedy, that the state and society, and quite generally, the gulfs between man and man give way to an overwhelming feeling of unity leading back to the very heart of nature (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 59). For Nietzsche, tragedy affirms life through the Dionysian phenomena of bliss born from agony and oneness of man with nature. Once the Dionysian man becomes one with the world, thus truly 25

understanding it, he can accept that suffering is a natural part of life and that he can do nothing to change the nature of things. Knowledge of the worlds true awfulness therefore destroys the Dionysian mans motivation to act. Nietzsche calls this lethargic aspect of the Dionysian a chasm of oblivion [that] separates the worlds of everyday reality and of Dionysian reality (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 59). Existence now disgusts the man, who then turns to art, which has the ability to transform the horrible into the sublime, and the absurd into the comic. In Thomas Manns Death in Venice, the writer Gustav von Aschenbach embodies both the Apollinian artist and the Dionysian artist at different times in his life. Aschenbach spends his whole life in futile pursuit of perfection in the forms of learning, morality, and beauty. The perfection he seeks does not exist, however, so his efforts eventually force him into a hypothetical abyss, which represents dissolution and the vast unknown. In his youth, Aschenbach was an Apollinian addict of the intellect (Mann 9), carelessly exploiting knowledge in his quest for wisdom and fame, and unknowingly driving himself towards the abyss. Learning from these mistakes, an older Aschenbach convinces himself that he must turn away from and transcend knowledge through moral determination and dedication to beauty and form. However, Mann indicates that Aschenbach will eventually realize that this too leads to the abyss. A moral determination which transcends learning, which transcends the knowledge that dissolves and obstructsdoes that not signify in its turn a nave simplification, a moral oversimplification of the world and the psyche, and thus also a strengthening of the tendency toward evil, the forbidden and the morally impossible? (Mann 10) Just as Mann recognizes that knowledge does not in fact equal happiness, he rejects the notion that strict morality is the greatest virtue. Nietzsches criticisms of Christian adherence to morality likely influenced Manns views on the matter. In his Attempt at a SelfCriticism (placed in later editions of The Birth of Tragedy), Nietzsche explains that his distaste for Christianity is due in part to its unwillingness to recognize anything other than moral values, and its negation of life in favour for the afterlife. He writes, confronted with moralitylife must continually and inevitably be in the wrong, because life is something essentially amoral (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 23). Moralitys hostility towards life and its tendency to oversimplify everything as either good or evil produces a dogmatic and even dangerous view of the world. 26

Moral oversimplification is the cause of the mad desire and Dionysian intoxication that enslaves Aschenbach when he travels to Venice and becomes infatuated with a young Polish boy, Tadzio. Aschenbach, fascinated with Greek philosophy and Platonic form, desperately longs to believe in perfection, but fails to grasp it, because he does not look beyond the realm of material objects. Immersed in the corporeal world, he can only try to impose qualities of a metaphysical form onto Tadzios physical body, creating a false idea of him. This exacerbates Aschenbachs desire, plunging him into an obsessive enchantment. Even when he discovers a cholera epidemic in the city, he refuses to warn the Polish family, because directly interacting with Tadzio would sober him; he is addicted to his delusional view of Tadzio, and he is addicted to the addiction itself. Mann says this is merely a part of the artistic temperament that has a fusion of discipline and dissoluteness (the Apollinian and Dionysian) as its foundation (Mann 39). The refusal to go through beneficial sobering is synonymous with dissoluteness, and yet Aschenbachs Apollinian self-control is still manifest. There is within Aschenbach, and within every artist, an almost harmonious relationship between the rational and the chaotic. More important than the dichotomy between the Apollinian and the Dionysian is their need to coexistone simply cannot be without the other. The latter is the more powerful of the two, but the restraint and perfection of the Apollinian nevertheless manages to harness the Dionysian; it cannot defeat Dionysian chaos, but it can contain it. Nietzsche writes, Only incessant resistance to the titanic-barbaric nature of the Dionysian could account for the long survival of an art so defiantly prim (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 47). The Dionysian, in turn, forces the Apollinian to become more resilient. Without this challenge, the Apollinian would be weak and inadequate. The opposite is also true: Contradiction, the bliss born of pain, spoke from the very heart of nature (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 47). The primal truth that Dionysus reveals can easily eclipse Apollo, whose basis is in mere appearance and illusion. Without the management of the Apollinian, the Dionysian would be out of control and consume itself. This relationship is as true in art as it is in the artist. The change Aschenbach undergoes during the events of Death in Venice reflects Nietzsches description of the Apollinians debt to the Dionysian. [Apollos] entire existence rested on a hidden substratum of suffering and of knowledge, revealed to him by the Dionysian (Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy 46). Aschenbach, through Dionysian visions, eventually discovers and accepts the desire for the abyss he has been suppressing during his vain lifelong pursuit of a nonexistent perfection. Though his intoxication ultimately ruins him, it also frees him from the Apollinian illusions that kept him from realizing his true nature. Aschenbachs unwitting craving for the abyss spurred his search for perfection; his Dionysian energies fortify his Apollinian tendencies. Conversely, his self 27

discipline prevented him from meeting his sad fate for many years before his final trip to Venice. The Birth of Tragedys effect on Thomas Mann is evident, but Nietzsches thought changed significantly over the years, contrasting with both Manns way of thinking and his own previous ideas. Originally, Nietzsche used the term Dionysian as a device to counteract the Apollinian, simply representing the urges associated with the god Dionysus. However, by the time he wrote Ecce Homo, sixteen years later, he had a notably different conception of the Dionysian. in his later thought the Dionysian stands for the creative employment of the passions and the affirmation of life in spite of sufferingas it were, for the synthesis of the Dionysian, as originally conceived, with the Apollinian, (Kaufmann, footnote, The Birth of Tragedy 20). The new model of the philosopher Nietzsche presents in Ecce Homo is Dionysian in this sense rather than in the purely decadent sense portrayed in The Birth of Tragedy and Death in Venice. Recognizing this difference is important in properly comparing Nietzsches attitude towards the Dionysian to that of Mann. In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche does not necessarily celebrate the Dionysian; he simply emphasizes its role in the existence of the Apollinian. In Ecce Homo, he claims that the Dionysian philosopherNietzsche himselfis superior: I should prefer to be even a satyr to being a saint. (Nietzsche, Ecce Homo 673) He describes his own experiences of strength born from suffering, and stresses the importance of solitude, cleanliness, self-discipline, and rejecting religious morality. He attributes his genius to these things, to a harmony between the Apollinian and Dionysian. Mann, like Nietzsche, concedes that the Dionysian is an unavoidable aspect of life, but he certainly does not see it as beneficial; it is exactly what leads Aschenbach to his demise. The numerous figures and visions Aschenbach sees are omens, foretelling that he is doomed to succumb to his primal Dionysian desires and fall into the abyss of dissolution and emptiness. Still, Aschenbachs ruin is also due to his Apollinian tendency to delude himself into seeing imperfect things as perfect. Thus, in Manns view, neither the Apollinian nor the Dionysian is favourable, for the former only leads to the latter, which result in intoxication and decay. Though Aschenbach does take pleasure in his downfall, his suffering is not at all useful, in contrast with Nietzsches belief. In Ecce Homo, though Nietzsche describes himself, the ideal philosopher, as a disciple of Dionysus, he maintains that he is the exact opposite of decadenthe is someone who becomes stronger because of his hardship and cares only about what is best for him. He believes neither in misfortune nor in guilt: he comes to terms with himself, with others; he knows how to forget, (Nietzsche, Ecce Homo 681). Death in Venice indicates that Mann does not believe that such a balanced state of being is possible; Aschenbach has been on the brink of the abyss for most of his life, no matter what he does to avoid it. Sinking into the 28

realm of dissolution and the unknown is inevitable, but unlike Nietzsches new philosopher, Manns artist cannot overcome the awfulness of the world and affirm life with it. Mann believes that the artist/philosophers inner conflict between rationalism and romanticism is insurmountable; balancing the two sides as Nietzsche suggests is impossible, and an inclination towards either will lead to dissatisfaction and decay. Even when Aschenbach eventually accepts and sympathizes with his desire for the abyss, his realization brings him no satisfaction; he still fails to achieve the stable condition for which he has always been striving. At last, it is clear to him that his entire life has been a path towards the abyss when he has a vision of Socrates speaking to Phaedrus. We may deny the abyss and acquire dignity but, no matter how we try, it attracts us. Thus, we may perhaps renounce knowledge, which is a dissolvent; for knowledge, Phaedrus, has no dignity or severity; it knows, understands, and forgives, without selfdiscipline or form; it sympathizes with the abyss, it is the abyss. Therefore we decidedly reject it, and henceforth our only concern will be for beauty. (Mann 60) For most of his life, Aschenbach had simply ignored his yearning for the abyss, never knowing what it meant. His vision also reveals the inevitability of the abyssthat it is in every artists nature to have a predilection to the abyss. Socrates says, we [poets] are unable to soar upward, we are only able to commit extravagances (Mann 60). Artists cannot transcend the material world in order to find perfection because instead, they try in vain to create it themselves. Having dedicated his lifes work to this impossible goal, Aschenbachs obsession with Tadzio was just enough to complete his final descent into the abyss. Manns different conception of the Dionysian influences his standpoint that an Apollinian and Dionysian balance is impossible, but his view also has an added element of pessimism; his perception of the artist is bleaker than that of Nietzsche. The influence of Nietzsche is evident through Death in Venice, from its Greek theme to its views on morality. Mann agreed with a number of Nietzsches beliefs, but the distinct departure from Nietzsches conception of the artist is most notable. The Apollinian and the Dionysians reliance on one another is essential to both writers way of thinking, but Nietzsches view seems almost optimistic when compared to that of Mann. Manns negative outlook on the artist manifests itself in the tragic character of Aschenbach, who tries to reconcile the two opposing forces within him all his life, but never succeeds. 29

Works Cited Kaufmann, Walter. Footnote. The Birth of Tragedy. By Friedrich Nietzsche. In Basic Writings of Nietzsche. 1967. New York: Random House, 2000 Mann, Thomas. Death in Venice. Trans., Ed. S. Appelbaum. Mineola: Dover, 1995. Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Birth of Tragedy. In Basic Writings of Nietzsche. Trans., Ed. Walter Kaufmann. 1967. New York: Random House, 2000 ----------. Ecce Homo. In Basic Writings of Nietzsche. Trans., Ed. Walter Kaufmann. 1967. New York: Random House, 2000

30

Mechanical Objectivity and the Romantic Sublime in Shelley's Frankenstein

Matthew Green
In Mary Shelleys Frankenstein, the protagonist Victor is in a state of agony, melancholy, and general unhappiness for the majority of the novel. He is constantly tormented by his creation and its crimes. Beneath this external struggle, however, an ideological battle rages between mechanical Enlightenment science and the emerging school of Romanticism. During his studies at Ingolstadt, Victors objectification of nature through the mechanical isolation of her parts produces a monster that, itself, has no place in nature. While engaged in this heavily objective form of science, he loses sight of the coherent whole. However, when he resorts to natural beauty in order to find emotional solace, Victor loses sight of himself and his responsibilities towards his creation. He is swallowed up by the sublime whole. Shelley critiques both the Romantic and the Enlightenment views of nature: in doing so, she criticizes strict adherence to a specific mode of thought, and advocates for a more comprehensive and less compartmentalized approach to the natural world. Victors education and his study of the principle of life (Shelley 78) at Ingolstadt demonstrate the dangers of Enlightenment-style science. His studies begin going awry when he isolates and studies nature objectively, rejecting his subjectivity and emotions. He describes the process thus: I must also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body a church-yard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which had become food for the worm my attention was fixed upon every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of human feelings, examining and analyzing all the minutiae of causation. (78-9) Isolated in his solitary chamber, or rather cell (81), Victor becomes caught up in experimentation and minute details, and forgets to experience nature herself: it was a most beautiful season but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature (81). He places himself outside of nature, isolates her parts, and pursues her to her hiding places (81). Romantic scientists were heavily critical of this method, which alienates the scientist from the natural world when in fact humans are part of nature themselves. In Alexander von Humboldts Cosmos, he writes that nature is a unity in diversity of phenomena; a harmony, blending together all created things one great whole animated by the breath of 31

life (Humboldt 24). To compartmentalize nature and study it mechanically, as a series of parts separate from oneself, is to impose on it categories and boundaries that do not actually exist, and this proves dangerous for Victor. Before continuing, it is important to note that these two schools of thought, the Enlightenment and the Romantic, are not directly opposed in every way. While rationality and objectivity define Enlightenment science, which is not to say that the Romantic Movement is necessarily irrational and purely subjective or worse, not capable of science at all. In his Maxims and Reflections, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe writes, insofar as he makes use of his healthy senses, man himself is the best and most exact scientific instrument possible [but] modern physics refuses to recognize nature in anything not shown by artificial instruments (Goethe 311). The prioritization of mans intuition and subjective experience leads to the Romantic emphasis on emotion, feeling and beauty, especially in literature but this is not to the exclusion of rationality or precision, at least not in science. In fact, it is this polarized view that Shelley is rebelling against throughout much of Frankenstein. The result of Victors fiercely mechanical science is the monster, an ugly abomination with no place in the world. Loneliness is what drives the monster to commit his heinous crimes: after being shunned by the De Laceys, he burns their home (Shelley 151); after being shot by the countryman, he kills William (154); and after being denied a female companion by Victor, he kills Clerval (183). His being separate from the natural order is what defines his thoughts and actions. It is fitting that the product of Enlightenment science, which alienates the scientist from nature, should be a being that itself has no place in nature. The monsters eternal solitude and resulting depravity, then, stands as Shelleys most vehement critique of the exclusively mechanized scientific method and worldview. Victor largely ignores the outside world while working on the monster, but after its creation the beauty of nature offers him recourse from his tormented mind. Once recovered from his initial fever, Victor tours the environs of Ingolstadt: a serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstasy I was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an invincible burden (94). Immediately after gallivanting around the countryside, Victor receives a letter notifying him of Williams death (96). Victors inaction regarding the monster is linked to his emotional escape through the natural world. He exchanges happiness and emotional solace for rational concern and responsibility regarding his own creation. Notably, Victors encounters with the monster throughout the plot occur in natural settings such as the woods and the mountains, directly reminding him that losing oneself in the beauty of nature is not a true escape, and can be a distraction from the world of real human affairs. 32

Inherent in Shelleys criticism of the Romantic obsession with nature is a critique on the Romantic notion of the sublime. On Victors excursion to Chamounix, he remarks, these sublime and magnificent scenes elevated [him] from all [his] littleness of feeling (115). For the Romantics, grasping the sublime means appreciating ones insignificance in relation to the vastness of nature. From littleness (115), from particularity, Victor is drawn into generality into Humboldts great whole (Humboldt 24). His climb of Montanvert the next day exhibits strong parallels to Petrarchs climb of another mountain nearly five centuries earlier. In The Ascent of Mont Ventoux, Petrarch reaches the top of the mountain and admires the landscape, only to be reminded by Augustine, men go to admire the high mountains, the vast floods of the sea, the huge streams of the rivers and desert themselves (Petrarch 5). For Petrarch, this is a reminder that dwelling on earthly pleasures may cause one to the neglect the self, and God. Victor, too, loses himself in the beauty of nature, and forgets his particular responsibilities pertaining to his particular circumstances. In some descriptions of sublime experience, a rational meditation on the self and its capability to comprehend the vastness of nature follows the initial overwhelming awe brought on by natures beauty. This second component, however, is not universal in theory Kants dynamic sublime, for example, is the annihilation of the self as the imagination tries to comprehend a vast and mighty collection of natural forces (McOuat FYP Lecture) or, as Victor shows, in practice. Thus, Shelley criticizes the Romantic idea of the sublime and the obsession with natures beauty by suggesting that they can lead to a loss of self and of rationality. Through his actions and narration, Victor Frankenstein exhibits characteristics of extreme Enlightenment objectivism and exclusive Romanticism. His fluctuation between the mechanical and the beautiful does not solve anything, and in fact both extremes exacerbate his problems. Clearly, there is danger to be found in strict adherence to one mode of thought to the exclusion of all else. As Shelleys novel is a tragedy, and this conflict doesnt resolve itself in a positive ending, her solution regarding this issue is not explicitly stated. However, the faultless character of Clerval does offer some insight into a more balanced mindset. Though not a scientist, Clerval exhibits both an appreciation of nature (Shelley 94) and a clear-headed rationality (97), which often counter Victors melancholy and solitude. That this is a central characteristic of Clerval, in whom Victor perceives unexampled worth (167), certainly implies that Shelley wants the reader to value balance and a holistic character over polarization. Clearly, Shelley is hesitant to take sides. While her appreciation for the Romantic view of the world as a true cosmos is clear, she perceives danger in its focus on natural, external beauty. And while Enlightenment science can produce dangerous results, its focus on concrete rationality is appealing when placed next to the overwhelming notion of the sublime. 33

As there are positive facets to each school of thought, the implicit suggestion is not to align oneself with only one but to create a comprehensive harmony of ideologies, and to prize balance and moderation above exclusivity and extremism. Works Cited Goethe. Maxims and Reflections. History of Science and Technology Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 2012-2013. Humboldt. Cosmos. History of Science and Technology Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 2012-2013. McOuat, Gordon. Shelley: Frankenstein, The Modern Prometheus. Foundation Year Lecture, February 8, 2013. Petrarch. Ascent of Mont Ventoux. Foundation Year Programme Handbook. Halifax: University of Kings College, 2012-2013. Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Eds. D.L. Macdonald and Kathleen Scherf. Peterborough: Broadview Editions, 2012.

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Sin, Rebirth and Redemption: The Monster of Ennui in Baudelaire

J. Scott Cooper
But there with all the jackals, panthers, hounds, The monkeys, scorpions, the vultures, snakes, Those howling, yelping, grunting, crawling brutes, The infamous menagerie of vice, One creature is most foul and false! Though making no grand gestures, nor great cries He willingly would devastate the earth And in one yawning swallow all the world; He is Ennui!with tear-filled eye he dreams Of scaffolds, as he puffs his water-pipe. Reader, you know this dainty monster too; Hypocrite reader, fellowman, my twin! (Baudelaire, To the Reader 7) In the poem that prefaces his work The Flowers of Evil, Charles Baudelaire situates the monster of Ennui within a stewing pot of vice and wickedness. Not only does he identify the monster with these iniquities, but he portrays Ennui as the creature most foul and false, saying it is the catastrophic force that threatens to swallow all the world, making it more dangerous than any of the other vices. Though much of Baudelaires heretic poetry lends itself to refutation of Christian doctrinehis Litanies of Satan, for instancean examination of this treatment of Ennui suggests a specifically spiritual morality present in the demands that the poet makes on his readers. It is arguable, and indeed accurate, to say that if Baudelaire maintains notions of God, sin, and thus the possibility of righteousness, and if he does not locate sin in base materiality, then the site of sin must be in some spiritual lacking. Upon examining The Flowers of Evil, it is evident that he does indeed point to this lacking, and it is shown to be nothing other than the sin of Ennui. That is, the spiritual sin Baudelaire condemns is the boredom plaguing the decadent modern Europe in which he finds himself. The first task to be completed in this reading of Baudelaire is to confirm the fundamental presence of God in his work, which would in turn imply that a sense of transgression and redemption might endure throughout itwhether it be through God or some other means. In 35

Baudelaire: The Paradox of Redemptive Satanism, Pierre Emmanuel suggests that the notion of God is interwoven in Baudelaires work: The debate with Godwhether or not he exists for the poetimposes itself in the flesh as much as in the work. When consciousness is on par with the suffering, as in a Baudelaire whose entire body of work is a reflection on his destiny and on the act of creating, God is no longer, not to any degree at all, one literary theme among others: He is present, without being named as such, in the very fabric of the work [italics mine] and in the exigence that the poet takes on trust, weak creature that he is and precisely because he is so (21). If, as Emmanuel asserts, Baudelaires treatment of God is part of the very essence of the poets work, rather than a contingent thematic element, then a reading of Baudelaire that rejects a project of spiritualized striving would be an impoverished one. That is, we must allow for some notion of sin, transgression, or vice in relation to a higher authority, regardless of what that authority may be. To think that in the absence of true Christian devotion, Baudelaire allows for unchecked human action is to ignore the seething condemnation the poet passes on those who engage in existential decadence. An instance of this criticism is seen in The Flowers of Evils first poem: Folly and error, stinginess and sin / Possess our spirits and fatigue our flesh / And like a pet we feed our tame remorse / As beggars take to nourishing their lice (Baudelaire, To the Reader 5). Not only do we sin such that our spirits are possessed, but we propagate and feed that very sin ourselves. Even the repeated presence of the word sinle pchwhich appears in the next stanza, implies a standard against which Baudelaire holds the modern European. Also in the next stanza is a comment that our sins are stubborn, our contrition lax (Baudelaire, To the Reader 5), suggesting that we lack a sense of responsibility or need to repent for our existential sins. Given that Baudelaire specifically cites our inadequate contrition, which is an act that we automatically associate with religiosity, it is accurate to read the work as having a notion of God in its foundationregardless of Baudelaires blasphemies. In short, the problems of vice, sin, and redemption are, for Baudelaire, substantial ones. Given this very real problem faced by the poet, in which human actions might we locate sin? Conventional Christian logic might suggest that the problem is associated with an indulgent appetite, one too fixed upon material pleasures, leading to spiritual degradation. Here we might imagine Augustines adolescent escapades: I ran wild in the shadowy 36

jungle of erotic adventures. My beauty was wasted away and in your sight I became putrid, by pleasing myself and by being ambitious to win human approval (Augustine, Confessions 24). However, attempting to map this morality onto Baudelaires work would be unsuccessful. Emmanuel points out that in poems such as The Flask, it is apparent that, Baudelaires spiritualism is a materialism [italics mine] and inversely; matter being a degradation of the spirit, not only does it retain the traces of it, but this latter, in breaking down, becomes fluid in order to penetrate it: sounds, perfumes, colors, partake of essence. Matter is then saturated with spirit, truly peopled with spirits. (Emmanuel, 103-4) Matter itself is imbued with the possibility of spirit, and as Emmanuel suggests, Baudelaire locates his spiritualism in matter itself. A vast number of his poems are inquiries into baseness, and in The Flask we see that even perfume, which is entirely an aesthetic invention meant to mask and deceive presents the possibility of spirituality: One comes, perhaps, upon a flask of memories / In whose escaping scent a soul returns to life (Baudelaire, The Flask 97). If the very substance perfumethat might epitomize materiality can facilitate a spiritual endeavour, we cannot rightly say that the site of sin is in matter itself we must look elsewhere to find the source of the sin that we feed ourselves. The alternative to finding sin in material pleasure would be to find it in some condition of the soulnamely, Ennui. If we first examine what precisely is meant by Ennui, and then observe the fact that it has a genuinely spiritual nature through its relationship to acedia, we will be able to see how Baudelaire portrays this condition as the sin with which his work is concerned. In his literary history of the phenomenon of boredom, Reinhard Kuhn provides the following definition of Ennui: The state of emptiness that the soul feels when it is deprived of interest in action, life, and the world (be it this world or another), a condition that is the immediate consequence of the encounter with nothingness and has an immediate effect a disaffection with reality. (Kuhn 13)

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It is this state of emptiness that plagues the characters of Baudelaires poetry. A striking example is the king of rainy lands found in one of the poems of the Spleen cycle in The Flowers of Evil: I might as well be the king of rainy lands Wealthy and young, but impotent and old, Who scorns the troupe of tutors at his feet Nothing can cheer himgame or falconry Not even the subjects dying at his door. The comic jingles of the court buffoon Do not amuse this twisted invalid. (Baudelaire, Spleen (LXXVII) 149) Baudelaires insight here is that the king, with endless lands at his disposal, is quite plainly bored. Any of his kingly endeavoursfalconry, court jesters, academic studyfail to compensate for the meaninglessness he finds despite his youth and vitality. Indeed, Baudelaire says, His regal bed is nothing but a tomb (Baudelaire, Spleen (LXXVII) 149). Our kingdom is effectively spread out before us that is, all the possibility of creative human actionand yet we feed our own remorse, and fail to act meaningfully, as Baudelaire tells us in To the Reader. This is where the state of emptiness that Kuhn describes is found. This account of Ennui in Baudelaires work is enough for a cursory understanding of the problem, but it is useful to look more closely at the historical baggage that Ennui carries if we are to fully understand Baudelaires meaning. Acedia, which is closely tied to Ennui, is a sin of the monastics that become disenchanted with their tedious, overintrospective lives. In his discussion of acedia in relation to modern Ennui, Kuhn makes two assertions. The first is that Baudelaire effectively identifies old interpretations of acedia with the modern understanding of Ennui (Kuhn 55). Due to acedias spiritual connotations and specific relevance to the monks who first experienced it, this equation allows for a decidedly spiritual understanding of Ennui. His second assertion outlines this old understanding of acedia: It is Saint Thomas Aquinas who summarizes and codifies past thinking on the subject of the sins. Acedia, he writes in the Summa Theologica does not move to action, but strongly hinders action (II, ii, 35). For this reason, and because it is the opposite of gaudio caritas, creative love in the Christian sense, he brands it as a delictum grave. (Kuhn 55) 38

Rather than a fixing of ones desires on things of a lower order, Aquinas understanding of the sin implies a failure to act at all in a spiritually genuine way. It is negligent not to mention the souls that Dante describes in the vestibule of Inferno, who are not sinful enough to enter Hell proper, but do not show the creative love necessary to attain salvation. Not only is their fate almost worse than those within the gates, but Dante is astonished at the number of souls guilty of this inaction: I wondered/how death could have undone so great a number (Dante, Inferno III. 56-7). They have no hope of truly dying, and even death would be a fate more preferable than eternal sighing. Thus, given Baudelaires equation of the concepts of acedia and Ennui, we can understand how the sin of lack of love of God, or creative love in the Christian sense is analogous to Baudelaires sin of modernityirrespective of the fact that Baudelaire would not fix a Christian God as an end. For Baudelaire, salvation in the specifically Christian sense does not seem to be a concern: in Hymn to Beauty, he inquires, What difference, then, from heaven or from hell, / O Beauty, monstrous in simplicity? / If eye, smile, step can open me the way / To find unknown sublime infinity? (Baudelaire, Hymn to Beauty 45). But we must acknowledge that when it comes to spiritual laziness, the concern runs extremely deep, and that there is a very real problem with human passivity. Indeed, Kuhn states that: It is with the inception of Christianity that, under the name of acedia, ennui began to occupy a central position in mans intellectual and spiritual concerns In the religious anguish resulting from what Thomas Aquinas was to castigate as an abhorrence of all spiritual good, the romantics were to see a primitive version of their own malady. (Kuhn 376) Whether he is pious or not, Ennui is presented as a true demon in Baudelaires poetry. I do not intend to speculate about Baudelaires possible solutions for combatting the sin of Ennui. I only intend to show that, from the conclusion of The Flowers of Evil, this project is one that we fundamentally ought to undertake, for it presents salvation in the face of a world whose sense of Providence had been wrenched from its core. The last poem of the work, The Voyage, tells of travellers who reach distant lands and return to discover that, On sea, on land we find that we are bored (Baudelaire, The Voyage 287). The modern has an unprecedented ability to engage in the most elaborate human projects, to satiate almost any desire, or to select from history any sort of virtue to which they aspire. She is rendered a wanderer between dens of iniquity, leaving a gaping hole where spiritual fulfillment might once have resided, now inhabited by the plague of Ennui. In the face of this catastrophe, 39

Baudelaire alludes to the necessity of some sort of spiritual death and rebirth: O Death, old captain, time to make our trip! This country bores us, Death! Lets get away! Even if sky and sea are black as pitch You know our hearts are full of sunny rays! Serve us your poison, sir, to treat us well! Minds burning, we know what we have to do, And plunge to the depths of Heaven or Hell, To fathom the Unknown, and find the new! (Baudelaire, The Voyage 293) The poet whose life was plagued with depression and suicidal tendencies ends his work in triumphwe are not left with any doubt that Ennui is a conquerable sin. It may necessitate an entire spiritual overhaul, but it is not, it is profoundly not, futile: The wide-eyed child in love with maps and plans Finds the world equal to his appetite. (Baudelaire, The Voyage 283) Works Cited Augustine, Confessions. Trans. Henry Chadwick. Oxford: OUP, 1991. Baudelaire, Charles. The Flowers of Evil. Trans. James McGowan. Oxford: OUP, 1993. Emmanuel, Pierre. Baudelaire: The Paradox of Redemptive Satanism. Trans. Robert T. Cargo. University: The University of Alabama Press, 1967. Kuhn, Reinhard. The Demon of Noontide: Ennui in Western Literature. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976. Musa, Mark Ed. The Portable Dante. New York: Penguin, 1995.

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Author Biographies
Kathleen Harper is a second year student in the Journalism and Contemporary Studies program at Kings. She is from a small town in Cape Breton, but calls Halifax home. Her favourite writing haunt is Steve-o-Renos, and for future reference, she takes her coffee black. Meagan Campbell grew up in Halifax and is going into her second year of Journalism. She loves talking to people, going on multi-day kayak trips and booking plane tickets. Her favorite part of FYP was the lecture on Richard Lewontin. Meg Shields is a second year EMSP and Classics student from Vancouver, BC. She has lovingly participated in the Canadian Improv Games since 08 and the Kings Theatrical Society owns the rights to her heart and soul. Her go-to essay snack is goldfish and Coke Zero, and her preferred season is fall. Clara McGaughey is from Montreal. She completed a pre-university CEGEP program in health sciences and general arts before coming to Kings. She is taking Early Modern Studies and English next year. Rach Klein hails from Toronto, Ontario and is a graduate of the Claude Watson Arts Program. After completing the Foundation Year Program in 2013, she began majoring in Anthropology at Dalhousie University. Her interests include art history, feminist theory and glitter--though not necessarily in that order. Emily Pye is studying Sociology at Dalhousie and Contemporary Studies at Kings. She is from Kingston, Nova Scotia and graduated from West Kings District High School. Her interests include Netflix and Kanye West. Matthew Green is from Toronto. Next year he is starting combined honours in Classics and HOST. He likes Murakami, Finland and cinnamon buns. J. Scott Cooper thinks that an initial in his name is tiresome, but since hes studying English and EMSP he does it anyway. He was born and raised in Toronto, and sees no real difference between any of his passions: reading, thinking, art, sports, music, and beer. Tolle, lege.

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