Genesis

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PREFACE IN THE winter and spring of 1031,1 was invited to give a series of ten lectures at Harvard University. The subject chosen was the Philosophy of Art; the lectures are the origin of the present volume. The Lectureship was founded in memory of William James and I esteem it a great honor to have this book associated even indirectly with his distinguished name. It is a pleasure, also, te recall, in connection with the lectures, the unvarying kindness and hospitality of my colleagues in the department of philosophy at Harvard.

I am somewhat embarrassed in an effort to acknowledge indebtedness to other writers on the subject. Some aspects of it may be inferred from authors mentioned or quoted in the text.

I have read on the subject for many years, however, more or less widely in English literature, somewhat less in French and still less in German, and I have absorbed much from sources which I cannot now directly recall.

Moreover, my obligations to a number of writers are much greater than might be gathered from allusions to them in the volume itself. My indebtedness to those who have helped me directly can be more easily stated. Dr. Joseph Ratner gave me a number of valuable references. Dr. Meyer Schapiro was good enough to read the twelfth and thirteenth chapters and to make suggestions which I have freely adopted.

Irwin Edman read a large part of the book in manuscript and I owe much

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to his suggestions and criticism. Sidney Hook read many of the chapters, and their present form is largely the result of discussions with him; this statement is especially true of the chapters on criticism and the last chapter. My greatest indebtedness is to Dr. A. C. Barnes. The chapters have been gone over one by one with him, and yet what I owe to his comments and sugvgestions on this account is but a small measure of my debt. I have had the benefit of con versations with him through a period of years, many of which occurred in the pzesence of the unrivaled collection of pictures he has assembled. The influence of these conversations, together with that of his books, has been a chief factor in shaping m y own thinking about the philosophy of esthetics. Whatever is sound in this volume is due more than I can say to the great educational work carried on in the Barnes Foundation. That work is of a pioneer quality comparable to the best that has been done in any field during the present generation, that of science not ex cepted. I should be glad to think of this volume as one phase of the widespread influence the Foundation is exercising. I am indebted to the Barnes Foundation for permission to reproduce a number of illustrations and to Barbara and Willard Morgan for the photographs from which the reproductions were made.

J. D. CONTENTS PREF ACE vii I. THE LIVE CREATURE 3 n. THELIVEC

REATUREAND”ETHERIALTHIN GS” 20 III. IV. V. VI. Vn. VIII. IX. X. XI. HAVING AN EXPERIENCE 35 THE ACT OF EXPRESSION 5* THE EXPRESSIVE OBJECT 82 SUBSTANCE AND FORM xo6 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF FORM 134 THE ORGANIZATION OF ENERGIES 1 6 2 THE COMMON SUBSTANCE OF THE ARTS 187 THE VARIED SUBSTANCE OF THE ARTS 214 THE HUMAN CONTRIBUTIONzB Y ONE of the ironic perversities that often attend the course of affairs,the existenceof the works of art upon which forma tion of an esthetic theory depends has become an obstruction to theory about them. For one reason, these works are products that exist externally and physically. In common conception, the work of art is often identified with the building, book, painting, or statue in its existence apart from human experience.

Since the actual work of art is what the product does with and in experience, the resultis not favorable to understanding. In addition, the very perfection of some of these products, the prestige they possess because of a long history of unquestioned admiration, creates conventions that get in the way of fresh insight. When an art product once attains classic

status, it somehow becomes isolated from the humanconditions under which it wasbroughtinto being and from the human consequences it engenders in actual life- experience.

When artistic objects are separated from both conditions of origin and operation in experience, a wall is built around them that renders almost opaque their general significance, with which esthetic theory deals. Art is remitted to a separate realm, where it is cut off from that association with the materials and aims of every other form of human effort, undergoing, and achievement. A primary task is thus imposed upon one who undertakes to write upon the philosophy of the fine arts. This task is to restore con tinuity between the refined and intensified forms of experience that are works of art and the everyday events, doings, and suffer ings that are universally recognized to constitute experience. Mountain peaks do not float unsupported; they do not even just rest upon the earth. They are the earth in one of its manifest oper ations. It is the business of those who are concerned with the theory of the earth, geographers and geologists, to make this fact 4 ART AS EXPERIENCE evident in its various implications., The theorist who would deal philosophically with fine art has a like task to accomplish.

If one is willing to grant this position, even if only by way of temporary experiment, he will see that there follows a conclu sion at first sight surprising. In order to understand the meaning of artistic products, we have to forget them for a time, to turn aside from them and have recourse to the ordinary forces and conditions of experience that we do not usually regard as esthetic.

We must arrive at the theory of art by means of a detour. For theory is concerned with understanding, insight, not without ex clamations of admiration, and stimulation of that emotional out burstoftencalledappreciation.Itisquitepossibletoenjoy flowers in their colored form and delicate fragrance without knowing any thing about plants theoretically.

But if one sets out to understand the flowering of plants, he is committed to finding out something about the interactions of soil, air, water and sunlight that con dition the growth of plants.

By common consent, the Parthenon is a great work of art. Yet it has esthetic standing only as the work becomes an experience for a human being. And, if one is to go beyond per sonal enjoyment into the formation of a theory about that large republic of art of which the building is one member, one has to be willing at some point in his reflections to turn from it to the bustling, ar-

guing, acutely sensitive Athenian citizens, with civic sense identified with a civic religion, of whose experience the temple was an expression, and who built it not as a work of art but as a civic commemoration. The turning to them is as human beings who had needs that were a demand for the building and that were carried to fulfillment in it; it is not an examination such as might be carried on by a sociologist in search for material relevant to his purpose. The one who sets out to theorize about the esthetic experience embodied in the Parthenon must realize in thought what the people into whose lives it entered had in common, as creators and as those who were satisfied with it, with people in our own homes and on our own streets.

In order to understand the esthetic in its ultimate and approved forms, one must begin with it in the raw; in the events and scenes that hold the attentive eye and ear of man, arous ing his interest and affording him enjoyment as he looks and THE LIVE CREATURE 5 listens: the sights that hold the crowd—the fire-engine rushing by; the machines excavating enormous holes in the earth; the human-fly climbing the steeple-side; the men perched high in air on girders, throwing and catching red-hot bolts.

The sources of art in human experience will be learned by him who sees

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how the tense grace of the ball-player infects the onlooking crowd; who notes the delight of the housewife in tending her plants, and the intent interest of her goodman in tending the patch of green in front of the house; the zest of the spectatorin poking the wood burning on the hearth and in watching the darting flames and crumbling coals. These people, if questioned as to the reason for their actions, would doubtless return reasonable answers. The man who poked the sticks of burning wood would say he did it to make the fire burn better; but he is none the less fascinated by the colorfuldramaof changeenactedbeforehiseyesandimagina tively partakes in it. He does not remain a cold spectator. What Coleridge said of the reader of poetry is true in its way of all who are happily absorbed in their activities of mind and body: “The reader should be carried forward, not merely or chiefly by the mechanical impulse of curiosity, not by a restless desire to arrive at the final solution, but by the pleasurable activity of the journey itself.”

The intelligent mechanic engaged in his job, interested in doing well and finding satisfaction in his handiwork, caring for his materials and tools with genuine affection, is artistically en gaged. The differencebetween such a worker and the inept and carelessbungler is as great in the shop as it is in the studio. Often times the product may not appeal to the esthetic sense of those who use the product. The fault, however, is oftentimes not so much with the worker as with the conditions of the market for which his product is designed. Were conditions and opportunities different, things as significant to the eye as those produced by earlier craftsmen would be made.

So extensive and subtly pervasive are the ideas that set Art upon a remote pedestal, that many a person would be repelled rather than pleased if told that he enjoyed his casual recreations, in part at least, because of their esthetic quality. The arts which today have most vitality for the average person are things he does not take to be arts: for instance, the movie, jazzed music, * ART AS EXPERIENCE the comic strip, and, too frequently, newspaper accounts of love- nests, murders, and exploits of bandits. For, when what he knows as art is relegated to the museum and gallery, the unconquerable impulse towards experiences enjoyable in themselves finds such outlet as the daily environment provides. Many a person who protests against the museum conception of art, still shares the fallacy from which that conception springs.

For the popular notion comes from a separation of art from the objects and scenes of ordinary experience that many theorists and critics pride themselves upon holding and even elaborating. The times when select and distinguished objects are closely connected with the products of usual vocations are the times when appreciation of the former is most rife and most keen. When, because of their remoteness, the objects acknowledged by the cultivated to be works of fine art seem anemic to the mass of people, esthetic hunger is likely to seek the cheap and the vulgar.

The factors that have glorified fine art by setting it upon a far-off pedestal did not arise within the realm of art nor is their influence confined to the arts. For many persons an aura of mingled awe and unreality encompasses the “spiritual” and the “ideal” while “matter” has become by contrast a term of depreciation, something to be explained away or apologized for.

The forces at work are those that have removed religion as well as fine art from the scope of the common or community life. The forces have historically produced so many of the dislocations and divisions of modern life and thought that art could not escape their influence. W e do not have to travel to the ends of the earth nor return many millennia in time to find peoples for whom every thing that intensifies the sense of immediate living is an object of intense admiration. Bodily scarification, waving feathers, gaudy robes, shining ornaments of gold and silver, of emerald and jade, formed the contents of esthetic arts, and, presumably, without the vulgarity of class exhibitionism that attends their analogues today.

Domestic utensils, furnishings of tent and house, rugs, mats, jars, pots, bows, spears, were wrought with such delighted care that today we hunt them out and give them places of honor in our art museums. Yet in their own time and place, such things were enhancements of the processes of everyday life. Instead of being elevated to a niche apart, they belongedto display of prowess, the THE LIVE CREATURE 7 manifestation of group and clan membership, worship of gods, feasting and fasting, fighting, hunting, and all the rhythmic crises that punctuate the stream of living.

Dancing and pantomime, the sources of the art of the theater, flourished as part of religious rites and celebrations. Musical art abounded in the fin-

Honey I´m home

gering of the stretched string, the beating of the taut skin, the blowing with reeds. Even in the caves, human habitations were adorned with colored pictures that kept alive to the senses experiences with the animals that were so closely bound with the lives of humans. Structures that housed their gods and the instrumentalities that facilitated commerce with the higher powers were wrought with especial fineness. But the arts of the drama, music, painting, and architecture thus exemplified had no peculiar connection with theaters, galleries, museums. They were part of the significant life of an organized community.

The collective life that was manifested in war, worship, the forum, knew no division between what was characteristic of these places and operations, and the arts that brought color, grace, and dignity, into them. Painting and sculpture were organi cally one with architecture, as that was one with the social purpose that buildings served. Music and song were intimate parts of the rites and ceremonies in which the meaning of group life was consummated. Drama was a vital reenactment of the legends and history of group life. Not even in Athens can such arts be torn loose from this setting in direct experience and yet retain their significant character. Athletic sports, as well as drama, celebrated and enforced traditions of race and group, instructing the people, commemorating glories, and strengthening their civic pride.

Under such conditions, it is not surprising that the Athenian Greeks, when they came to reflect upon art, formed the idea that it is an act of reproduction, or imitation. There are many objections to this conception.

But the vogue of the theory is testimony to the close connection of the fine arts with daily life; the idea would not have occurred to any one had art been remote from the interests of life. For the doctrine did not signify that art was a literal copying of objects, but that it reflected the emotions and ideas that are associated with the chief institutions of social life. Plato felt this connection so strongly that it led him 8 ART AS EXPERIENCE to his idea of the necessity of censorship of poets, dramatists, and musicians. Perhaps he exaggerated when he said that a change from the Doric to the Lydian mode in music would be the sure precursor of civic degeneration. But no contemporary would have doubted that music was an integral part of the ethos and the institutions of the community. The idea of “art for art’s sake” would not have been even understood.

There must then be historic reasons for the rise of the compartmental conception of fine art. Our present museums and galleries to which works of fine art are removed and stored illus trate some of the causes that have operated to segregate art instead of finding it an attendant of temple, forum, and other forms of associated life. An instructive history of modern art could be written in terms of the formation of the distinctively modern institutions of museum and exhibition gallery. I may point to a few outstanding facts. Most European museums are, among other things, memorials of the rise of nationalism and imperialism. Every capital must have its own museum of paint ing, sculpture, etc., devoted in part to exhibiting the greatness of its artistic past, and, in other part, to exhibiting the loot gathered by its monarchsin conquestof other nations; for instance,the ac cumulations of the spoils of Napoleon that are in the Louvre. They testify to the connection between the modern segregation of art and nationalism and militarism. Doubtless this connection has served at times a useful purpose, as in the case of Japan, who, when she was in the process of westernization, saved much of her art treasures by nationalizing the temples that contained them.

The growth of capitalism has been a powerful influence in the development of the museum as the proper home for works of art, and in the promotion of the idea that they are apart from the common life. The nouveaux riches, who are an important by product of the capitalist system, have felt especially bound to surround themselves with works of fine art which, being rare, are also costly. Generally speaking, the typical collector is the typical capitalist. For evidence of good standing in the realm of higher culture, he amasses paintings, statuary, and artistic bijoux, as his stocks and bonds certify to his standing in the economic world.

Not merely individuals, but communities and nations, put their cultural good taste in evidence by building opera houses,

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out beginning or end. The absurdity of these positions is made apparent if we ask with St. Augustine, "What was God [the Eternal] doing before he made the world?" the answer being, of course, that inasmuch as time and the world presuppose each other and in terms of "creation" are "concreated", th,eword "before" in such a question has no meaning whatever.

Hence it is commonly argued in Christian exegesis that ev adXf, in principio, does not imply a "bieginning in time" but an origin in the First Principle; and from 2 Cf. St. Augustine, De ordine 2. 51: "In this world of sense it is indeed necessary to examine carefully what time and place are, so that what delights in a part, whether of place or time, may be understood to be far less beautiful than the whole of which it is a portion".

2 this the logical deductionfollows that God [the Eternal] is creating the world now, as much as he ever was.

The metaphysical doctrine simply contrasts time as a continuumwith the ,eternitythat is not in time and so cannot properly be called everlasting, but coincides with the real present or now of which temporal experience is impossible. Here confusion only arises because for any consiousness functioning in terms of time and space, "now" succeeds "now" without interruption, and there seems to be an endless series of nows, col- lectively adding up to "time". This confusion can be eliminated if we realise that none of these nows has any duration and that, as measures, all alike are zeros, of which a "sum" is unthinkable. It is a matter of relativity; it is "we" who move, while the Now is unmoved, and only seems to move,-much as the sun onlv seems to rise and set because the earth revolves. The problem that arises is that of the locus of "real-

ity" (satyam; TOOV; ens) whether reality or being can be predicated of any "thing" 3 that exists in the flux 3 The words "real" and "thing" have an interest of their own. "Real" is connected with Lat. res, and probably reor, "think", "estimate"; and "thing" with "think", denken.

This would imply that appearances are endowed with reality and a quasi-permanence to the extent that we name them; and this has an intimate bearing on the nature of language itself, of which the primary application is always to concrete things, so that we must resort to negative terms (via negativa) when '.we have to speak of an ultimate reality that is not any thing. That a "thing" is an appearance to which a name is given is precisely what is implied by the Sanskrit and Pali expression nIzmarupa (name, or idea, and phenomenon, or 3 of time and is therefore never self-same, or only of entities or an all-inclusive entity not in time and there- fore always the same. A brief discussion of this problem will provide a setting for the treatment of the tradi- tional doctrine of time and eternity.

Sanskrit satyam (from as, to "be"), like T6Ov and ovoia (from dE/i, to "be"), is the "real", "true", or "good",ens et bonum convertuntur. In these senses, satyam can be predicated of existents4, for which body) of which the reference is to all dimensioned objects, all the accountable individualities susceptible of statistical investigation; that which is ultimately real being, properly speaking, "nameless". "Name-and-appearance in combination with cons- ciousness are to be found only where there are birth and age and death, or falling away and uprising, only where there is signification, interpreta-

tion, and cognition, only where there is motion involving a cognizibility as such or such" (D. 2. 63).

The Vedantic position is that all differentiation (naturation or qualification) is a matter of terminology (vacarambhanam vikarah, CU. 6. 1. 4-6, cf. S. 2. 67 viihninassa arammanam); and in the same way for Plato, "the same account must be given of the nature that assumes all bodies; one cannot say of the modi- fications that they are, "for they change even while we speak of them", but only that they are "such and such", if even to say that much is permissible (Timaeus 50 A, B). In this passage, the "nature referred to is that primary and formless matter that can be informed,... nature as being that by which the Gene- rator generates" (Damascene, De fid. Orth. 1.18) or "by which the Father begets" (St. Thomas, Sum. Theol. 1. 41. 5).

4 Throughout the present article, "exist", "existent", etc. are used in the strict sense of ex alio sistens, and to be dis- tinguished from "being" or "essence" in seipso sistens. The distinction goes back at least to Plato's opposition of yEvess - bhava to ovoia = astita, survives in St. Augustine (De Trin.

4 "things" in all their variety the collective term is "name-and-shape" (ndma-rupe; o6Ayo; xatl 6 ,uoepq, Aristotle, Met. 8.1. 6): and by this (relative) truth, that of the name-and-shapeby which God is present in the world (SB 11.2.3.4,5), and as which it is differentiated (BU. 1.4.7; CU. 6. 3.2), "the Immortal, the Spirit of Life is concealed" (etad amrtam satyena channam; prano vd amrtam, namarupe satyam, tdbhydm ayam pranas channah, BU. 1.6. 3), just as the Sun, the Truth, is concealed by his rays (JUB. 1.3. 6), which he is

asked to dispel so that his "fairer form" may be seen (BU. 6.15, Isa Up. 15,16). In the same way, the powers of the soul are "true" or "real", but "the Truth that the Self is, is the Reality of their reality, or Truth of their truth" (satyasya satyam... teSdm esa satyam, BU. 2. 1. 20); it is "that Reality, that Self, that thou art" (CU.6. 10.3). In this absolute sense, also, Truthor Real-

ity (satyam) is synonymous with Dharma, b6xacoovvr, Justice, Lex Aeterna (BU. 1.4. 14), one of His names "who alone is today today and tomorrow" (BU. 1. 5. 23): and he only who knows this Ultimate Truth (param&rtha-satyam) can be called a master- speaker (ativadati, CU. 7.16. 7 with Comm.), "nor ever can our intellect be sated, unless that Truth shine upon it, be-

yond which no truth has range" (Dante, Paradiso 4. 124-126) 5.

6. 10. 11), and is fully dealt with by St.Thomas (De ente et essentia). 6 The Vedantic and Buddhist distinction of empirical knowledge, valid for practical purposes, and prob-able, from the intellectually valid and axiomatic truth of first principles is the 5 It is, then, from the relative truth of name-and-form that the Comprehensor is liberated (namarupad vimuk- tah, Mungd.Up. 3. 2. 8); however it may be a valid truth for practical purposes, it is a falsity or unreality (anrtam) when compared with the "Truth of the truth, Truth absolutely, and it is by this falsity that our True Desires" are obscured. In other words, temporal are both real and unreal. The Vedanta does not in fact, as has so often been asserted, deny an exist- ence of temporalia,-"for the distinct suchness (anyat- tattvam) of this world of affairs, evidenced by all cri- teria, cannot be denied" (BrSBh. 2. 2. 31), "the non- existence of external objects is refuted by the fact of our apprehension of them" (nabhiva upalabdheh, BrSBh. 2.2.28).

That Safikaracarya misinterprets the Buddhist position, which avoids the textremes "is" and "things" same as that of "opinion"from "truth"in Greek philosophy; opinion correspondingto becoming,and truth to being (Parme- nides, Diogenes Laertius9.22, Diels frs. 1,8; and Plato, Ti- maeus28,29); opinionhavingto do with "thatwhichbeginsand perishes" and truth with "that which ever is, and does not be- gin"; the distinction,surviving in Leibnitz'two forms of intuition, one giving "the truth of fact", the other "the

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"I beh,eldthese others beneath Thee, and saw that they neither altogether are, nor altogether are not. An existence (esse) they have, be- cause they are from Thee; and yet no existence, because they are not what Thou art. For only that really is, that remains unchangeably; Heaven and Earth are beautiful and good, and are (sunt), since God made them", but when "compared to Thee, they are neither beautiful, nor good, nor are at all" (nec sunt). The Vedantic doctrinlethat the world is "of the stuff of art" (miay-maya) is not a doctrine of "illusion" but merely distinguishes the relative reality of the artefact from the greater reality of the Artificer (mayin, nir- manakara) in whom the paradigmsubsists. The world is an epiphany; and it is no one's fault but our own if we mistak,e"the things that were made" for the reality after which they were made, the phenomenon itself for that of which phenomena are appearances! 6 Moreover, "illusion" cannotproperlyblepredicatedinanobject, it can only arise in the percipient; the shadow is a shadow, whatever we make of it.

6 Cf. Anaxagoras,"things apparent (ta (pazvo,dva) are the vision of things unseen"(SextusEmpiricus,Adv.Dogm. 1.140); and Romans1.20., whatever we make of it.

6 Cf. Anaxagoras,”things apparent (ta (pazvo,dva) are the vision of things unseen”(SextusEmpiricus,Adv.Dogm. 1.140); and Romans1.20., whatever we make of it.

6 Cf. Anaxagoras,”things apparent (ta (pazvo,dva) are the vision of things unseen”(SextusEmpiricus,Adv.Dogm.

1.140); and Romans1.20.

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Id ut ullaut porrum quis et del illaut quosam am, voluptatet omnis autemos as simolor uptatet ulliberum arcipsam, consequ atquatur reptatquis moditatium dit officiis porro ea velit quuntem vendamusam explace rferrovit odit, te et, sum et fugit omni tectur? Ipsam vitiasp eligenit et aliquias re volo inciis solesequo tempero corem dolorit et aut quis nim rerestiumqui omnis ame nest, sum quid quiatem quuntionse non resectiis ex eos comnias pedionseria num quisti od que sum eum, sum eos eatum esequiaspe volore pratur, ut ventior porernati veris et eatius, necate dita voloratiam, untus plab ium hic totatur? Quiatur aut vzelloribus minihit, quam, cus, sunt, cupienda quidi accum aliquis aut excepre el evelestota es mincius cum quunt rehenia voluptiis es vollenda sant.

pratem audaeptas ent odis conseque pores voluptiatem. Xim fugiam, te quam aut alitem quunt.

At fugiam, quassequat qui dolescimus nihitati que disquiditiam fugit, undae poreiciisin comnis asperi odit as volupta sectores dendae. Ut autest, ut faccaep udandae. Ut atem que ipictore net enti ditate si dolume illut laborerro es solorrovitam repelest expla quam quam nobit quibus et a aut etur?

Hicidem porionsed eari rerum cuptatatior alias experor adicatem quiae si ut et por sedipsapere vollest iaestis quassi il iundusd aeperovidel molore, offici dolorem ex et, sum ium quatibus illabo. Ut et quaepedipidi sunt eum fugiata pre sint eostiae none conse plicid mil intentiatus antissu nturepe rovitatium quo ommolorem rese volumet reri uta delessunt dis et at quatur mos quaessequi

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finding a system + pagan time = golden hours + water resistance January 27

In 1970 lmre Lakatos, one ofthe best friends I ever had, cornered me at a party. 'Paul,' he said, 'you have such strange ideas. Why don'tyou write them down?

I shall write a reply, we publish the whole thing and

these effusions together.

The new edition merges parts ofAgainstMethodwith excerpts from Science in a Free Society. I have omitted material no longer o f interest,

I promise you - we shall have lots of fun.' I liked the suggestion and started working. The manuscript ofmy part ofthe book was ftnished in 1972 and I sent it to London. There it disappeared under rather mysterious circumstances. Imre Lakatos, who loved dramatic gestures, notifted Interpol and, indeed, Interpol found my manu- script and returned it to me.

I reread it and made some ftnal changes. In February 1974, only a few weeks after I had ftnished my revision, I was informed of Imre's death. I published my part of our common enterprise without his response.

A year later I published a second volume, Science in a Free Society, containing additional material and replies to criticism.

This history explains the form of the book. It is not a systematic treatise; it is a letter to a friend and addresses his idiosyncrasies. For example, Imre Lakatos was a rationalist, hence rationalism plays a large role in the book. He also admired Popper and therefore Popper occurs much more frequently than his 'objective importance' would warrant. lmre Lakatos, somewhat jokingly, called me an anarchist and I had no objection to putting on the anarchist's mask. Finally, Imre Lakatos loved to embarrass serious opponents with jokes and irony and so I, too, occasionally wrote in a rather ironical vein. An example is the end of Chapter 1: 'anything goes' is not a 'principle' I hold - I do not think that 'principles' can be used and fruitfully discussed outside the concrete research situation they are supposed to affect - but the terrifted exclamation of a rationalist who takes a closer look at history. Reading the many thorough, serious, longwinded and thoroughly misguided criticisms I received after publication ofthe ftrst English edition I often recalled my exchanges with Imre; how we

VIII PREFACE added a chapter on the trial ofGalileo and a chapter on the notion of reality that seems to be required by the fact that knowledge is part ofa complex historical process, eliminated mistakes, shortened the argument wherever possible and freed it from some of its earlier idiosyncrasies. Again I want to make two points: first, that science can stand on its own feet and does not need any help from rationalists, secular humanists, Marxists and similar religious movements; and, secondly, that non-scientific cultures, procedures and assumptions can also stand on their own feet and should be allowed to do so, ifthis is the wish oftheir representatives. Science must be protected from ideologies; and societies, especially democratic societies, must be protected from science. This does not mean that scientists cannot profit from a philosophical education and that humanity has not and never will profit from the sciences. However, the profits should not be imposed; they should be examined and freely accepted by the parties of the exchange. In a democracy scientific institutions, research programmes, and suggestions must therefore be subjected to public control, there must be a separation ofstate and science just as there is a separation between state and religious institutions, and science should be taught as one view among many and not as the one and only road to truth and reality. There is nothing in the nature of science that excludes such institutional arrangements or shows that they are liable to lead to disaster.

None of the ideas that underlie my argument is new.

My interpretation ofscientific knowledge, for example, was a triviality for physicists like Mach, Boltz-

thinkers were distorted beyond recognition by the rodents ofneopositivism and the competing rodents ofthe church of 'critical' rationalism.

Lakatos was, after Kuhn, one of the few thinkers who noticed the discrepancy and tried to eliminate it by means of a complex and very interesting theory ofrationality. I don't think he has succeeded in this. But the attempt was worth the effort; it has led to interesting results in the history of science and to new insights into the limits of reason. I therefore dedicate also this second, already much more lonely version ofour common work to his memory.

Earlier material relating to the problems in this book is now collected in my Philosophical Papers.1 Farewell to Reason2 contains historical material, especially from the early history ofrationalism in the West and applications to the problems oftoday.

Berkeley, September 1987

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THE problem of technics and its relation to Culture and to History presents itself for the first time only in the nineteenth century. The eighteenth, with its fundamental scepticism — that doubt that was wellnigh despair — had posed the question of the meaning and value of Culture. It was a question that led it to ever wider and more disruptive questions and so created the possibility for the twentieth, for our own day, of looking upon the entirety of world-history as a problem. The eighteenth century, the age of Robinson Crusoe and of Jean Jacques Rousseau, of the English park and of pastoral poetry, had regarded “original” man himself as a sort of lamb of the pastures, a peaceful and virtuous creature until Culture came to ruin him. The technical side of him was completely overlooked, or, if seen at all, considered unworthy of the moralist’s notice.

But after Napoleon the machine-technics of Western Europe grew gigantic and, with its manufacturing towns, its railways, its steamships, it has forced us in the end to face the problem squarely and seriously. What is the significance of technics? What meaning within history, what value within life, does it possess, where — socially and metaphysically — does it stand? There were many answers offered to these questions, but at bottom these were reducible to two.

On the one side there were the idealists and ideologues, the belated stragglers of the humanistic Classicism of Goethe’s age, who regarded things technical and matters economic as standing outside, or rather beneath, “Culture.” Goethe himself, with his grand sense of actuality, had in Faust II sought to probe this new fact-world to its deepest depths. But even in Wilhelm von Humboldt we have the beginnings of that anti-realist, philological outlook upon history which in the limit reckons the values of a historical epoch in terms of the number of the pictures and books that it produced. A ruler was regarded as a significant figure only in so far as he passed muster as a patron of learning and the arts — what he was in other respects did not count. The State was a continual handicap upon the true Culture that was pursued in lecture-rooms, scholars’ dens

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“Who´s lab is next?”

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Overview 1.1 Books and journals as the core of scholarly publishing. Printed-andbound books and journals and their electronic counterparts constitute the core of scholarly publishing. Book-length works in particular-in their breadth and variety, not to mention their long history-provide an over­view of the anatomy of a scholarly work that, in conjunction with the dis­cussion of journals (see 1.72-110), can be usefully applied to other types of published works.

1.2 Electronic publishing. Electronic publication of scholarly books and jour­ nals in various formats is increasingly common. Most journals at Chi­cago have implemented a simultaneous print and electronic publishing model (see 1.72)-a model that has become the industry standard. For books, if print has remained the most common format, publishers are in­creasingly gravitating toward a simultaneous print and electronic model. In general, electronic books tend to emulate the organization and struc­ture of their printed-andbound counterparts, whether they are offered as page images or in an e-book format, proprietary or not-and whether or not they incorporate hyperlinks, search engines, and other features that are unique to the electronic environment. In fact, the industry-wide goal for e-book versions of printed monographs has been one of approx­imating on-screen the experience of reading the printed book. The dis­cussion on the parts of a book-though it assumes electronic publication is an option for any scholarly book-therefore includes special consid­erations for electronic book formats only where these might differ from those for print. But see 1.111-17.

The Parts of a Book Introduction 1.3 Rectos and versos. Publishers refer to the trimmed sheets of paper that you turn in a printed-and-bound book as leaves, and a page is one side of a leaf. The front of the leaf, the side that lies to the right in an open book, is called the recto. The back of the leaf, the side that lies to the left when the leaf is turned, is the verso. Rectos are always odd-numbered, versos always evennumbered. In an electronic book, the distinction between rectos and versos can be represented or simulah•d hut need not be.

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and studios. War was scarcely believed in, being but a relic of bygone barbarism, while economics was something prosaic and stupid and beneath notice, although in fact it was in daily demand. To mention a great merchant or a great engineer in the same breath with poets and thinkers was almost an act of lèse-majesté to “true” Culture. Consider, for instance,

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February 11 ongoing work of one<self in random

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February 13 it´s friday

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To Elise again and always PREFACE As I prepared to send this manuscript to the press I was struck by the real- ization that I was at the age at which Boethius may be supposed to have been executed. My first temptation was to say that I had spent more of my life in contemplation of his Consolation of Philosophy than he ever did, two decades that have seen a dissertation and two literary studies as well as the painstaking work that has resulted in this, what I hope will be seen as, not only a new translation, but a new sort of translation, of Consolation. But the truth rapidly displaced this boast: Boethius did spend more time on Consolation than I have. I do not mean that he composed it over twenty years; rather, it had become clear to me that this book encapsulates and consummates a lifetime of work, embracing in subtle and remarkable ways both the volumes of translations and commentaries that he had been able to commit to paper and all of those projects for which he would never be given the opportunity or the time. I do not refer just to the well-known hopeful statement of the young Boethius that he intended to translate and comment on all of the works of Plato and Aristotle and demonstrate their harmony and consistency. Rather, the spirit of St. Augustine, whose Con- fessions presides over many aspects of this work (the general structural principle of dialogue as self-examination, for example, and the anguished doubts about the nature of rational inquiry at V.3 and V.m.3), directed Boethius to compose as his last work what may in many ways be seen as a parallel to Augustine’s Retractions.

Augustine was once able to contem- plate all the works that he had written and comment on their strengths and weaknesses; Boethius, I would argue, does the same here in these retractions, meaning not “withdrawals” but “going over one more time.”

It is an unfortunate and incurious simplification that sees Consolation as merely inspirational; it is also confessional, and the prisoner’s struggle

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to locate himself within the world of time, Book V’s capstone to Philosophy’s presentations, is no mere step in an impersonal argument. Frank Kermode, toward the end of The Sense of an Ending, quotes Philip Larkin: Truly, though our element is time, We are not suited to the long perspectives Open at each instant of our lives. They link us to our losses . . . . viii PREFACE ix Kermode comments: “Merely to give order to these perspectives is to provide consolation. . . .”1 Boethius the author belongs to two worlds, perhaps to a number of pairs of worlds, all of which find their place in Consolation: active and theoretical, Aristotelian and Platonic, temporal and eternal, Christian and pagan. His life’s work was dedicated to one particular world, to Aristotle and commentary on Aristotle, to toil on the lower slopes of Parnassus: In the world of Neo-Platonism, Aristotle was, after all, only considered an adjunct to the study of Plato and the higher studies of the metaphysical architecture of the universe and the myth of the soul’s return to its source. Might not Boethius, like any author, pause to regret the limitations of his past choices, to try to create something newer and bigger, and to hope for a chance to write again? Surely, Consolation of Philosophy is like nothing else that the author had written before, or that any philosopher had written before. How and why such an eccentric work came to be written is worthy of all our attention.

In what follows, I try to make clear, if nothing else, at least how com- plex and many-layered a work Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy is; I hope also to provide the means to make this complexity comprehensible. I have a number of people to thank who have helped me in this enter- prise: Deborah Wilkes of Hackett Publishing Company, who encouraged me to undertake this translation; Wheaton College, which, for the sabbati- cal in which the first draft was done, gave me a lovely office in the library through whose windows the ivy grew; my colleague Jonathan BrumbergKraus, who in a lapidary phrase suggested to me that Philosophy may be

what Boethius speaks through, but religion is what he talks about; Joseph Pucci of Brown University, “the present truth of Providence,” who gave every word of this translation meticulous scrutiny; my family, a source of inspiration greater than Philosophy. I did not, of course, take all the advice that I was given; for the errors and infelicities that remain because of my injudicious refusals, I take lonely responsibility.

J. C. R. Wheaton College Norton, Massachusetts 1 Frank Kermode, The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Fiction (New York: Oxford University Press, 1967), 179.

INTRODUCTION The philosophers of the sixth century neither sought nor prized original- ity. Their labors took the form of commentary (or, in the case of the Latin Boethius, translation and commentary) on the established corpus of Platonic and Aristotelian works. A new idea may occasionally find expression in a commentary, decently obscured by the verbiage around it; but the philosophical system most characteristic of this period, which we call Neo-Platonism, did not present itself as, or even imagine itself as, anything other than the literal meaning of a systematized Plato. Philosophers were the guardians of inherited truth; their views were conservative; their contributions lay in the ever-more-elaborate presentation of the harmonies of the philosophical thoughts that came before them. It is now possible to read portions of Boethius’ own Aristotelian commentaries in English translation, and this is in fact a highly desirable exercise, to appreciate the vast gulf in style, structure, tone, and intellectual goal that separates his commentaries from this, his final work.1 If Consolation of Philosophy were in any way a typical product of this era, it would today be scarcely read or remembered.

The reader must not be misled by the fame of the book into thinking that it is in any way ordinary. The philosophical views expressed within it may be quaint by modern standards, but Consolation is in fact a work of surprising originality.2 This originality is communicated more by the

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1 Most important are the translations from Boethius’ First and Second Com- mentaries on Aristotle’s On Interpretation in Blank and Kretzmann 1998, 129–86. Boethius’ analysis of Chapter 9 of On Interpretation, in which Aristotle intro- duces his famous example of tomorrow’s sea battle in a discussion of future con- tingents, makes a number of important appearances in Book V of Consolation. See also Spade 1994, 20–25, for a translation of Boethius’ discussion of the three questions about universals that Porphyry refuses to discuss in his Isagoge (Introduction to the Categories of Aristotle) from his Second Commentary on the Isagoge.

2 Curley 1986, 211–12, begins with a brief discussion of the gulf that sepa- rates modern Western philosophy from Boethius, and of the modern inability to respond literarily to a philosophical work. x INTRODUCTION xi structures into which it fits its arguments than by the arguments themselves. Not only is it not a commentary; it chooses in preference to align itself with a number of other literary forms that would seem to have little to do with systematic philosophy. The first is announced in the title, which is not merely a poetic fancy but a generic labeling: Consolation lays claim to the genre of consolation, a moral exhortation, an address to one who is bereaved, an argument that death is not to be feared.3 But here too is a surprise for any reader whose sole exposure to ancient con- solatory literature is Boethius. The title is a paradox at best; Philosophy’s consolation is not a consolation according to the practices of the genre. It avoids what is the most characteristic function of the genre: to explain why death is not to be feared.4 If anything, Consolation is about the con- solation that death itself provides (Philosophy encourages the prisoner to embrace it; cf. I.3.6, 9; II.7.21–23, IV.6.42).5 An ancient reader who expected a consolation would have been frustrated in that expectation; the modern reader must be encouraged to wonder about the author’s provocative title.

There is another false promise associated with this one: All consola- tions conclude with some sort of explanation of the rewards of the blessed or the punishments of sinners, some view of the life after death and the abode of the good. Philosophy in fact frequently offers to take the prisoner to his fatherland, from where he can look down on the world below (cf. IV.1.8–9, IV.m.1, V.1.4; so also the conclusion of III.m.12); one may see the rewards of virtuous philosophers and the punishments of wicked tyrants in this world.

In this regard, Consolation could be called Apocalypse Denied; for some reason, the beatific vision is never achieved. Death hangs over this Consolation, but something other than the fact that our soonto-be-executed author chooses not to make himself die in this work of fiction is responsible for this deferral. It is another frustration for the reader: Why does Consolation so often evoke the expectation of such a vision and then refuse to satisfy it?

But there is a genre whose rules and conventions Boethius the author does follow in writing this strange Consolation: This is the comic genre of Menippean satire, which delights in multiple points of view, the presence of many genres of literature within a single work, and the 3 An excellent presentation of the conventions of consolatory literature in antiquity and late antiquity may be found in the introduction to Scourfield 1993. 4 Despite its vast medieval authority, Boethius’ Consolation had no influence on medieval consolatory literature for this simple reason. 5 Cf. Shanzer 1984, 362–66.

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xii INTRODUCTION frustration of expectations. Named after the Cynic philosopher and author of the third century B.C.E., the genre is best known for its mix- ture of prose and verse; but as I have argued, the function of such a mixture is to make the resulting work unclassifiable by ancient literary standards, which strictly separate prose and verse genres.6 By mixing prose and verse organically together, not merely quoting poetry but incorporating it; by having speakers within a dialogue speak in verse; by having a narrator who will at times communicate in verse as well as in prose; by making a problem out of the very fact of the composition of the text7— by all of these means the genre creates unreliable narrators, authors of questionable authority, and texts with ever-shifting points of view. It undermines the consistency that a reader expects of a work, and makes the interpretation of the work problematic. It may seem sur- prising that Consolation with all its sincerities belongs to such a genre; but it is in fact an ideal genre for describing two worlds, and for suggest- ing that such worlds do not easily coalesce into one. Prose and verse within Consolation have long been thought of as representative of two different

avenues to the truth, logical and emotional, discursive and affective. But I would argue that Consolation is in fact trying to enclose all of human experience within it; and true to its Menippean origins, it expresses the difficulty inherent in trying to reduce such human experi- ence to theory and rule.

Consolation may not seem to have much in common with the Satyricon of Petronius, the best-known Menippean satire, though it is worth noticing that Death is a powerful presence in both of them; more important is what happens to the genre in late antiquity, and particularly in two works (of the early and late fifth century, respectively) close to Boethius’ own time that clearly have left their stamp on it. These are both encyclopedias of sorts, each an attempt to encapsulate human wisdom, each depicting the embarrassment of a theorist who thought that the world could be so easily categorized and understood. The first is the allegorical extravaganza of Martianus Capella, The Marriage of Philology and 6 Relihan 1993, 12–48: “A Definition of Ancient Menippean Satire.”

7 Nowhere in Consolation does Philosophy tell the prisoner to write; he is first seen taking dictation from his Muses, and then setting his pen down. At II.7.20, Philosophy tells a story of a false philosopher, who

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Philosophy and psychology 2 Photography as Activism something of importance — to make a comment—that will be understood by the viewer.”10 In his book Doing Documentary Work, psychiatrist Robert Coles riffs more poetically on the documentary genre: And so it goes then—doing documentary work is a journey, and is a little more, too, a passage across boundaries (disciplines, occupational constraints, definitions, conventions all too influentially closed for traffic), a passage that can become a quest, even a pilgrimage, a movement toward the sacred truth enshrined not only on tablets of stone, but in the living hearts of those others whom we can hear, see and get to understand. Thereby we hope to be confirmed in our own humanity—the creature on this earth whose very nature is to make just that kind of connection with others during the brief stay we are permitted here.11 In his essay from Engaged Observers in Context, Brett Abbot defines documentary as a term “. . . used loosely to refer to a wide variety of practices in which the subject matter of a picture is at least as important as its manner of portrayal.”12 He dissects the complexity of the genre, noting that it applies to a “remarkably diverse array of pictures, including landscape and architectural documentation of the nineteenth century . . . Western survey photography . . . socially engaged work . . . portrait projects . . . ethnographic studies; street photography; war photography of all periods; mug shots and crimescene pictures.”13 If we accept Abbot’s description, we’re back to the notion that a lot of photography is, or can be considered, documentary, keeping in mind Evans’ subtle distinction.

Even with this expansive definition, traditional documentary— unvarnished, straight, and unrepentant in its quest for truth—has been under attack for more than a decade by postmodern photographic critics and theorists, most notably Martha Rosler and Allan Sekula.

The general assertions that photographs are not simple records, that they are not evidence, and that they can’t be objective lead critics to challenge the very nature of documentary work. If, as critics claim, all photographs are suspect, contextual, complex layers of symbols and meanings laden with the photographer’s hidden agenda, then how can documentary be truthful and representational? Critics claim that straight photography is boring and passe ́. Yet in spite of this criticism, documentary photography is thriving, and documentary photographers are still faithful to the notion of a truth, although maybe not the truth, and still pledge an allegiance to the idea that photographs can and should be rooted in the moment, not directed, not staged, and not manipulated. Even the sincerity of wanting to effect social change does not shield documentary work from the savages of criticism; rather it evokes another accusation that the documentary photographer who photographs a foreign culture perpetrates a visual form of colonialism. Rosler, in particular, criticized the idea of social documentary as a practice because it was not revolutionary enough: “Documentary photography has become much more comfortable in the company of moralism than wedded to a rhetoric or program of revolutionary polities.”14 In her seminal 1981 essay, In, Around, and Afterthoughts (On Documentary Photography), Rosler claimed that documentary photography doesn’t ever “change” anything; rather it simply transfers information about a “group of powerless people” (the subjects; otherwise, they wouldn’t be photographed) to a much more powerful group (the elite gallery goers or viewers). “The expose ́, the compassion and outrage, of documentary fueled by the dedication to reform has shaded over into combinations of exoticism, tourism, voyeurism, psychologism, and metaphysics, trophy hunting—and careerism. . . . The liberal documentary assuages any stirrings of conscience in its viewers the way scratching relieves an itch and simultaneously reassures them about their relative He will put into his camera-studies something of the emotion which he feels toward the problem, for he realizes that this is the most effec-

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tive way to teach the public he is addressing.

Activism: Practice and Process 3 4 Photography as Activism wealth and social position; especially the latter, now that even the veneer of social concern has dropped away from the upwardly mobile and comfortable social sectors.”15 Only those born into or those from a culture or community can truly understand that culture or community, or so it goes; hence, only the insider has the right to photograph inside that culture. This specious argument ignores the reality that insider truth is not necessarily more accurate than outsider truth. Misrepresentation, intrusion, and exploitation are as likely to occur when an “insider” photographs as when an “outsider” does. In fact, the outsider by the very nature of being an outsider may be more cognizant of the danger of exploitation. “There is an unsigned contract with the subject[s] that I will respect the essence of their experience. I want to be true to the truth of what I have experienced, interacting with the world with a degree of integrity, trying to understand culture and people and how the situation, the conflict, impacts human beings,” says Natan Dvir, an Israeli photographer who has won acclaim for his series Eighteen, portraits of young Arabs living in Israel.16 “Although I lived in Israel and photographed it most of my life, I felt I did not really know or understand its large Arab minority, born into an identity crisis.

Most individuals I approached expressed great skepticism about my project—‘Why would a Jewish person be interested in investigating an Arab person’s life?’ The initial tension waned down in most cases leading to interesting interaction.”17 Fresh eyes may see more and tell more because an outsider has no emotional need to show only the positive aspects of a culture or only the politically “correct” side of an issue. Documentary photographers can be visually ruthless and unsympathetic when the situation does not merit sympathy. For example, for more than 10 years, Marcus Bleasdale has been photographing the effects of the brutality inflicted by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) on the civilian populations in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), Central African Republic, and Uganda.18 The LRA, surely the most ruthless and vicious of Uganda’s rebel groups, is most well known for abducting children as “recruits” (they have abducted more than 3,054 children since 2008 according to Human Rights Watch and United Nations documentation)19 and mutilating those not abducted with a trademarked hacking off of ears, lips, and limbs. “What I’ve seen there is devastating,” says Bleasdale, a member of VII Photo Agency. “It is extraordinarily important that these people in these forgotten zones have a voice and that the United States fulfills its obligation under the bill that President Obama signed that pledges to provide money and logistical support to finally end the LRA’s reign.”20 Bleasdale is a model for the contemporary activist. His work on human rights and conflict has been shown at the United States Senate, the United Nations, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in France.

Many other issues and conflicts benefit from an outsider voice, or maybe could be told by only an outsider who sometimes has more access, funding, and the means to distribute the work. It’s hard to imagine how Rosler’s completely disenfranchised and powerless groups could find the means to transfer information about themselves.

Walter Astrada credits being foreign with getting him access for his award- winning photographs depicting the endemic violence against women in India. The project, partly funded by the Alexia Foundation, was exhibited at the 2010 Visa pour l’Image in Perpignan, France. “In India, if you are foreign, it helps because they are very conservative.

They would grant me, as an ‘other,’ access that would not be granted to an Indian photographer,” says Astrada, now a member of Reportage by Getty.21 Larry Towell, renowned documentary photographer and a member of Magnum Photos, carries a business card that reads simply “Human Being.” That is the point, really. As a human being who cares

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Asematunnelin sis채채nk채ynti Kaivokadulla. negatiivi, filmi, mv Aiheen paikka: Helsinki, Asematunneli Aiheen aika: 1970 -luvun alku Tekij채: Hakli Kari (Valokuvaaja)

February 28

Who’s Last Who’s Last The Who MCA Records

BY KURT LODER February 28, 1985 With Keith Moon on drums, the Who was one of the most exciting live acts in rock history. With ex-Small Faces drummer Kenney Jones slotted into the band after Moon’s death in 1978, it became a professional touring unit — still capable of considerable fire on a good night, but never on the scale of its early years. This is not to slight Jones; Moon was simply irreplaceable. Who’s Last captures the group at what was claimed to be the end of its eighteen-year career, with reformed alcoholic Pete Townshend and company traversing North America on a 1982 tour sponsored by a U.S. beer company. At the time, the motivation behind this “last tour” seemed dubious: the band ran through each night’s set with very little variation, almost by rote, its oncemighty roar nearly eclipsed by the sound of money being raked in. As a document of that tour, Who’s Last is an appropriately crass artifact.

To put it bluntly, the Who never sounded worse — more impotent and eviscerated — than on this dismal double album. The drum sound is unbelievably dinky and the vocals are a complete mess throughout. Townshend manages to blast through the hideous mix in “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” and John Entwistle’s rich, meaty bass tones and triphammer attack remain marvels of the hard-rock form; but several of the sixteen songs here are available in far superior live versions on such albums as Live at Leeds and the soundtracks of Woodstock and The Kids Are Alright, and even the most casual comparison with those previous LPs exposes Who’s Last as the disgraceful cash-in that it is.

Most appalling of all are the liner notes, a noxious spew of self-aggrandizing superlatives and tacky ticket-sale statistics, capped by an assertion that the album is “offered as a token of appreciation” to the band’s “fantastic fans” — as if they were giving this sucker away. I can’t think of another band as committed and allegedly idealistic as the Who that has ended its career on so sour and sickening a note.

From The Archives Issue 442: February 28, 1985

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"Goin' Mobile" I'm goin' home And when I wanna go home I'm goin' mobile Well, I'm gonna find a home And we'll see how it feels Goin' mobile Keep me movin' I can pull up by the curb I can make it on the road Goin' mobile I can stop in any street And talk with people that we meet Goin' mobile Keep me movin' Out in the woods Or in the city It's all the same to me When I'm drivin' free, the world's my home When I'm mobile Hee, hoo! beep beep!

Play the tape machine Make the toast and tea

When I'm mobile Well I can lay in bed With only highway ahead When I'm mobile Keep me movin' Keep me movin' Over 50 Keep me groovin' Just a hippie gypsy Come on move now Movin' Keep me movin', yeah Keep me movin', groovin', groovin', yeah Movin', Yeah Mobile, mobile, mobile, mobile, ...

I don't care about pollution I'm an air-conditioned gypsy That's my solution Watch the police and the tax man miss me I'm mobile Oooooh, yeah, hee!

Mobile, mobile, mobile yeah

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18 hours exposure

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March 11 torttua tortun p채채lle aka The Variations

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On g o i n g Wo r k o f m y s e l f September 22

torttua tortun p채채lle

Fruit fly´s get poison ….

Facts About Fruit Flies – Mother fruit flies lay about 200-300 eggs at a time – The most likely place for a mother fruit fly to lay her eggs is in a piece of rotting fruit – As soon as the babies hatch, they start reproducing about 24 hours later – From the time the mother fruit fly lays her eggs until you see the fruit flies buzzing around is about 7-13 days.

Yikes! – instead of saying how things “multiply like rabbits”—should we change the saying to “multiply like fruit flies”?

See why it’s so important to get rid of these pesky critters right away?

Well, this past week we tried 3 different methods to get rid of these flies and I think we’ve found the winner.

Trap #1 – Our Hands Yes, I’m not kidding. This is the way I’ve always caught fruit flies and we’ve always been successful in the past.

But this time, the flies were getting the best of us. I’m guessing that you all probably have used this method too, right?

I’m sure you can imagine myself and my two sons standing the kitchen, climbing on step stools, clapping our hands together and slapping cabinets, trying to get rid of every last one. (I can’t believe how smart these little buggers seem to be. They really seemed to know that they blended well into our dark kitchen cabinets and hid there almost completely invisible. Almost.)

We all thought this was fun (kind of) for awhile, but it got old after awhile.

And standing on a step stool trying to catch fruit flies is an accident waiting to happen.

It was time to find a new way.

Trap #2 – Apple Cider Vinegar and Dish Soap This method is supposed to work by putting some apple cider vinegar in a bowl or jar and then adding a drop or so of dish soap. The dish soap is supposed to create tension across the top of the apple cider vinegar. The vinegar attracts the flies. They fly in and the soap traps them there.

Tried this for about 5 days.

The result?

Only 2 flies dead. Not anywhere near enough to make a dent in our burgeoning fruit fly colony.

Trap #3 – Inverted Cone With this method, you put something attractive to the fruit flies in a container and invert a cone (paper is fine) so that it extends to the rim of the container.

The flies travel down the cone but can’t get back up.

Never tried this because #4 – the winner — worked so March 15

well. I don’t think I’d bother with this because the other is much easier and a little nicer to look at. And once you see The Winner you’ll see another reason why. I get one less thing on my counter top – yippee!!! You can see the cone method here.

Trap #4 – The Winner!

Fruit Fly Trap I know – it’s an icky photo. It’s stuff from my compost bowl. Perfect for attracting fruit flies – but not great for nice photos :-).

Here’s how to do it: 1. Place some fruit or other food items in a bowl.

2. Secure a plastic wrap over the top and secure, if necessary, with a rubber band.

3. Poke small holes in the top of the plastic wrap (with a toothpick, the sharp end of a knife, or something like that).

The flies are attracted to the fermenting fruit. They climb through the holes but can’t get out. When you see a few fruit flies in the bowl, just take the bowl outside, take the lid off and let the fruit flies go. Yes, they can go and multiply elsewhere, but at least they are no longer in your home :-).

I love this fruit fly trap.

First of all, it worked! At the height of our fruit fly troubles, I would catch 5, 10 or more flies in there and would take them out on our deck to let them all go.

Secondly, it’s cheap! (Basically, I just put plastic wrap on top of my compost bowl.) On Amazon, the fruit fly trap I looked at was more than $7. So you can save a bunch of money with this and get rid of your fruit flies effectively – and you don’t need to wait for the trap to arrive in the mail :-).

It’s also cheaper than using my high quality apple cider vinegar which I love and really don’t wish to waste on fruit flies.

Third, I didn’t have to put another thing on my countertop since I could just use my compost bowl. Who needs something else on the whole foods countertop, right :-)?

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ironing his t-shirt

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ironing his shirt

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