Surprise

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Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  The idea of suicide has never been connected with the volumes. But a moment since, as my eye fell upon them, suicide was the thought that flashed into my mind. Why? Because but yesterday I received a letter from Leipzig informing me that this philosopher's recent death by drowning was an act of self-destruction. Thoughts tend, then, to awaken their most recent as well as their most habitual associates. This is a matter of notorious experience, too notorious, in fact, to need illustration. If we have seen our friend this morning, the mention of his name now recalls the circumstances of that interview, rather than any more remote details concerning him. If Shakespeare's plays are mentioned, and we were last night reading 'Richard II.,' vestiges of that play rather than of 'Hamlet' or 'Othello' float through our mind. Excitement of peculiar tracts, or peculiar modes of general excitement in the brain, leave a sort of tenderness or exalted sensibility behind them which takes days to die away. As long as it lasts, those tracts or those modes are liable to have their activities awakened by causes which at other times might leave them in repose. Hence, recency in experience is a prime factor in determining revival in thought. [480] Vividness in an original experience may also have the same effect as habit or recency in bringing about likelihood of revival. If we have once witnessed an execution, any subsequent conversation or reading about capital punishment will almost certainly suggest images of that particular scene. Thus it is that events lived through only once, and in youth, may come in after-years, by reason of their exciting quality or emotional intensity, to serve as types or instances used by our mind to illustrate any and every occurring topic whose interest is most remotely pertinent to theirs. If a man in his boyhood once talked with Napoleon, any mention of great men or historical events, battles or thrones, or the whirligig of fortune, or islands in the ocean, will be apt to draw to his lips the incidents of that one memorable interview. If the word tooth now suddenly appears on the page before the reader's eye, there are fifty chances out of a hundred that, if he gives it time to awaken any image, it will be an image of some operation of dentistry in which he has been the sufferer. Daily he has touched his teeth and masticated with them; this very morning he brushed them, chewed his breakfast and picked them; but the rarer and remoter associations arise more promptly because they were so much more intense. [481] A fourth factor in tracing the course of reproduction is congruity in emotional tone between the reproduced idea and our mood.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  For example, I enter a friend's room and see on the wall a painting. At first I have the strange, wondering consciousness, 'surely I have seen that before,' but when or how does not become clear. There only clings to the picture a sort of penumbra of familiarity,—when suddenly I exclaim: "I have it, it is a copy of part of one of the Fra Angelicos in the Florentine Academy—I recollect it there!" But the motive to the recall does not lie in the fact that the brain-tract now excited by the painting was once before excited in a similar way; it lies simply and solely in the fact that with that brain-tract other tracts also are excited: those which sustain my friend's room with all its peculiarities, on the one hand; those which sustain the mental image of the Florence Academy, on the other hand, with the circumstances of my visit there; and finally those which make me (more dimly) think of the years I have lived through between these two times. The result of this total brain-disturbance is a thought with a peculiar object, namely, that I who now stand here with this picture before me, stood so many years ago in the Florentine Academy looking at its original. M. Taine has described the gradual way in which a mental image develops into an object of memory, in his usual vivid fashion. He says: "I meet casually in the street a person whose appearance I am acquainted with, and say to myself at once that I have seen him before. Instantly the figure recedes into the past, and wavers about there vaguely, without at once fixing itself in any spot. It persists in me for some time, and surrounds itself with new details. 'When I saw him he was bare-headed, with a working-jacket on, painting in a studio; he is so-and-so, of such-and-such a street. But when was it? It was not yesterday, nor this week, nor recently. I have it: he told me that he was waiting for the first leaves to come out to go into the country. It was before the spring. But at what exact date? I saw, the same day, people carrying branches in the streets and omnibuses: it was Palm Sunday!' Observe the travels of the internal figure, its various shiftings to front and rear along the line of the past; each of these mental sentences has been a swing of the balance. When confronted with the present sensation and with the latent swarm of indistinct images which repeat our recent life, the figure first recoiled suddenly to an indeterminate distance. Then, completed by precise details, and confronted with all the shortened images by which we sum up the proceedings of a day or a week, it again receded beyond the present day, beyond yesterday, the day before, the week, still farther, beyond the ill-defined mass constituted by our recent recollections.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  Research, vol. I. p. 366), for evidence that a certain sort of hallucination of memory which he calls 'pseudo-presentiment' is no uncommon phenomenon. [300] Maladies de la Mémoire, p. 85. The little that would be left of personal consciousness if all our senses stopped their work is ingenuously shown in the remark of the extraordinary anæsthetic youth whose case Professor Strümpell reports (in the Deutsches Archiv f. klin. Med., XXII. 347, 1878). This boy, whom we shall later find instructive in many connections, was totally anæsthetic without and (so far as could be tested) within, save for the sight of one eye and the hearing of one ear. When his eye was closed, he said: "Wenn ich nicht sehen kann, da bin ich gar nicht—I no longer am." [301] "One can compare the state of the patient to nothing so well as to that of a caterpillar, which, keeping all its caterpillar's ideas and remembrances, should suddenly become a butterfly with a butterfly's sense and sensations. Between the old and the new state, between the first self, that of the caterpillar, and second self, that of the butterfly, there is a deep scission, a complete rupture. The new feelings find no anterior series to which they can knit themselves on; the patient can neither interpret nor use them; he does not recognize them; they are unknown. Hence two conclusions, the first which consists in his saying, I no longer am; the second, somewhat later, which consists in his saying, I am another person." (H. Taine: de l'Intelligence, 3me édition (1878), p. 462. [302] W. Griesinger: Mental Diseases, § 29. [303] See the interesting case of 'old Stump' in the Proceedings of the Am. Soc. for Psych. Research, p. 552. [304] De l'Intelligence, 3me édition (1878), vol. II, note, p. 461. Krishaber's book (La Névropathie Cérébro-cardiaque, 1873) is full of similar observations. [305] Sudden alterations in outward fortune often produce such a change in the empirical me as almost to amount to a pathological disturbance of self-consciousness. When a poor man draws the big prize in a lottery, or unexpectedly inherits an estate; when a man high in fame is publicly disgraced, a millionaire becomes a pauper, or a loving husband and father sees his family perish at one fell swoop, there is temporarily such a rupture between all past habits, whether of an active or a passive kind, and the exigencies and possibilities of the new situation, that the individual may find no medium of continuity or association to carry him over from the one phase to the other of his life. Under these conditions mental derangement is no unfrequent result. [306] The number of subjects who can do this with any fertility and exuberance is relatively quite small. [307] First in the Revue Scientifique for May 26, 1876, then in his book, Hypnotisme, Double Conscience, et Altérations de la Personnalité (Paris, 1887). [308] Der Hypnotismus (1884), pp.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  These figures have really no scientific value beyond that of showing, according to Exner's own belief (VII. 531) that reaction-time and reflex-time measure processes of essentially the same order. His description, moreover, of the process is an excellent description of a reflex act. "Every one," says he, "who makes reaction-time experiments for the first time is surprised to find how little he is master of his own movements, so soon as it becomes a question of executing them with a maximum of speed. Not only does their energy lie, as it were, outside the field of choice, but even the time in which the movement occurs depends only partly upon ourselves. We jerk our arm, and we can afterwards tell with astonishing precision whether we have jerked it quicker or slower than another time, although we have no power to jerk it exactly at the wished-for moment."—Wundt himself admits that when we await a strong signal with tense preparation there is no consciousness of any duality of 'apperception' and motor response; the two are continuous (Physiol. Psych., II. 226).—Mr. Cattell's view is identical with the one I defend. "I think," he says, "that if the processes of perception and willing are present at all they are very rudimentary. . . . The subject, by a voluntary effort [before the signal comes], puts the lines of communication between the centre for "the stimulus" and the centre for the co-ordination of motions . . . in a state of unstable equilibrium. When, therefore, a nervous impulse reaches the "former centre," it causes brain-changes in two directions; an impulse moves along to the cortex and calls forth there a perception corresponding to the stimulus, while at the same time an impulse follows a line of small resistance to the centre for the co-ordination of motions, and the proper nervous impulse, already prepared and waiting for the signal, is sent from the centre to the muscle of the hand. When the reaction has often been made the entire cerebral process becomes automatic, the impulse of itself takes the well-travelled way to the motor centre and releases the motor impulse." (Mind, XI. 232-3.)—Finally, Prof. Lipps has, in his elaborate way (Grundtatsachen, 179-188), made mince-meat of the view that stage 3 involves either conscious perception or conscious will. [115] Physiol. Psych. 3d. edition (1887), vol. II p. 266. [116] Philosophische Studien, vol. IV. p. 479 (1888). [117] Loc. cit. p. 488. [118] Loc. cit. p. 487. [119] Loc. cit. p. 489. [120] Lange has an interesting hypothesis as to the brain-process concerned in the latter, for which I can only refer to his essay. [121] The reader who wishes to know more about the matter will find a most faithful compilation of all that has been done, together with much original matter, in G. Buccola's 'Legge del Tempo.' etc. See also chapter XVI of Wundt's Physiol. Psychology; Exner in Hermann's Hdbch., Bd. 2, Thl. II. pp.252-280; also Ribot's Contemp. Germ. Psych., chap.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AMBROSE. It is not allowed to women to teach in the church, but they shall ask their husbands at home. (1 Tim. 2:12, 1 Cor. 14:35.) To those then who are at home is the woman sent. But who these women were he explains, adding, It was Mary Magdalene, BEDE. (who Was also the sister of Lazarus,) and Joanna, (the wife of Chuza, Herod’s steward,) and Mary the mother of James, (that is, the mother of James the less, and Joseph.) And it is added generally of the others, and other women that were with them, which told these things to the Apostles. BEDE. (ex Amb.) For that the woman might not endure the everlasting reproach of guilt from men, she who had transfused sin into the man, now also transfuses grace. THEOPHYLACT. Now the miracle of the resurrection is naturally incredible to mankind. Hence it follows, And their words seemed to them as idle tales. BEDE. (ex Greg.) Which was not so much their weakness, as so to speak our strength. For the resurrection itself was demonstrated to those who doubted by many proofs, which while we read and acknowledge we are through their doubts confirmed in the truth. THEOPHYLACT. Peter, as soon as he heard this, delays not, but runs to the sepulchre; for fire when applied to matter knows no delay; as it follows, Then arose Peter, and ran to the sepulchre. EUSEBIUS. For he alone believed the women saying that they had seen Angels; and as he was of more ardent feelings than the rest, he anxiously put himself foremost, looking every where for the Lord; as it follows, And stooping down, he beheld the linen clothes laid by themselves. THEOPHYLACT. But now when he was at the tomb, he first of all obtained that he should marvel at those things which had before been derided by himself or the others; as it is said, And departed, wondering in himself at that which was come to pass; that is, wondering in himself at the way in which it had happened, how the linen clothes had been left behind, since the body was anointed with myrrh; or what opportunity the thief had obtained, that putting away the clothes wrapped up by themselves, he should take away the body with the soldiers standing round.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  The force of gravity and the color of this ink are things it never occurred to me to compare until now that I am casting about for examples of the incomparable. Similarly the elastic quality of this india-rubber band, the comfort of last night's sleep, the good that can be done with a legacy, these are things too discrepant to have ever been compared ere now. Their relation to each other is less that of difference than of mere logical negativity. To be found different, things must as a rule have some commensurability, some aspect in common, which suggests the possibility of their being treated in the same way. This is of course not a theoretic necessity—for any distinction may be called a 'difference,' if one likes—but a practical and linguistic remark. The same things, then, which arouse the perception of difference usually arouse that of resemblance also. And the analysis of them, so as to define wherein the difference and wherein the resemblance respectively consists, is called comparison. If we start to deal with the things as simply the same or alike, we are liable to be surprised by the difference. If we start to treat them as merely different, we are apt to discover how much they are alike. Difference, commonly so called, is thus between species of a genus. And the faculty by which we perceive the resemblance upon which the genus is based, is just as ultimate and inexplicable a mental endowment as that by which we perceive the differences upon which the species depend. There is a shock of likeness when we pass from one thing to another which in the first instance we merely discriminate numerically, but, at the moment of bringing our attention to bear, perceive to be similar to the first; just as there is a shock of difference when we pass between two dissimilars. [439] The objective extent of the likeness, just like that of the difference, determines the magnitude of the shock. The likeness may be so evanescent, or the basis of it so habitual and little liable to be attended to, that it will escape observation altogether. Where, however, we find it, there we make a genus of the things compared; and their discrepancies and incommensurabilities in other respects can then figure as the differentiœ of so many species. As 'thinkables' or 'existents' even the smoke of a cigarette and the worth of a dollar-bill are comparable—still more so as 'perishables,' or as 'enjoyables.' Much, then, of what I have said of difference in the course of this chapter will apply, with a simple change of language, to resemblance as well.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  It stood up on its hind feet and grinned and gnashed its teeth at me. I could not make the horse go on. I told him he was a fool to be frightened at a hog, and tried to whip him past, but he would not go an wanted to turn back. I told the hog to get out of the way, but he did not mind me. "Well," said I, "if you won't for words, I'll try blows;" so I got off and took a stick, and walked up toward it. When I got pretty close by, it got down on all fours and walked away slowly and sullenly, stopping every few steps and looking back and grinning and growling. Then I got on my horse and rode on.'. . . "Thus it continued for five weeks, when one morning, after a protracted sleep, she awoke and was herself again. She recognized the parental, the brotherly, and sisterly ties as though nothing had happened, and immediately went about the performance of duties incumbent upon her, and which she had planned five weeks previously. Great was her surprise at the change which one night (as she supposed) had produced. Nature bore a different aspect. Not a trace was left in her mind of the giddy scenes through which she had passed. Her ramblings through the forest, her tricks and humor, all were faded from her memory, and not a shadow left behind. Her parents saw their child; her brothers and sisters saw their sister. She now had all the knowledge that she had possessed in her first state previous to the change, still fresh and in as vigorous exercise as though no change had been. But any new acquisitions she had made, and any new ideas she had obtained, were lost to her now—yet not lost, but laid up out of sight in safe-keeping for future use. Of course her natural disposition returned; her melancholy was deepened by the information of what had occurred. All went on in the old-fashioned way, and it was fondly hoped that the mysterious occurrences of those five weeks would never be repeated, but these anticipations were not to be realized. After the lapse of a few weeks she fell into a profound sleep, and awoke in her second state, taking up her new life again precisely where she had left it when she before passed from that state. She was not now a daughter or a sister. All the knowledge she possessed was that acquired during the few weeks of her former period of second consciousness. She knew nothing of the intervening time. Two periods widely separated were brought into contact. She thought it was but one night.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  have need of the Hfe of a gentleman, you may count on mine, which I would sacrifice for you right gladly. I beseech you to believe, likewise, madam, that whatever I shall do that is honourable and virtuous shall be done for love of you. If, for sake of ladies inferior to you, I have done things which have been thought well of, what shall I not do for a mistress like you ? Things which I found difficult or impossible will seem easy to me. But if you will not permit me to be wholly devoted to you, my resolution is to forsake the career of arms, and re- nounce the virtue which shall not have helped me at need. I entreat you, then, madam, to grant me the just grace which I ask, and you cannot refuse in conscience and with honour." Florida changed colour at a speech so novel to her. Surprise made her cast down her eyes ; nevertheless, her good sense prompted her to reply, " Does it need so long an harangue, Amadour, to ask of me what you have already ? I fear so much that, under your seemingly courteous and modest language, there is some lurking mischief to deceive my unpractised youth, that I know not how to reply to you. Were I to reject the virtuous friendship you offer me, I should do contrary to what I have done hitherto ; for you are the person in whom I have reposed most confidence. My conscience and my honour do not revolt either against your request or against the love I bear to the son of the Fortunate In- fante, since it rests on marriage, to which you do not aspire. There is nothing, then, to hinder me from re- plying in accordance with your desires, except a fear I have in my heart, proceeding from the little occasion yoH have for speaking to me as you do ; for if you already have what you ask, how comes it that you ask for it again with so much eagerness ? " 8o THE HEPTAMERON OF THE \Navel la

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  After everyone else had visited him in the evening Florida came, at the request of her husband himself, to see him, her mind made up to console him by a declara- tion of her affection, and to tell him, without disguise or reserve, that she was resolved to love him as much as honour could allow her. Seated beside the head of his bed, she began her consolations by weeping with him ; seeing which, Amadour fancied that in this great agitation of her mind he could the more easily accomplish his purpose, and he sat up in his bed. Florida, thinking he was too weak to do this, offered to prevent him. " Must I lose you forever.-'" he exclaimed, on his knees; and saying this he let himself fall into her arms like a man whose strength suddenly failed him. Poor Florida em- braced and supported him a long while, doing her best to comfort him ; but the remedy she applied to assuage his pain increased it greatly. Still counterfeiting the ap- pearance of one half dead, and saying not a word, he set himself in quest of what the honour of ladies prohibits. Florida, seeing his bad intention, but unable to believe it after the laudable language he had always addressed to her, asked him what he meant. Amadour, fearing to provoke a reply which he knew could not be other than chaste and virtuous, went straight to his mark without paymg a word. Florida's surprise was extreme, and go THE HEPTAMERON OF THE {Nozel iQ choosing rather to believe that his brain was turned than that he had a dehbcrate design upon her virtue, she called aloud to a gentleman who she knew was in the room ; whereupon Amadour, in an agony of despair, threw himself back on his bed so suddenly that the gen- tleman thought he was dead. Florida, who had risen from her chair, sent the gentleman to fetch some vinegar, and then said to Amadour, "Are you mad, Amadour? What is this you have thought of doing ? " " Do such long services as mine merit such cruelty ? " replied Amadour, who had lost all reason in the violence of his love. " And where is that honour you have so often preached to me .-* " she retorted.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  As we left the crowded, shop-brightened streets behind us and crossed into the exclusive quiet of Holland Park I yawned and looked out with pleasure at the deserted pavements, glistening where a street-lamp stood, the overhanging budding branches of trees in front gardens, the unthinking stability which wealth lent the small mansions behind them, where occasional windows, with curtains it was felt unnecessary to draw, revealed books reaching to coved ceilings, figures holding glasses moving about, discreet lighting picking out pictures in dull gold frames. I paid off the cabby at the gate, and jogged across the short gravel sweep to the door at the side of the dark house which gave access to the stairs to my apartment. A small lamp glowed above it, and the wet dripped down from the bare twigs of the creeper which surrounded the recessed porchway. My heart leapt when I saw there was a figure slumped in the shadow on the ground, sheltering from the rain. It was with an unsteady lurch into jocularity that I said, ‘Arfer, what the fuck are you doing there?’ ‘Man, I thought you was never coming,’ he said in a tense voice, and sniffed heavily. ‘I been sitting here fucking ages waiting for you.’ ‘But I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.’ He didn’t reply but stood up and moved towards me. I felt his heavy breath on my face, and annoyance that he was there. I suppose it was because he had frightened me. He gripped my upper arms with his long, strong hands, and pressed himself against me. The rain fell on us, but as I lifted my hands to embrace him, I realised that he was already soaked through, his body warming the damp clothes just as they were chilling him. ‘Baby, you’re really wet,’ I said in a practical tone. ‘You should have said you were coming.’ I freed myself and felt for my keys. ‘Come in and take everything off,’ I exclaimed, adjusting to the idea that he had returned, and not unmoved that he couldn’t keep away. I stepped past him and unlocked the door, flicking on the light, and passing into the hallway at the foot of the back-stairs. He hesitated, then followed me in, his feet squelching in his sodden trainers, and pushed the door to.

• From The Triumph of Christianity (2018)

  < 15 0 < Lecture 22  Imperial Christianity after Constantine `He took his completely inexperienced and naïve 24-year-old cousin Julian out of his isolation and appointed him to direct the military efforts in Gaul. (Julian’s entire knowledge of military affairs came from reading books.) yJulian turned out, to everyone’s surprise, to be a competent and skilled military commander. He had studied the commentaries of Julius Caesar on his military campaigns and transferred his book learning to the field. yWithin a few years, everyone realized Julian was someone to look out for. Constantius detected a potential threat. yIn 360 CE, Constantius decided to downsize Julian’s army and ordered him to transfer a large number of troops to his post in the east. Julian’s armies rebelled against the order and backed Julian as ruler. yThis was bound to lead to a civil war, but as it turns out, Constantius unexpectedly died en route to meeting his cousin in battle. By default, Julian became the sole ruler of the empire. `The effect on the Christian church was enormous. Upon ascending to the throne, Julian almost immediately announced that he had secretly converted to paganism years earlier and committed himself to securing the assistance of the pagan gods for the good of the empire. `Whatever the reason for his conversion to pagan tradition, Julian’s decision to promote it meant suppressing Christianity. Julian was a student of history, and he knew better than to implement legislation outlawing Christianity or enacting a violent persecution. That had never worked. `Julian’s approach was far more subtle. He declared universal tolerance and reopened pagan temples and restored pagan rites. But then he passed laws that were insidious in their effects. yHis cousin Constantius II, the devout Arian Christian, had ordered all Christian leaders who opposed Arian views to be sent into exile, away from their congregations and the civic power they had enjoyed. Julian restored them to their homes.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  He tho'Ught it right, however, to have a conference with the lady under whose protection his fair one re- sided, and who had never heard a word of the whole af- fair, for he had never spoken with the young lady in her presence. Going to a church where he knew that she was, he acquainted her with the husband's jealousy, and the design he had formed against his life, and told her that although he was innocent, he was resolved to go and travel in foreign countries, in order to extinguish the false report that was beginning to gather strength. The princess was greatly astonished at hearing such news, and vowed that the husband did very wrong to suspect so virtuous a woman as his wife, and one in whom she had never seen anything but virtue and pro- priety. However, considering the husband's influence, and in order to put an end to this scandalous report, she advised him to withdraw for some time, assuring him she would never believe any such idle fancies and suspi- cions. Furthermore, she advised him to speak to the husband before his departure. He took her advice, and meeting the husband in a .^4 THE HEPTAMERON OE THE \Nm)el \t^ gallery near the king's chamber, he said to him with an assured countenance, and with the respect due to a man of his rank, " I have all my life desired, monsieur, to render you service, and I learn that in return you laid wait, yesterday evening, for my life. I beg you to con- sider, monsieur, that although you have more power and authority than I, nevertheless I am a gentleman as well as you, and I should be very loth to part with my life for nothing. I entreat you also to consider that you have a virtuous wife, and if any one chooses to say the contrary, I will tell him that he foully lies. For my part, I am not conscious of having done anything that should give you cause for wishing me ill ; therefore, if it so please you, I will remain your obedient servant ; or if not, I am the king's, and that is enough for me." The husband replied, that true it was he had sus- pected him ; but he thought him so gallant a man that he would rather be his friend than his enemy ; and, tak- ing leave of him, hat in hand, he embraced him as a friend. You may imagine what was said by those who had been commissioned on the preceding evening to kill the gentleman, when they witnessed these demonstra- tions of esteem and friendship. The lover then set out on his travels ; but as he had less money than good looks, his mistress gave him a ring her husband had given her, worth three thousand crowns, which he pawned for fifteen hundred.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AMBROSE. The holy Evangelist has especially remarked, that many thought the child should be called after his father Zacharias, in order that we might understand, not that any name of his kinsfolk was displeasing to his mother, but that the same word had been communicated to her by the Holy Spirit, which had been foretold by the Angel to Zacharias. And in truth, being dumb, Zacharias was unable to mention his son’s name to his wife, but Elisabeth obtained by prophecy what she had not learnt from her husband. Hence it follows, And she answered, &c. Marvel not that the woman pronounced the name which she had never heard, seeing the Holy Spirit who imparted it to the Angel revealed it to her; nor could she be ignorant of the forerunner of the Lord, who had prophesied of Christ. And it well follows, And they said unto her, &c. that you might consider that the name belongs not to the family, but to the Prophet. Zacharias also is questioned, and signs made to him, as it follows, And they made signs to the father, &c. But since unbelief had so bereft him of utterance and hearing, that he could not use his voice, he spoke by his hand-writing, as it follows, And he asked for a writing table, and wrote, saying, His name is John; that is, we give no name to him who has received his name from God. ORIGEN. (non occ.) Zacharias is by interpretation “remembering God,” but John signifies “pointing to.” Now “memory” relates to something absent, “pointing to,” to something present. But John was not about to set forth the memory of God as absent, but with his finger to point him out as present, saying, Behold the Lamb of God. CHRYSOSTOM. But the name John is also interpreted the grace of God. Because then by the favour of Divine grace, not by nature, Elisabeth conceived this son, they engraved the memory of the benefit on the name of the child. THEOPHYLACT. And because with the mother the dumb father also agreed as to the name of the child, it follows, And they all marvelled. For there was no one of this name among their kinsfolk that any one could say that they had both previously determined upon it. GREGORY NAZIANZEN. (Orat. vi.) The birth of John then broke the silence of Zacharias, as it follows, And his mouth was opened. For it were unreasonable when the voice of the Word had come forth, that his father should remain speechless.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AUGUSTINE. (Tr. xv. c. 25) O for a mountain to pray on, thou criest, high and inaccessible, that I may be nearer to God, and God may hear me better, for He dwelleth on high. Yes, God dwelleth on high, but He hath respect unto the humble. Wherefore descend that thou mayest ascend. “Ways on high are in their heart,” (Ps. 74:7.) it is said, “passing in the valley of tears,” and in “tears” is humility. Wouldest thou pray in the temple? pray in thyself; but first do thou become the temple of God. 4:25–2625. The woman saith unto him, I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ: when he is come, he will tell us all things. 26. Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am he. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xxxii. 2) The woman was struck with astonishment at the loftiness of His teaching, as her words shew: The woman saith unto Him, I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ. AUGUSTINE. (Tr. xv. c. 27) Unctus in Latin, Christ in Greek, in the Hebrew Messias. She knew then who could teach her, but did not know Who was teaching her. When He is come, He will tell us all things: as if she said, The Jews now contend for the temple, we for the mountain; but He, when He comes, will level the mountain, overthrow the temple, and teach us how to pray in spirit and in truth. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xxxii. 2) But what reason had the Samaritans for expecting Christ’s coming? They acknowledged the books of Moses, which foretold it. Jacob prophesies of Christ, The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from beneath his feet, until Shiloh come. (Gen. 49:10) And Moses says, The Lord thy God shall raise up a Prophet from the midst of thee, of thy brethren. (Deut. 18:15) ORIGEN. (tom. xiii. c. 27) It should be known, that as Christ rose out of the Jews, not only declaring but proving Himself to be Christ; so among the Samaritans there arose one Dositheus by name, who asserted that he was the Christ prophesied of. AUGUSTINE. (lib. lxxxiii. Quæst. qu. 64) It is a confirmation to discerning minds that the five senses were what were signified by the five husbands, to find the woman making five carnal answers, and then mentioning the name of Christ. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xxxiii. 2) Christ now reveals Himself to the woman: Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am He. Had He told the woman this to begin with, it would have appeared vanity. Now, having gradually awakened her to the thought of Christ, His disclosure of Himself is perfectly opportune. He is not equally open to the Jews, who ask Him, If Thou be the Christ, tell us plainly; (John 10:24) for this reason, that they did not ask in order to learn, but to do Him injury; whereas she spoke in the simplicity of her heart.

• From The Triumph of Christianity (2018)

  < 1 < Scope The Triumph of The Triumph of ChristianityChristianity T his course describes and evaluates the Christianization of the Roman Empire, which, in hindsight, can be seen as the single most significant cultural revolution in the history of the West. The conversion of the empire involved not only a massive shift in religious rituals, practices, myths, and beliefs but also a cultural transformation that affected life on every level—social, cultural, political, and economic. The Christian church, just centuries after it started, became the dominant force in the Roman world and then throughout the West through late antiquity, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the Reformation, early modernity, and today. This course asks how it happened. Almost nothing could have been less likely. The Christian faith began with a small group of some 20 followers of the recently crucified Jesus of Nazareth, a lower-class Jewish preacher from a remote rural area of the empire who had offended the local authorities and was executed for crimes against the state. These followers were themselves Aramaic-speaking, illiterate day laborers. When they became convinced their teacher had been raised from the dead, they worked to convince others to follow Jesus, who then convinced others. In less than 400 years, Christianity had become the official religion of the entire Roman world.

• From The Triumph of Christianity (2018)

  < 123 < Lecture 18  Major Imperial Persecutions of Christians `As with the first decree, the other three were not rigorously enforced everywhere. They had very little effect in the western part of the empire, and they saw only spotty enforcement in the east. But in places of enforcement, there were multiple arrests, trials, and executions. `Even though Diocletian himself abdicated for reasons of health in 305 CE, the persecution lived on. His successor in the East, Galerius, was even more virulently anti-Christian and worked very hard to wipe out the church. `Of course, he didn’t succeed. And in one of the great reversals in history, it was during the course of this Great Persecution that one of the emperors, Constantine, converted to Christianity. `This marks one of the greatest turning points in Christian history. After Constantine, all Roman emperors but one were Christian. That one ruled only for a year and a half. Christianity was to take over the Roman world. Reading Ehrman, The Triumph of Christianity. Green, Christianity in Ancient Rome. Moss, The Myth of Persecution. Rives, “The Decree of Decius and the Religion of Empire.” Questions ̧Explain why official Roman persecution stepped up against the Christians in the middle of the 3rd century. Why then? And what exactly did the succession of emperors then do to try to stop the Christian movement? < 124 < TABLE OF CONTENTS Lecture 19 The Conversion The Conversion of Constantineof Constantine T he events that transpired on October 28, 312, altered the course of Western civilization for all time. That was the day the Roman emperor Constantine defeated the imperial usurper Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge. Constantine then entered Rome as its ruler and as the emperor of the entire western half of the empire. The Battle `Earlier, at the start of the tetrarchy, there had been two senior emperors, Domitian in the east and Maximian in the west. They had two junior emperor colleagues: Galerius and Constantius, the father of Constantine. `In 305 CE, Domitian decided to abdicate. He thought it would be a good idea to have his senior colleague in the west, Maximian, do so at the same time to let the juniors take over. `Galerius became the senior emperor in the east, and Constantius became senior the west. Each of them then had a junior emperor appointed under him.

• From The Triumph of Christianity (2018)

  < 49 < Lecture 7  The Earliest Christian Missions ` Jesus indicates to them that first they have to spread the gospel throughout the world, starting in Jerusalem, then heading out elsewhere into Judea, then up into the region of Samaria, and finally to “the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8) ` He tells them they will be empowered to do so by the Holy Spirit, which will come upon them from God in heaven above. Jesus then ascends to heaven. ` The disciples immediately elect a new member of the group to replace Judas Iscariot, who had betrayed Jesus and died soon thereafter. With this opening narrative the stage is set for the rest of the book, as the apostles begin converting others to their faith in the death and resurrection of the messiah Jesus. The Geographical Spread ` Acts wants to stress two major components in this spread of the new faith throughout the Roman world. These components are deeply intertwined with one another in the narrative. The first is the geographical spread of the faith. ` Right off the bat, the disciples follow Jesus’s instructions to preach the gospel and convert Jews in Jerusalem. Their missionary activities begin in chapter 2 on the day of Pentecost. This is a major Jewish festival celebrated 50 days after Passover, so it is a bit less than two months after Jesus’s death. ` As was true with Passover, at Pentecost, numerous pilgrims flocked into Jerusalem for the celebration. On this occasion, the disciples are gathered together in prayer and, as Jesus predicted, the Holy Spirit comes upon them with great supernatural signs. ` Among other things, the disciples are empowered to speak in foreign languages, preaching the gospel to pilgrims who were gathered around them, having come from around the world. They do this in the pilgrims’ own foreign languages, to the amazement of all.

• From Science and Religion (2006)

  25 Galileo was summoned to Rome and questioned. The Inquisitors produced a document from 1616, in which Galileo agreed not to discuss Copernicanism. Galileo was surprised by the document, which did not bear his signature. He presented Bellarmino’s certi¿ cate, which in turn, surprised the Inquisitors. The legal case was very speci ¿ c—it was not about heliocentrism—rather, it was about whether Galileo had violated the terms of his 1616 agreement with Bellarmino. Galileo argued that he didn’t really believe heliocentrism was true but was just playing around to make a weak argument look strong. A lenient “plea bargain” was reached. But Pope Urban VIII dismissed the bargain and ordered a formal trial; Galileo was convicted in June 1633 of “vehement suspicion of heresy,” and he abjured the Earth’s motion. Francesco Barberini, the pope’s nephew, did not sign the conviction—nor did two other cardinals—a possible signal that it was, in part, the result of a “show trial.” Signi¿ cant philosophical issues were involved throughout the case. A key issue is the split between realist and instrumentalist views of science. Realism holds that scienti ¿ c theories are true depictions of the world. Instrumentalism holds that scienti ¿ c theories are simply tools for providing plausible explanations and for “saving the phenomena.” Superimposed on the Galileo affair was a contemporaneous shift in astronomy from instrumentalism to realism. Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo (and most modern scientists) are realists; Bellarmino, Urban VIII, the Collegio Romano, and probably most practicing astronomers of the day were instrumentalists. Copernicus’s book likewise shows this tension in the unsigned preface added to it (without Copernicus’s knowledge) by the Lutheran minister Andreas Osiander. The realist position—although characteristic of modern science—is ultimately a choice and a faith statement (one that facilitates modern research). In 1979, Pope John Paul II convened a commission to reinvestigate Galileo’s case. Besides an admission of “errors committed,” the report contained a reaf¿ rmation of Augustinian principles of exegesis (as upheld by Galileo) and the ultimate compatibility of faith and reason. Ŷ 26 Lecture 6: Galileo’s Trial Finocchiaro, The Galileo Affair , pp. 200–202 (correction to Copernicus), 204–226, 227–293. Finocchiaro, The Galileo Affair, pp. 154–197. Lindberg and Numbers, God and Nature, chap. 3, pp. 76–113. 1. If you were Galileo, how might you have handled things differently? What if you were Bellarmino or Urban VIII? 2. The philosophical and intellectual differences between Galileo and Urban VIII center on human abilities to acquire sure knowledge of causation (remember Lecture 4?). Can you suggest any rational method for resolving the difference between them? Any pragmatic method? Essential Reading Supplementary Reading Questions to Consider

• From Talk Dirty to Me: An Intimate Philosophy of Sex (1994)

  Sade was “the very type of aristocrat who provoked the vengeance of the revolutionaries,” in the words of Angela Carter, neatly turning upside down the belief that Sade himself was the revolutionary. In The Sadeian Woman, Angela Carter revises Sade in the contexts of history and feminist thought, portraying him as a crazy and crazed man who was able “to render every aspect of sexuality suspect.” (Carter points out that this is clearly a feminist achievement, however accidental.) She sees Sade as a Puritan as well, perhaps the purest kind, the kind who hates rather than fears sex; Sade wrote against sex as much as he wrote against the state. He championed female equality and power even as he dissected male sadism, was drawn to sodomy when it was punishable by death, and while imprisoned saw his own world of privilege overthrown. I can’t say I enjoyed reading Sade’s work, but I can say it surprised me; the extremities of behavior he describes are so far beyond belief, so far into the bounds of the physically impossible that their metaphorical intent becomes clear. If Sade were a woman writing now, if Andrea Dworkin wrote Justine, the work might seem to be a great allegory of feminism and the vanishing point of misogynism. “His was a peculiarly modern fate, to be imprisoned without trial for crimes that existed primarily in the mind,” writes Carter. Shortly after the decision in the Supreme Court which defined obscenity by means of the application of community standards and prurient interests, a case involving books on sadomasochism was argued. The definition of obscenity as written by the court relies on the prurient response of the “average person” to the work in question. The defendant argued that since hard-core sadomasochism does not and never has been erotic to the average person, it can’t be obscene. Out of curiosity I rented a German film called Discipline in Leather, a sex film without sex, without even nudity. Two men are variously bound, chained, gagged, spanked, and ridden like horses by a Nordic woman. “Nein!” she shouts. “Nicht so schnell!” The men lick her boots, accept the bridle in cringing obeisance. I found this Nazi farce laughably solemn. But it’s bread and butter to a lot of people who would find my own taste in movies boring or even dangerous. Every time I catch myself in that state of mind, that state of “I don’t get it,” “I don’t understand,” I have to grab hold and remember how it feels to be censored in my turn, to have anyone turn to me and say, “You can’t do that, because I don’t understand.”

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  My father sat on the other side and fed her like a child, spooning food from a dish; he murmured words of encouragement or recrimination when she rejected the food, sealing her lips against it or spitting it back into the bowl. I hadn’t thought of her for years, the woman whose image returned to me so clearly, though my father spoke of her sometimes after she died, as he never spoke of his grandfather, who had died before I was born. Or never spoke of him to me, I should say, since my sister did know about him, and that night she told us what she knew. He was a hard man, my sister said, he tried to rein in his daughter, to discipline her and (perhaps he thought) to save her, and his violence, provoked and unprovoked, governed my father’s life. But then they were a constant provocation, his daughter and her multiplying sons, her string of men and the children they left; it must have made them the talk of the county, that bilious joyful talk of small places with little news. He terrorized them, my sister said, his daughter and her children, he threatened them, he beat them, he promised worse than beatings. Our father’s father was older than our grandmother, in his twenties when they met, and she had fallen in love with him; if she took up with other men as a way of defying her father, the first man wasn’t just that, G. said, she loved him, and the man loved her too. She was too young to be going with men, she knew her father would be angry, but she was in love, she slept with him, and then she was pregnant with my father. He killed him, my sister said then, before our father was born he killed him, and though to that point we had been silent my other sister and I both started at this, expressing our shock and disbelief. The story G. told us then was disjointed, handed down incomplete: it was winter when his grandfather understood what had happened, my sister said, there was a storm and he went out into the storm to find the man who had ruined his daughter, as he must have thought of it; and he killed the man—But how, I asked, interrupting her, and my sister couldn’t say, she only knew that he was found the next day frozen in his car. But that’s crazy, I blurted out, even in that place how could such things happen, or happen without consequences? And anyway our father loved to tell stories, I went on, he was always claiming outlandish things were true; surely this was one of his Southern Gothics, I said.