Women, Philosophy and Science: Italy and Early Modern Europe [1st ed.] 9783030445478, 9783030445485

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Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4

Sabrina Ebbersmeyer Gianni Paganini   Editors

Women, Philosophy and Science Italy and Early Modern Europe

Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences Volume 4

Series Editors Ruth Edith Hagengruber, Department of Humanities, Center for the History of Women Philosophers, Paderborn University, Paderborn, Germany Mary Ellen Waithe, Professor Emerita, Department of Philosophy and Comparative Religion, Cleveland State University, Cleveland, OH, USA Gianni Paganini, Department of Humanities, University of Piedmont, Vercelli, Italy

As the historical records prove, women have long been creating original contributions to philosophy. We have valuable writings from female philosophers from Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and a continuous tradition from the Renaissance to today. The history of women philosophers thus stretches back as far as the history of philosophy itself. The presence as well as the absence of women philosophers throughout the course of history parallels the history of philosophy as a whole. Edith Stein, Hannah Arendt and Simone de Beauvoir, the most famous representatives of this tradition in the twentieth century, did not appear form nowhere. They stand, so to speak, on the shoulders of the female titans who came before them. The series Women Philosophers and Scientists published by Springer will be of interest not only to the international philosophy community, but also for scholars in history of science and mathematics, the history of ideas, and in women’s studies.

More information about this series at https://www.springer.com/series/15896

Sabrina Ebbersmeyer Gianni Paganini •

Editors

Women, Philosophy and Science Italy and Early Modern Europe

123

Editors Sabrina Ebbersmeyer Philosophy, Department of Communication University of Copenhagen Copenhagen, Denmark

Gianni Paganini Philosophy, Department of Humanities University of Piedmont Vercelli, Italy

ISSN 2523-8760 ISSN 2523-8779 (electronic) Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences ISBN 978-3-030-44547-8 ISBN 978-3-030-44548-5 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Series Foreword

Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences The history of women’s contributions to philosophy and the sciences dates back to the very beginnings of these disciplines. Theano, Hypatia, Du Châtelet, Agnesi, Germain, Lovelace, Stebbing, Curie, Stein are only a small selection of prominent women philosophers and scientists throughout history. The Springer Series Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences provides a platform for publishing cutting-edge scholarship on women’s contributions to the sciences, to philosophy, and to interdisciplinary academic areas. We therefore include in our scope women’s contributions to biology, physics, chemistry, and related sciences. The Series also encompasses the entire discipline of the history of philosophy since antiquity (including metaphysics, aesthetics, philosophy of religion). We welcome also work about women’s contributions to mathematics and to interdisciplinary areas such as philosophy of biology, philosophy of medicine, sociology. The research presented in this series serves to recover women’s contributions and to revise our knowledge of the development of philosophical and scientific disciplines, so as to present the full scope of their theoretical and methodological traditions. Supported by an advisory board of internationally esteemed scholars, the volumes offer a comprehensive, up-to-date source of reference for this field of growing relevance. See the listing of planned volumes. The Springer Series Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences will publish monographs, handbooks, collections, anthologies, and dissertations. Paderborn, Germany Cleveland, USA Vercelli, Italy

Ruth Hagengruber Mary Ellen Waithe Gianni Paganini Series editors

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During the early modern period, the number of women contributing to the development of philosophy and the emergence of the new sciences increased to an unprecedented extent. All over Europe, we find women who exchanged letters on philosophical and scientific matters, translated recently published works, and participated in many different ways in the learned world. Italy played a key role in this development. Italian culture, which was the most advanced in Europe from the time of early Humanism up to the late Renaissance, showed an openness towards the participation of women in intellectual discourses that was hardly matched in any other European country of the period. One decisive factor enabling women in Italy to participate in the intellectual discourses of their day was the humanist movement that emerged in Italy towards the end of the fourteenth century and spread in the coming centuries all over Europe. With its ideals of erudition, its pursuit of the individual’s perfection through literal studies, and—last but not least—the reception of classical works, in which women played a prominent role, this movement of intellectual renewal had a huge impact on the perception of women and their ability to study. Famous women, many of them admired for their learning, had already been praised in Giovanni Boccaccio’s (1313–1375) De mulieribus claris (1362). This genre of texts flourished in Italy during the fifteenth and sixteenth century.1 Humanist’s ideals of education and erudition were, to a certain extent, also applied to girls and women. From the fifteenth century onwards, curricula circulated, giving advice for the education of girls and women and proposing study plans for them.2 Many Italian scholars published texts in which they defended the dignity of the female sex and praised its worth, e.g., Bartolomeo Goggio’s (c. 1430–after 1493) De laudibus mulierum, Mario Equicola’s (c. 1470–1525) De mulieribus, and Flavio Capra’s (1487–1537) Delle eccellenza e dignità delle donne. Of course, we also find texts 1

See, for instance, the work of Giacomo Filippo Forèsti of Bergamo (Forèsti 1497). One of the earliest is Leonardo Bruni’s (1370–1444) course of study De studiis at litteris liber, dedicated to Battista da Montefeltro (1383–1450), daughter of the duke of Urbino. See Bruni Aretino (1928), 5–19. 2

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dispraising women, and many works written by male humanists are full of misogynistic topoi.3 To a certain extent, the longstanding tradition of devaluing women continued also during the Renaissance. Nevertheless, the humanist movement enabled women to participate in the learned world. As a consequence, women not only strove for education, but they also wrote on the topic and also claimed the humanist ideals for themselves. From the beginning of the humanist movement, we find many Italian women humanists who entered the public sphere and participated in the learned world. During the fifteenth century we find, for example, the famous Isotta Nogarola (1418–1466) of Verona, Laura Cereta (1449–1499) of Brescia, and Cassandra Fedele (1465–1558) of Venice. These women humanists exchanged letters with other famous humanists, with princesses and queens,4 they held public speeches and wrote dialogues and treatises on various topics. Women humanists not only wrote on typical humanist topics, such as friendship, virtue, and the fame earned by studies. They also commented on women’s situation in society and the obstacles learned women had to face when articulating their views in public. The culture of the Renaissance allowed also for a considerable number of female poets, many of which are still famous today, such as Veronica Gambara (1485–1550), Vittoria Colonna (1492–1547), Gaspara Stampa (1523–1554), and Veronica Franco (1546– 1591). Towards the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries, we find in Venice several women writing in different text genres about feminist issues: Moderata Fonte (1555–1592) published a dialogue called The worth of Women (Il merito delle donne), Lucrezia Marinella (1571–1653) wrote a treatise on The Nobility and Excellence of Women and the Defects and Vices of Men (La Nobilità et L’Eccellenza delle Donne Co’ Diffetti et Mancamenti de gli Huomini), and Arcangela Tarabotti (1604–1652) wrote an invective against the practise of fathers in Venice of secluding their ‘unmarriageable’ daughters against their own will in convents.5 The work was considered to be so audacious, that it could not be printed in Italy and when the book finally appeared in print in Leiden, it was immediately put in the Index librorum prohibitorum (see Costa-Zalessow 2001). Educated women participated also in the more established institutions of learning, such as universities and the newly founded academies, and had access to the academic world that were elsewhere still denied to them. As early as 1487, Cassandre Fedele gave several public speeches, one of them at the University of Padua, which was immediately published in Modena (1487), Nurnberg (1488), and 3

On this querelle des femmes see, e.g. Dubois e.a. 2013. Cassandra Fedele, for instance, wrote letters to Isabella (1451–1504), Queen of Castile, to Beatrice d’Este (1475–1497), Duchess of Milan and Bari and to Eleonora of Aragona (1450– 1493). See Fedele 1636. 5 The original title of the work was La tirannia paterna (Paternal Tyranny), but the printed edition of 1654 has the title La semplicità ingannata (Innocence betrayed). The work is available in a critical edition (Tarabotti 2007) and in an English translation (Tarabotti 2004). 4

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Venice (1489).6 Elena Lucrezia Cornaro (1646–1684) became the first woman to receive a doctoral degree in philosophy, which she had obtained from the University of Padua (Maschietto 1978). The natural philosopher and physicist Laura Bassi (1711–1778) was the first woman to hold a chair in physics (Bologna, 1732–1678). She also became the first female member of the famous Accademia delle Scienze dell’Istituto di Bologna. The French philosopher Émilie du Châtelet (1706–1749), who in 1738 applied in vain to become a member of the Académie des Sciences, became instead a member of the same Academy in Bologna in 1746. Throughout the early modern period, Italian women philosophers and scientists contributed to the distribution and spreading of the new sciences through their various intellectual activities which included, to a not inconsiderable extent, translations of hitherto unavailable texts. The leading role of Italy when it came to women’s participation in the learned world, was also perceived and commented on outside Italy. When the German historian of philosophy Christoph August Heumann (1681–1764) published his Acta philosopharum, or, Notes on Women Philosophers in 1721, aiming to record women philosophers of “the modern times (without, however, excluding the Middle Ages or the so-called medium aevum)”, he listed 28 women, of whom he credited 10—that is more than a third—to Italy alone: Christine de Pizan (1365–c. 1430), Cassandra Fedele (1465–1558), Trotula de Ruggiero (twelfth century), Abella of Salerno (fourteenth century), Tarquinia Molza (1542–1617), Battista Malatesta (1384–1447/8), Helena Cornaro (1646–1684), Theodora Dante (1498–1573), Anna d’Este (1531–1607), and Isotta Nogarola (1418–1466).7 And still a generation later, when the famous and very influential Jacob Brucker (1696–1770) wrote about women’s participation in the learned world in his Picture Gallery of Contemporary Scholars Famous for their Erudition (1741–1755), he chose to portray Laura Bassi as an exceptional women philosopher, as she taught philosophy publicly at the University of Padua.8 Italy is credited with having been the source of the European Renaissance, yet the authoritative History of Women’s Political Thought in Europe 1400–1700, considering the trajectory of women’s thought, claims that “France appears to have provided a more fertile intellectual context for women.” (Broad and Green 2009, 38). For this reason, the history of feminine thinking is often described as a kind of translatio studii which, having started in Italy, afterward shifted to France, first in the context of the famous querelle des femmes and then to seventeenth and eighteenth century salons, before migrating again to England and finally to Germany. 6

See Fedele (1636, 193–210); for an English translation, see Fedele (2000, 155–166). Heumann (1721) 869. By contrast, he found only 6 French women philosophers, 5 Germans, 2 from England and Spain and 1 from Denmark, Sweden and Greece respectively. 8 Bilder-Sal heutiges Tages lebender und durch Gelahrheit berühmter Schriftsteller. This edition does not contain any pagination. However, Brucker presents ten times ten scholars. Laura Bassi is presented as the 10th example of the 4th decade. Besides Bassi, Brucker portrays 3 further women, namely Luise Adelgunde Victoria Gottsched (1713–1762), Émilie du Châtelet, and Magdalena Sybilla Rieger (1707–1786). 7

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The decline and in some cases (as in Tarabotti’s) the suppression of Italian feminine thought at the end of the sixteenth and during the seventeenth century, in comparison to the flourishing of the Renaissance period, is evident, but can easily be explained by the hardening of the Counter Reformation and the general constraints imposed on freedom of philosophizing after Galileo’s trial and condemnation. Despite this general decline, it is worth re-examining early modern thinking of and about women in Italy, even during this period of restoration, because of the enormous influence of intellectual developments in Italy in previous eras. Actually, to the decline of autonomous fertility corresponded on the other hand a new influential phenomenon: the entrance of Italian feminine works into the great conversation of the early modern philosophy. Until now, Italy’s role in the development of women’s philosophical thought during the early modern period has received little scholarly attention. One exception is the volume Donne, filosofia e cultura nel Seicento (1999), edited by Pina Totaro, which includes some chapters on Italian women philosophers (Barbapiccola, Tarabotti, Roccati) and many others, like Elisabeth of Bohemia, Damaris Cudworth, Jeanne Guyon, Anne Conway, etc. Without any pretension of thoroughness, this volume explores some ways in which Italian contributions enriched the European debate and intertwined with some great figures of seventeenth century philosophy. Another feature of this collection consists of considering not only the classical philosophical topics, but also the problems of the new science, according to the idea that in the early modern period philosophical reflection, scientific conceptions, experimental research, and technical applications joined together in a general renewal of thinking. This volume collects papers presented at an international workshop on Women and Early Modern Philosophy and Science hold at the Università del Piemonte Orientale in Vercelli in May 2017, sponsored by the Dipartimento di Studi Umanistici and the Center for the History of Women Philosophers and Scientists (HWPS, University of Paderborn). It was the first workshop entirely dedicated to women in early modern philosophy and science held in Italy. Subsequently, the volume was supplemented with additional papers that extended the range and the topics of contributions. All the essays in this volume, in various ways, endeavor to shed light on the original and historically significant aspects of women’s philosophical, moral, political, and scientific ideas. Our collection begins with a first section dedicated to “Women philosophers and classical inheritance”. In “Moderata Fonte and Michel de Montaigne in the Renaissance debate on friendship and marriage,” Annalisa Ceron shows that women entered the realm of friendship in their capacity as wives, through an analysis of the view of marriage as a form of true friendship that comes to light in Leon Battista Alberti’s Libri della famiglia. This examination sheds new light on the conceptions of friendship developed by Moderata Fonte in Il merito delle donne and by Montaigne in De l’amitié. While Fonte excluded men from the realm of friendship, Montaigne disqualified women from it. What their reflections appear to share is, however, their reference to marriage, even though with opposite aims. Grounding her argument on a comparative analysis of the above authors,

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Ceron argues that, although they are not directly connected, studies on their conceptions of friendship, marriage, and learned women are deeply intertwined and have the potential to illuminate one another. Evangelia Aikaterini Glantzi deals with Tullia d’Aragona (“Gender and equality between women and men in Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue on the Infinity of Love”), showing that this author, being the only female writer in the renaissance tradition of love dialogues, advocated in favour of unified morality of love on the basis of both genders’ common humanity. In particular, Glantzi argues that the incorporation of intercourse in “honest” love implies for Tullia d’ Aragona’s a conception of both women and men as autonomous psycho-corporeal units. In “Plato and the Platonism of Anne Conway,” Sarah Hutton demonstrates that Anne Conway’s Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy exemplifies the multi-layered character of Renaissance Platonism. The overall metaphysical framework of Conway’s system, and its underlying principles, are broadly within the Platonic tradition and seem to be especially indebted to Ficino’s interpretation of this tradition. This is the most interesting link that connects Conway’s philosophy to the Italian philosophical culture. The dialogue which Ficino designates as treating of the highest good is Plato’s Philebus: the highest good of the soul is likeness to God, and the highest good of man is a mixture of wisdom and pleasure. Viewed this way, Plato’s account invites comparison with Conway, for whom the restoration of the godlikeness of creatures is effected not by transcending mutability, but by recovering the original orderliness and balance of spirit and body. By highlighting parallels between Conway’s philosophy and the later dialogues of Plato, the author argues that Conway’s thought is deeply embedded in the philosophy of Plato itself. The second section (“Women philosophers and the new philosophy of nature”), which constitutes with five papers the core part of this volume, is focused on the connections between female thought and the new seventeenth and eighteenth centuries science. The opening paper by Sandra Plastina (“Letters on natural philosophy and new science: Camilla Erculiani (Padua 1584) and Margherita Sarocchi (Rome 1612)”) aims at showing that a large number of women actively contributed to the scientific debate since the beginning of Galileo’s era. Two particular examples are considered here, the Italian learned ladies, Camilla Erculiani and Margherita Sarrocchi. Erculiani’s Letters on Natural Philosophy (1584) deal with some of the most debated topics of that time, including the presumed female intellectual inferiority, the nature of the soul, planetary influences, and physical causes of the deluge. The correspondence between Sarrocchi and Galileo Galilei (1611–1612) offers, on the other hand, an excellent analysis of the consequences of his astronomical observations. Sarrocchi understood the implications of Galileo’s findings and endorsed them wholeheartedly. Margaret Cavendish is a key figure of the complex inter-relationship between science, experimentalism, and feminist literature. She is the subject of two papers, each of which views her from a different angle. The first, by Emma Wilkins (“Margaret Cavendish and Robert Boyle on the purpose, method, and writing of natural philosophy”), explores the intellectual relations between Margaret

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Cavendish (c.1623–1673) and Robert Boyle (1627–1691), arguing that they had more in common than is often thought, and contrary to the common opinion according to which Boyle championed mechanical and experimental philosophy, while Cavendish was both an anti-mechanical and anti-experimental thinker. The second paper, by Carlotta Cossutta (“Margaret Cavendish: science and women’s power through The Blazing World”) shows that science fiction was used by Cavendish to highlight the negative features of her time, both actual and potential. In particular, she called into question the relation between power and scientific knowledge, claiming that science could be allied to female power only if radically rethought. The Blazing World highlights how Cavendish’s criticism of the mechanistic approach to science had important political and epistemological consequences for the culture of her time. The last two papers of this section open up in another direction, underlining the role of women in the diffusion of new scientific ideas and in developing technical applications useful for the general conditions of life. Both papers focus on the eighteenth-century Italian context. The chapter by Corinna Guerra (“A woman between Buffon and Sauvages: Mariangela Ardinghelli, the Italian translator of Hales’ books”) is centered on the translation of Stephen Hales’ Vegetable Staticks (1727), by the brilliant young Italian woman, Mariangela Ardinghelli (1730–1825). This book initiated new ideas in chemistry and medicine, but many Italian scholars knew the discoveries of the famous English physiologist only from the first and unique translation published in Naples in 1756. The chapter by Alessandra Mita Ferraro (“Female science, experimentation, and ‘common utility’. Teresa Ciceri, Candida Lena Perpenti, and Alessandro Volta’s research”) focuses on the scientific circle gathered around the famous Italian scientist Alessandro Volta and his discoveries about electricity. Teresa Ciceri (1750–1821) and Candida Medina-Coeli (1764–1846), also known under her husband’s last name, Lena Perpenti, shared with Volta an enlightened faith in science as means to improve the living conditions of their contemporaries, as well as boldness in their experimentations. By supporting them, Volta himself went beyond gender barriers, thereby showing that the limits to women’s achievements were historical and cultural, and not natural in origin. The third section contains three papers on reflections on feminine characters and roles by male thinkers. The section starts from the end of the Italian Renaissance, with Giordano Bruno, who is the subject of the chapter by Simonetta Bassi (“Amorous attraction and the role of women in the work of Giordano Bruno”). The paper analyses those works from Candelaio to Eroici Furori in which Bruno deals with the subject of women. The originality of his interpretation emerges in his disconnecting women from their role in procreation, and revealing the creative power of infinite matter. Thus, the female role embraces a complex dialectic between amorous attraction, in all its many aspects, and the elevation of knowledge, realized by real women that Bruno met and loved during his life. The second chapter deals with one of the first and most daring feminist male thinkers in the Cartesian wake: Poulain de la Barre. In her paper, Marie-Frédérique Pellegrin (“Women from objects to subjects of science in Poulain de La Barre”)

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shows that Poulain de la Barre made it possible to reflect on the uses of the mind that would include feminine knowledge. He claimed that the new figure of the learned Cartesian must also include female scholars. To this end, he proposed a new order of the sciences and a peculiar interpretation of the cartesian cogito. These two evolutions were, according to Poulain, both necessary to make room for women in the sciences. The final chapter, by S.A. Lloyd (“From natural equality to sexual subordination in the theories of Hobbes and Rawls”), compares the social contract theories of Thomas Hobbes and John Rawls, both of whom assume the natural equality of women and their normative status as equal with men. Nevertheless, the puzzle is that the political and social arrangements their respective theories justify may allow for women’s subordination. In Hobbes’ case, because of the incremental accretions of power that may make women’s agreement to sub-equal status appear rational. In the latter case, political liberalism precludes prohibiting child-rearing practices that may result in a decrease in women’s status. Yet, according to Lloyd, in both theories, practical gender inequality turns out to be contingent, and potentially remediable, rather than a necessary outcome. In a selection of studies of this kind, it is inevitable that there will be gaps in terms of the chronological focus, as well as in covering many other figures that are pertinent to the topic. We mainly aimed to acknowledge a number of women thinkers that belonged to the Italian context and at the same time interacted with the broader European intellectual development of the early modern period. But we had to omit figures of equal, if not greater significance, such as Lucrezia Marinella, Arcangela Tarabotti, and Laura Bassi, that are widely studied and commented elsewhere. It is to be hoped, however, that our volume will have a positive impact upon the future academic study of Italian women, not only during the Renaissance, which is better known, but also in the seventeenth century, when their intellectual activity seems to become less prominent. By showing that women’s philosophical and scientific ideas participated to the ‘great conversation’ of early modernity, we recognise that female thinkers can open our minds to new and alternative interpretations of early modern intellectual history. We also hope to contribute to breaking away from the obsession of the ‘philosophical and scientific canon’ (that is still now mostly dominated by masculine figures) and to considerably enrich our knowledge of an epoch of great and significant changes. Sabrina Ebbersmeyer Gianni Paganini

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References Broad, J., & Green, K. (2009). A history of women’s political thought in Europe, 1400–1700. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bruni Aretino, L. (1928). Humanistisch-philosophische schriften. H. Baron (Ed.). Leipzig/Berlin. Conti Odorisio, G. (1979). Donna e società nel seicento. Lucrezia Marinelli e Arcangela Tarabotti. Rome: Bulzoni. Costa-Zalessow, N. (2001). Tarabotti’s La semplicità ingannata and its twentieth-century interpreters with unpublished documents regarding its condemnation to the index. Italica, 78, 314– 325. Cox, V. (2008). Women’s writing in Italy, 1400–1650. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Dubois-Nayt, A., Dufournaud, N., & Paupert, A. (Eds.). (2013). Revisiter la querelle des femmes: discours sur l’égalité/inégalité des sexes, de 1400 à 1600, Saint-Étienne: PU Saint-Étienne. Fedele, C. (1636). Cassandrae fidelis venetae epistolae et orationes. Iacobus Philippus Tomasinus (Ed.). Padua. Fedele, C. (2000). Letters and Orations. D. Robin (Ed.). Chicago: Chicago University Press. Forèsti, G. F. (1497). De Claris selectisque mulieribus. Ferrara: Laurentius de Rubeis. Hutson, L. (Ed.). (1999). Feminism and renaissance studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jordan, C. (1990). Renaissance feminism. Literary texts and political models. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. King, M. L., & Rabil A. (Eds.). (1983). Her immaculate hand. Selected works by and about the women humanists of quattrocento Italy. Binghamton, N.Y. Labalme, P. H. (1981). Venetian women on women: Three early modern feminists. Archivio Veneto, 5(117), 81–108. Maschietto, F. L. (1978). Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia, 1646–1684: prima donna laureata nel mondo. Contributi alla storia dell’Università di Padova. Panizza, L. (Ed.). (2000). Women in Italian renaissance culture and society. Oxford: Legenda. Plastina, S., & De Tommaso, E. M. (Eds.). (2019). Filosofe e scienziate in età moderna. Pisa-Roma: Fabrizio Serra Editore. Tarabotti, A. (2007). La semplicità ingannata. S. Bortot (Ed.). Padua: Il Poligrafo. Tarabotti, A. (2004). Paternal tyranny. Letizia Panizza (Ed.). Chicago: UCP. Totaro, P. (Ed.). (1999). Donne, filosofia e cultura nel Seicento. Rome: CNR Edizioni.

Contents

Part I 1

2

3

Moderata Fonte and Michel de Montaigne in the Renaissance Debate on Friendship and Marriage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Annalisa Ceron

3

Gender and Equality between Women and Men in Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue on the Infinity of Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Evangelia Aikaterini Glantzi

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Plato and the Platonism of Anne Conway . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sarah Hutton

Part II 4

5

Women Philosophers and the Classical Inheritance

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Women Philosophers and the New Philosophy of Nature

Letters on Natural Philosophy and New Science: Camilla Erculiani (Padua 1584) and Margherita Sarrocchi (Rome 1612) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sandra Plastina Margaret Cavendish and Robert Boyle on the Purpose, Method and Writing of Natural Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emma Wilkins

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Margaret Cavendish: Science and Women’s Power Through the Blazing World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Carlotta Cossutta

7

A Woman Between Buffon and Sauvage: Mariangela Ardinghelli, the Italian Translator of Hales’ Books . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 Corinna Guerra

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Female Science, Experimentation, and ‘Common Utility’. Teresa Ciceri, Candida Lena Perpenti, and Alessandro Volta’s Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Alessandra Mita Ferraro

Part III 9

Men Philosophers on the Role of Women

Amorous Attraction and the Role of Women in the Work of Giordano Bruno . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Simonetta Bassi

10 Women from Objects to Subjects of Science in Poulain de La Barre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Marie-Frédérique Pellegrin 11 From Natural Equality to Sexual Subordination in the Theories of Hobbes and Rawls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 S. A. Lloyd Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

Part I

Women Philosophers and the Classical Inheritance

Chapter 1

Moderata Fonte and Michel de Montaigne in the Renaissance Debate on Friendship and Marriage Annalisa Ceron

Abstract This essay aims to individuate research pathways that might be followed to make female friends less absent than they are in the current debate on Renaissance conceptions of friendship. The first section offers a critical discussion of studies that have only partially challenged the idea that friendship in the early modern era was an exclusively male concern. The second shows that women entered the realm of friendship in their capacity as wives, through an analysis of the view of marriage as a form of true friendship that comes to light in Leon Battista Alberti’s Libri della famiglia. This examination allows us to shed new light on the conceptions of friendship developed by Moderata Fonte in Il merito delle donne and by Montaigne in De l’amitité. These works are examined in the third and fourth sections, which show how Fonte excluded men from the realm of friendship, while Montaigne disqualified women from it. What their reflections appear to share is their reference to marriage, but while Fonte tried to reconcile marriage and equality, Montaigne criticised matrimony for its lack of freedom. As made clear in the fifth and final section, scholars who aim to increase the presence of female friends in the contemporary debate and thus strive to achieve a clearer understanding of the Renaissance notions of friendship might benefit from examining works by other learned women, which contain the theoretical roots of feminism, as well as from investigating writings in which marriage was conceived of as a form of true friendship. Although they are not directly connected, studies on friendship, marriage and learned women are deeply intertwined and have the potential to illuminate one another.

A. Ceron (B) Department of Philosophy, University of Milan, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_1

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1.1 The Absence of Female Friends: A Historiographical Premise In 1974 Jean-Claude Fraisse published a pioneering book in which he shed new light not only on the issue of friendship in ancient philosophy but also argued in support of the relevance of the topic (Fraisse 1974, 1–29). His call for a renewed interest in friendship did not go unheeded: from the beginning of the 1980s onwards the number of scholars focusing on the subject has risen so consistently that the field of friendship studies has become important enough to warrant its own journal. The role played by Jacques Derrida’s Politique de l’amitié (Derrida 1994, 2005) is to be noted since Politique de l’amitié is invariably quoted in all studies on friendship written in the past two decades, but Derrida’s analysis has deeply influenced only a handful of works concerning the political meanings of friendship in contemporary liberal and democratic societies (for instance, Martel 2001; Vernon 2010, 152–187; Digeser 2017). As the early articles published in Amity: The Journal of Friendship Studies reveal,1 the issue of friendship is now more frequently studied in relation to the medieval period than the ancient world, while a remarkable number of studies has also been dedicated to the early modern and modern eras (Devere 2013).2 Ancient forms of friendship have been investigated mainly by scholars of the history of philosophy and history of ideas, who have analysed philosophical works independently of literary texts (for instance, Stern-Gillett 1995; Pangle 2003; Banateanu 2001) and vice versa (for instance, Blundell 1990; Craig 2012). On the other hand, medieval, Renaissance and modern forms of friendship have been explored by scholars who have frequently blurred the lines between philosophy, literature and the visual arts. A few studies have borrowed the method of social network analysis from sociology (Haseldine 2013), but the majority have adopted approaches typical of cultural and social history (among others, Haseldine 1999; Velasquez 2003; Caine 2009; Baratto 2010; Kent 2009). In the latter, historical documents like letters, diaries and alba amicorum are treated to more detailed analyses than philosophical and literary works since the analyses focus on practices rather than theories of friendship. The handful of studies addressing theories rather than practices of friendship have made clear that humanists and modern thinkers revived the classical model of perfect and true friendship, in which friends participate in an unselfish relationship based on virtue and requiring equality, and revised it in at least two ways. On the one hand, as Leon Battista Alberti’s Libri della famiglia shows, friendships aimed at achieving utilitarian and practical goals gained new importance and esteem (Hyatte 1994, 137– 202; Langer 2010, 47–63; Ceron 2011, 43–122). On the other, as Montaigne’s Essais probably demonstrates more clearly than any other work, there was also a renewed emphasis on the role of affection in friendship (Langer 1994, 2013). 1 This

journal was first published by the University of Leeds in 2013. spite of its title, Devere’s article does not focus only on friendship and politics; for a general framework of the studies on political friendship, see Ceron (2012).

2 In

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Perfect and true friendship is essentially both an Aristotelian and a Ciceronian model,3 but it appears that in the early modern and modern eras Cicero’s De amicitia was more important than Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. A famous portrait painted by Pontormo in around 1520 perhaps demonstrates this fact more clearly than any study on the success of Cicero’s dialogue ever could. The Portrait of Two Friends in fact features two virtually indistinguishable men who together hold up a sheet of paper containing the passage from Cicero’s De amicitia that precedes the famous saying that “he who looks to a true friend, looks, as it were, upon of a sort of image of himself” (Cicero 1979, 133). Pontormo’s portrait is also noteworthy because it gives the impression that friendship was not a female concern, an idea that recent studies on friendship have only partially challenged. In the introduction to one of the most remarkable volumes discussing friendship in the Middle Ages and the early modern age, the question of friendship and women is still considered to have been “a somewhat uncharted territory” (Classen and Sandige 2010, 47). Penelope Anderson, however, has attempted to map this terrain out in an article entitled The Absent Female Friend, in which she states that “before the Restoration friendship is men’s business, afterwards, it is women’s diversion” (Anderson 2010, 246) and proceeds to draw a contrast between, on the one hand, the monographs focusing on Shakespeare’s comedies that mainly discuss friendship between men and are deeply influenced by investigations on male homoeroticism and homosexuality (Hutson 1994; Shannon 2005; MacFaul 2007),4 and, on the other, the works that centre on the female friendships portrayed in women’s novels and other English literary texts of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and owe a great deal to feminist theory (Todd 1981; Faderman 1981; Vicinus 2004). Anderson’s analyses are intriguing because she has not limited herself to evoking Derrida’s indictment of the male-centred notion of friendship which stemmed from Aristotelian and Ciceronian reflections and became predominant in Western thought, but has urged scholars to go in search of female-centred ideas of friendship. In her opinion, in order to assuage the absence of female friends, it is necessary to take into account novellas and poems in addition to dramas and women’s fiction. This line of research has been followed by Anderson herself and by several other scholars in the essays collected in Discourses and Representations of Friendship in Early Modern Europe, a volume which does not focus exclusively on friendship between women,5 but nevertheless pays unusual attention to the views on friendship developed by a variety of female writers (Lochman et al. 2011). Some of these authors are particularly worth mentioning, including: Camilla Pisana and Tullia di Aragona, two courtesans whose early fifteenth-century letters described friendship as a utilitarian relationship; Marguerite, Queen of Navarre, who addressed friendship 3 The

dual origin of this model is explained in Bellincioni (1970), which demonstrates that many Aristotelian topoi found a place in Cicero’s De amicitia through the mediation of Theophrastus’s and Panaetius’s theses. 4 Both Shannon and MacFaul are influenced by Bray (2003). 5 See also the essays collected by Seifert and Wilkin (2015), which focus on early modern and modern France and take into account friendship between women as well as friendship between men and women.

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in her Heptaméron, a collection of novellas inspired by Boccaccio’s Decameron and published posthumously in 15586 ; Mary Wroth, the author of a prose romance entitled Urania, which was published in 1621 with an appendix of sonnets that upended Petrarchan tropes on love and friendship; and Catherine Philips, a royalist poet who celebrated Sapphic friendship and developed an organization of women—the Society of Friendship—whose inspiration may be traced back to the cult of Neoplatonic love imported from the continent by Henrietta Maria of France, the wife of King Charles I. Somewhat surprisingly, the essays dedicated to these female writers manage to create space for women in friendship studies without developing a critical dialogue with the well-grounded and long-running tradition of studies focusing on the condition of learned women in the early era, which has located the theoretical roots of feminism within the Renaissance. The obvious point of reference might have been to volumes like The Invention of the Renaissance Women, in which Pamela Benson examined the literary strategies used to create the notion of the independent woman by building on the pioneering analyses of Ian Maclean and Constance Jordan (Benson 1992), and The Birth of Feminism, in which Sarah Ross charted the rise of learned women in Italian and English intellectual society from 1400 to 1680 (Ross 2009). It is also worth mentioning, however, Women of the Renaissance, in which Margaret King launched an investigation on female humanists (King 1991), 7 and Sandra Plastina’s recent monograph on female philosophers from the Renaissance to the Enlightenment (Plastina 2011). As far as I know, only Carolyne James and Bill Kent have shown true appreciation for this scholarly tradition, doing so in one of the best available accounts of friendship in the Renaissance (James and Kent 2009, 149). Taking my cue from this account and from the analysis set out by Plastina (Plastina 2011, 63–65), in this essay I will focus on the passages dedicated to friendship in Il merito delle donne, a work which was first published in 1602 but was written in around 1592 by a learned Venetian woman, Modesta dal Pozzo, who was better known by her nom de plume, Moderata Fonte.8 Fonte’s work was one of the most philogynist contributions to the so-called querelle des femmes, the dispute on the merits of women that went back to Christine de Pizan’s The City of Ladies and was echoed in the third book of Castiglione’s The Courtier before gathering momentum in France just when Marguerite de Navarre was writing her Heptaméron.9 By arguing for the superiority of women over men, in Il merito delle donne Fonte developed an articulate reflection on friendship in which men are held to be incapable of establishing such a relationship. On the contrary, in his De l’amitié, Montaigne argued that it is women who are incapable of being friends: according to 6 Crucial

investigations of Marguerite de Navarre’s view of friendship also include Hyatte (1994) and Leushuis (2003); for an original reading of the Heptaméron see Zegura (2017). 7 Together with Albert Rabil, Margaret King is the director of The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe, the series that issued the English translation of Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue of Love. 8 Hereafter I will refer to Virginia Cox’s English edition of Fonte’s work: Fonte (1997). 9 For a general framework of the querelle des femmes see at least Dubois-Nayt et al. (2013).

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him, friendship is possible, in all its unparalleled affective intensity, only between men. Whereas Fonte excluded men from the realm of friendship, Montaigne denied women access to it. For this reason, although there is no evidence that Fonte read and knew Montaigne’s reflection, the views of friendship emerging from Il merito delle donne and the De l’amitié can be compared and contrasted, as I will do in the third and the fourth sections of this essay. Given that in the course of their refection on friendship both Fonte and Montaigne refer to marriage, in the second section of this essay I will examine the conception of the conjugal relationship as a form of true friendship which comes to light in the Libri della famiglia by Leon Battista Alberti, a work that according to the most recent studies is less misogynist than it has usually been considered to be. This analysis will help to make clear how Fonte and Montaigne linked friendship to marriage in different ways because while Montaigne criticised it for its lack of freedom, Fonte tried to reconcile it with a kind of equality that cannot be reduced to a resemblance in virtues and a likeness in character. But the pages dedicated to Alberti’s Libri della famiglia are also intended to point out that women entered the realm of friendship in their role as wives. In this way, it will be possible to suggest that Renaissance works on marriage in which the conjugal relationship is envisaged as a form of true friendship could be scrutinised not only to reach a better understanding of wellknown conceptions of male friendship, such as that one elaborated by Montaigne, but also to achieve a firmer grasp of notions of female friendship, such as the one developed by Fonte. As I will further clarify in the fifth and last section, the main aim of my essay is to identify new lines of research that might be followed by scholars who want to increase the presence of female friends in the current debate and thus achieve a better and fuller understanding of the Renaissance notions of friendship. To reach this goal, my analyses will not try to widen the field of investigation, as Anderson has done, by exploring novellas and poems in addition to dramas and women’s fiction. Instead, they will attempt to put friendship studies in dialogue with studies on Renaissance learned women and on Renaissance notions of marriage in order to find theoretical connections among far-reaching fields of research that have thus far scarcely been brought into relation with one another. As I will show through the examination of Alberti’s Libri della famiglia, Fonte’s Il merito delle donne and Montaigne’s De l’amitié, studies on friendship, marriage and learned women are deeply intertwined and have a considerable potential to illuminate one another.

1.2 Female Friends Qua Wives: Leon Battista Alberti’s Libri della famiglia That women entered the realm of friendship in their capacity as wives clearly surfaces in the Libri della famiglia, a long and complex dialogue that consists of four books. The first deals with raising children (de liberis educandis), the second with marriage

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(de re uxoria), the third examines economic matters (oeconmicus), and the fourth is dedicated entirely to friendship (de amicitia). The dialogue takes place in 1421 in Lorenzo Alberti’s house in Padua. It spans two days and involves nine interlocutors who introduce various themes for examination and frequently use the technique of arguing both sides of the question (disputatio in utramque partem), in imitation of Cicero’s De oratore (Marsh 1980, 78–99). The main speakers are Lionardo, a man of letters, Adovardo, a family man, and Giannozzo, an uneducated merchant. Taking the form of the young Battista, Alberti himself takes part in the dialogue, but his thoughts also emerge from the stream of arguments as a continuous shift between various conflicting and contrasting perspectives (Furlan 2003, 143–154). At the beginning of the book on marriage, Lionardo states that true friendship is the greatest of all human bonds, and he thus places it before love. His view is challenged by Battista, who thus launches a disputatio in utramque partem in which he makes every effort to prove the pre-eminence of erotic love, which he calls “venereal passion” and describes in Platonic terms as a frenzied force that induces men to carry out the greatest of actions. Battista disagrees with Lionardo on the place of friendship, but proceeds to describe it in Aristotelian and Ciceronian terms as a relationship based on virtue. To make sense of the disputatio in which erotic love is opposed to friendship, one has to bear in mind that the Libri della famiglia (Alberti 1994, 31–32 and also 347–349) offers one of the first references to a classification of friendship present in one of the Lives of Eminent Philosophers by Diogenes Laërtius, a work first translated from Greek into Latin between 1424 and 1434 by Ambrogio Traversari. In Laërtius’ Life of Plato it is stated that: There are three species of friendship: one species is natural, another social, and another hospitable. By natural friendship we mean the affection which parents have for their offspring and kinsmen for each other. […] By the social form of friendship we mean that which arises from intimacy and has nothing to do with kinship […]. The friendship of hospitality is that which is extended to strangers […]. Some add a fourth species, that of love (Laërtius 1966, 347–349).

As the quotation makes clear, friendship is subdivided into four species of relationships and thus it includes in itself forms of close ties based on intimacy and familiarity (what Laërtius labels as social friendship), bonds between parents and children (what Laërtius defines natural friendship), links of hospitality, and also relationships grounded on erotic love, since “love” is the English translation for the Greek word “eros”. Drawing from this subdivision, which will be later revived and revised by Montaigne in his De l’amitié , Alberti paves the way for the disputatio between Lionardo and Battista: they question the link between erotic love and friendship previously established in Laërtian terms and their dispute would not appear as vibrant as it is if friendship were not linked to erotic love. While it is opposed to erotic love, friendship finds a place in marriage because in the middle of his speech in support of eros Battista offers an ideal view of the conjugal relationship according to which husband and wife should be friends: We may consider the love of husband and wife greatest of all. If pleasure generates benevolence, marriage gives an abundance of all sorts of pleasure and delight: if intimacy increases

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good will, no one has so close and continued a familiarity with anyone as with his wife; if close bonds and a united will arise through the revelation and communication of your feelings and desires, there is no one to whom you have more opportunity to communicate fully and reveal your mind than to your own wife, your constant companion […]. This is a union, indeed, which one may well call true friendship. I will not lengthen my discourse by describing all the advantages stemming from this conjugal friendship and solidarity. (Alberti 2004, 98, which corresponds to Alberti 1994, 93–94).

In her seminal considerations on the role of women in Alberti’s Libri della famiglia, Constance Jordan understated the relevance of this passage for two different, but related, reasons (Jordan 1990, 47–54). One the one hand, she emphasized the hypothetical nature of the conception of marriage based on true friendship that Battista supports. On the other, she set Battista’s view in contrast with the utilitarian and pragmatic notion of marriage supported elsewhere in the dialogue not only by Lionardo, who insists on the reproductive goals of the conjugal relationship (Alberti 1994, 84–85, which corresponds to Alberti 2004, 91), but also and above all by Giannozzo, who relies on Xenophon’s Oeconomicus to present the wife as an obedient and subdued guardian of the property of her husband (Alberti 1994, 230 which corresponds to Alberti 2004, 207). According to the scholar, it is Giannozzo who gives voice to Alberti’s idea of marriage, and the attention that Alberti will pay to friendship between men (book four) rather than to friendship between husbands and wives (book three) marks a shift that leads the main interlocutors of the dialogue to reveal that women are “a property exchanged by men” (Jordan 1990, 54). This is the reason why Jordan maintained that the kind of friendship evoked by Battista “has nothing to do with feelings that a husband and wife have for each other” (Jordan 1990, 49). Like other scholars (for instance, Freccero (1991), Contarino (1991), Allen (2002, 811–828) and Mastrorosa (2004)), Jordan depicted Alberti as a Renaissance advocate of the inferiority of women. The allegations of misogyny usually levelled against him have been recently challenged by John Najemy. In a long essay dedicated to the figure of Giannozzo, Najemy has persuasively shown that in the Libri della famiglia Alberti reproduced “the patriarchal ideology of Florentine patrician society”, but was not one of its promoters since he tried “to dramatize its shaky foundations” (Najemy 2002, 53). According to him, the Libri della famiglia is to be considered a “parody of Renaissance patriarchy” and a “critique of the oppressiveness of the power that father exercised over their son” (Najemy 2002, 54). From this perspective, “the submission to his wife that Giannozzo simultaneously fears and refuses […] takes on the quality of a displaced memory of the submission and humiliation he suffered in the hands of his elders and if he could no longer prove himself a man in their eyes, he would at least to do so with his own wife” (Najemy 2002, 73). Furthermore, in the passage in which Giannozzo compares the good paterfamilias to an industrious spider entrapped in its cobweb, Alberti made visible the “confusion, danger, and anxiety surrounding the aspiration to the notion of the natural hierarchy between sex” (Najemy 2002, 73). Najemy has clarified his interpretation in a more recent essay in which he has examined the Libri della famiglia together with Maritus and other Intercenales in order to disclose that “Alberti is the most misunderstood

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of the Italian humanists, especially on the subjects of love and women” (Najemy 2008, 135). What is worthy of emphasis is that this essay reveals that in the Libri della famiglia Alberti showed how erotic love could be dangerous to the family and society, but at the same time criticised the denial of passion advocated by Bruni and other Florentine humanists through a description of the “amore venereo” influenced not only by Plato’s dialogues, but also by Lucretius’s De rerum natura, which was discovered by Poggio Bracciolini in 1417 (Najemy 2008, 135–137). Building on Najemy’s contributions, Amyrose McCue Gill has explained that the Libri della famiglia brings to light different notions of marriage and therefore can no longer serve only as an illustration of the Renaissance model that emphasizes the political and economic implications of the marital alliance and underlines its patriarchal structure (McCue Gill 2011, 1–2). Her detailed analysis shows how in the course of the dialogue “marriage and friendship repeatedly come together and draw apart, emerging and receding against a backdrop of broad concern for the successful family”, namely the family intended not only as a social and economic entity, but also as “an affective unit” (McCue Gill 2011, 3). She neither denies that marriage is extolled for its procreative aims by Lionardo, nor softens the misogynist tones of Giannozzo’s Xenophonian description of married life in which wife is subordinate to husband. If anything, she draws attention to the other views of marriage supported by the interlocutors of Alberti’s Libri della famiglia, who present the conjugal relationship as a partnership or a companionship (Alberti 1994, 110–112 and 235, which correspond to Alberti 2004, 115 and 211),10 as a union of the souls (Alberti 1994, 331, which corresponds to Alberti 2004, 290), and as a form of true friendship (Alberti 1994, 93–94, which corresponds to Alberti 2004, 98). All these views would be worthy of further consideration, but to show that women entered the realm of friendship in their capacity as wives, it suffices to focus on the last one. According to McCue Gill, the “tribute to marriage as vera amicizia” offered by Battista summarises “most of what is said about marriage in the remainder of the dialogue as a positive contribution to society and the family” (McCue Gill 2011, 19). Although the scholar maintains that the complexity of Alberti’s Libri della famiglia cannot be reduced by attributing a prevailing role to one of the conceptions of marriage that it sets forth, she brings to the fore Battista’s idea that marriage is based on true friendship, since it allows Alberti to redefine the relationship between husband and wife “as a viable male-female bond” and as “a means through which erotic desire might be productively redirected”. In this way, McCue Gill convincingly shows that far from repressing erotic love because of its dangerous effects on family and society, Alberti tried to harness it by giving voice to “a utopian coincidence of marriage and friendship” that seeks “to channel, tame and transform the wild madness of disordinato amore” (McCue Gill 2011, 20). As noted (McCue Gill 2011, 4, 11, 14, but also Mastrorosa 2004, 51–55), by grounding marriage on friendship Alberti provides an original re-articulation of an idea with Aristotelian roots which, far from being novel, was in fact long-standing. In 10 Giannozzo himself supports this view in Alberti (2004, 211), which corresponds to Alberti (1994,

331).

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Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (NE) friendship is distinguished from eros, but it is conceived as a natural bond that includes in itself the conjugal relationship as well as the bond between fathers and sons and the ties between brothers (NE VIII 14 1161b 16-1162a 34). Like father and son, for Aristotle, husband and wife are joined by a form of unequal, or asymmetrical, friendship that involves a superior and an inferior partner (NE VIII 8 1158b 11-29 and 13 1161a 22–24) and implies that each partner is loved proportionally, namely according to his worth (NE IX 1-2 1163b 32-1165a 35). Aquinas in his Summa contra Gentiles, (McCluskey 2007 and Schwartz 2007, 98) and many medieval thinkers in their commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics (Sére 2007, 106, 150, 227, 306), not to mention Bernardino da Siena in his sermons (Bernardino da Siena 1989, Predica XIX) and Francesco Barbaro in his De re uxoria (Barbaro 1987, 196–201), drew from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics to describe husband and wife as unequal friends.11 Conversely, like Erasmus in his Praise of Marriage (Rummel 1996, 79–130 and Leushuis 2004, 1289–1292),12 Alberti relied on the passages of the Nicomachean Ethics in which Aristotle maintains that true friendship is the highest and the most perfect form of philia (NE VIII 3-5 1156a 6-1156b 35): a character friendship (Cooper 1999, 312–335) based on virtue and possible only between equal partners. Neither in the quoted passage nor elsewhere in the Libri della famiglia, however, does Alberti emphasize the equality that should exist between husband and wife. His silence is not surprising if one takes into account that marriage based on true friendship is what had been defined as companionate marriage, an ideal view that underlines the importance of friendly companionship between husband and wife, emphasizes the emotional dimension of the conjugal relationship over its economic aspects and requires greater equality than the patriarchal conception of marriage (Shorter 1975, Coontz 2005). Many studies have shown that this idea of marriage finds its theoretical roots in humanistic (Davies 1981; Todd 1987, 96–117; Wayne 1992; Dean and Lowe 1998; Luxon 2001, 47–50) rather than in puritan and Protestant writings on matrimony (Stone 1979). These studies have also shown that humanists as well as puritan and Protestant supporters of companionate marriage construed equality in a narrow sense, as a similarity in character and personal disposition, a spiritual likeness in virtue, and a resemblance in age, fortune and social standing, not in a broader and more radical sense, as a reciprocity of duties and a sharing of power (Wayne 1992, 4; Furey 2011, 35–41). This is the reason why “although marriage was seen as companionate, it was nonetheless hierarchical, with husband as dominant and wife as submissive” (Kemp 2010, 41). Only modern advocates of companionate marriage will require a demanding kind of equality between husband and wife that will radically question the subjection of 11 For

a more general view of medieval ideas of marriage, see at least Edwards (1991), McCarthy (2004) and D’Avray (2005), the first chapter of which is entirely dedicated to sermons. 12 According to Furey (2011), in his De institutione feminae Christianae (1538), Vives developed a similar view of marriage, but relies on Augustine’s De bono coniugale; a detailed discussion of Augustine’s view of marriage can be found in Clarke (1986), in which it is made clear that Augustine arrived at a notion of marital friendship unique for its time and place, but is not to be considered a supporter of companionate marriage.

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women. The obvious allusion is to John Stuart Mill’s writings on marriage (Urbinati 1991; Shanley 1993; Barker 2018, 31–40), but in the previous century Mary Wollstonecraft already encouraged an analogous (liberal) conception of companionate marriage in the Vindication of the Rights of Women and in many other works, including her novels. As noted, Wollstonecraft developed a view of marital friendship that refused the arbitrary power of men by making “obsolete” the language of obedience (Abbey 1999, 85) and that aimed to pacify obsession, dissimulation and other perturbing aspects of passionate love without replacing sexual passion (Frazer 2007, 245). Furthermore, her effort to perfect women as moral selves rather than to complete them in relation to men implied that marriage was finally removed from “the realm of transactional” (Kendrix 2016, 46). It is not possible to dwell here on the differences between Wollstonecraft’s view of marriage and the one developed by Rousseau, but one cannot help but cast a glance at Julie ou la Nouvelle Héloïse since this novel occupies a key position in the history of friendship (Garrioch 2009, 174–181) and shapes the relationship between Julie and her inseparable cousin Claire as the female equivalent of the extraordinary bond between Montaigne and La Boétie (Starobinski 1971, 105–107 and Starobinski 1982, 65–66). In the second preface to the Nouvelle Héloïse, Rousseau describes his novel “as a defence of companionate marriage” (Trouille 1997, 22), but he presents the marriage between Julie and Wolmar as a form of true friendship based on gender difference (Desan 2009, 46). There is no need to remark that “through the enticing figure of Julie” Rousseau invited women to embrace “entirely private and intimate satisfactions, unknown to the public sphere, such as the care of children” (Larrère 2011, 221). What is to be highlighted is that Julie agrees to marry Wolmar after relinquishing her passion for Saint-Preux, but shortly before dying confesses that her love for the latter was never extinguished. As Elena Pulcini has repeatedly and persuasively argued (Pulcini 1992, XXI–XXV; Pulcini 1998, 149–191; Pulcini 2012, 83–90), Rousseau’s novel revolves around Julie’s vain effort to channel love into friendship and is characterized by a sharp contrast between Julie and Wolmar’s marriage, which is a form of amour-amitié, and Julie and Saint-Preux’s love, which is a form of amour-passion. As should be evident, therefore, not all the modern advocates of companionate marriage demanded what Wollstonecraft and Mill required in the conjugal life.

1.3 Female Friends and Wives: Moderata Fonte’s Il Merito delle donne Marriage is at issue in many sections of Il merito delle donne, including the one dedicated to friendship. The view of friendship stemming from this work cannot be fully understood if one ignores that it was constructed as a dialogue between seven Venetian noblewomen and friends gathered together in an idyllic garden, a locus amoenus similar to the setting of Boccaccio’s Decameron (Fonte 1997, 45) and

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Bembo’s Asolani (Chemello 1984, 110). As is repeatedly mentioned in the course of the dialogue, the women feel totally free to express their opinions as no man takes part or even listens in on their conversation, and this absence explains why the participants do not merely conclude that women and men are equal but in fact provide proof of their gender’s outright superiority. The inferiority of men comes to light because Fonte is able to offer all the female interlocutors well-defined characterizations, ensures that they speak on the basis of different personal experiences and involves them in “serious play (serio ludere)” through which they continuously shift between practical considerations and theoretical reflections and thus create a link between the rejection of misogynist bias and the condemnation of physical and social abuse that is much stronger than that of any other Renaissance defence of women (Cox 1999, 14–16). In Il merito delle donne, Adriana, a widow who is unable to remarry due to her age, chairs the debate and divides her six friends, each named after heroines featured in the catalogue of illustrious women popular in sixteenth-century Europe, into two opposite groups, one of which is appointed to outline the vices of men while the other tries in vain to defend them. The first group is composed of Leonora, a rich young widow who is in no hurry to find a new husband, Cornelia, a married woman who is jaded about marriage, and Virginia, a young woman who would like to dedicate her life to literature and learning. Arguing against them are Helena, a young and naïve bride still fascinated by the charms of her new husband, the erudite Corinna, and Lucrezia, Adriana’s unmarried daughter, who is initially dubious about marriage but eventually realises that it is unavoidable. The dialogue lasts for two days and consists of two parts. The first revolves around the idea that “men claim (and even actually believe) that the status that they have gained through their bullying is theirs by rights” (Fonte 1997, 61), which explains why, according to Virginia Cox, it goes on to offer a “feminist discussion” of the illtreatment inflicted on women by their fathers, sons, husbands and lovers (Cox 1999, 9). The second part provides an impressive series of scientific arguments covering everything from natural philosophy to heraldry, and has an encyclopaedic approach whose aim can be closely connected to that of the first section, since it represents “a first symbolic step toward the task of empowering women by equipping them with the kind of practical and theoretical knowledge of the world from which they had been traditionally excluded” (Cox 1999, 121). The second part of Fonte’s work begins with a relatively long section in which the natural disposition of women towards love and friendship is placed in contrast to the lack of feeling demonstrated by men. The passages in question tend to merge love into friendship, as the former is depicted not as a perturbing passion but rather as an emotional bond. The desire to investigate the nature of friendship and love is not surprising because the issue at stake is “women’s overwhelming natural charity and goodness” (Fonte 1997, 121), the distinctive feature ascribed to women from the start of the dialogue. What is surprising, however, is that men are immediately excluded from the realm of friendship. As soon as Corinna maintains that friendship relies on similar conduct rather than astrological influences Cornelia in fact points out that:

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A. Ceron It is very uncommon to find this kind of rare, inseparable friendship arising between two men or between a man and a woman, because men’s innate malignity stands in the way, even where this point of compatibility exists. For, as we’ve already noted, men are by nature little inclined to love. They also have a natural tendency toward pride and vanity. The upshot is that they are so ridiculously obsessed with their reputations, and with gaining the respect of those around them, that they behave very stiffly and formally in the pretence that courtesy demands it, whereas in fact their behaviour is dictated by artifice. […] And they reveal themselves not only cold and lacking in affection, but also ignorant, since they are apparently incapable in distinguishing the behaviour that is appropriate with someone you want to have consider you a real friend and the kind of behaviour we reserve for mere acquaintances (Fonte 1997, 123–124).

As this passage reveals, men can make friends neither with women nor with men. For them friendship is unachievable not only because they are cold and lacking in affection due to their innate malignity, but also because they are naturally predisposed to vanity and thus desire to be overvalued, admired and praised by other men. This natural drive for recognition is corrupting as it leads men, who are incapable of emotion, to become slaves to the conventional codes of social relationships and to establish ties based exclusively on formality and artificiality. By adopting ceremony and affectation, men behave like perpetual “acquaintances” and never like “real friends” because Cornelia implicitly follows Cicero, who set true and perfect friendship against ordinary and commonplace friendships in his dialogue.13 The debt owed to De amicitia by Il merito delle donne is made explicit in the final passages of the section in question, in which “the first law of friendship” is evoked when Corinna says that, “according to Cicero”, “we should ask of a friend only what is right, and do for a friend only what is right” (Fonte (1997), 127 is to be compared with Cicero (1979), 133, 151, 155–156) However, on the whole Corinna tends to support the propositions set out by Cornelia, and in doing so implicitly follows the Ciceronian model of vera et perfecta amicitia from the start of the section, where she maintains that the “sacred virtue of friendship” is “utterly pure and unaffected” as “it rejects all falsity, cares nothing for honour […] and dissimulation”, and wishes “to show itself concretely in demonstration of affection” (Fonte 1997, 124). As the conversation proceeds, Corinna and Cornelia repeatedly emphasize emotional involvement, selflessness and sincerity over the moral qualities and virtuous actions that Cicero argued were prerequisites of friendship. The reason for this partial dissociation from Cicero’s framework can be easily grasped: the more Corinna and Cornelia accentuate the emotional, unselfish and authentic nature of the bonds established by women, the less the connections that men are capable of creating can be considered forms of friendship. Cicero’s De amicitia is not the only classical source used in this part of the dialogue, but it appears that the open references to Ovid, Seneca, and Ariosto, as well as the uncredited quotations from Plutarch’s Sayings of Spartans, Diogenes Laërtius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers and Valerius Maximus’ Memorable Doings and Sayings serve only to reinforce Ciceronian topoi. Ciceronian arguments are 13 See Cicero (1979), 133: “I am not now speaking of the ordinary and commonplace friendship (de

vulgari aut de mediocri) […], but of that pure and faultless kind (de vera et perfecta)”.

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replaced by Neoplatonic considerations only at the end of the section, when Corinna states that: True friendship, true affinity, is the cause of all good. For it is friendship that keep the world alive: friendship seals the marriages that preserves the individual of the species, while the friendship and bonding of the elements maintains health in our bodies and bring fine weather in the air, calm to the sea and peace to the heart so that cities can be built, kingdoms grow to greatness and all creatures live in comfort (Fonte 1997, 128).

This passage shifts the discussion away from human affection and onto the cosmic harmony of which it is a part, and also acts as an introduction to a series of ‘scientific’ considerations on the natural world. One might also argue that at this point of the text friendship is conceived in a different way as the universal force that gives rise to unity and concord in the world, but it is worth emphasising another aspect of the passage that should not go unnoticed, namely that it contains the idea that marriage is a form of friendship. This interpretation stands in contrast to the view of marriage that emerges from the passages from the first part of the dialogue that argue that “women who are married—or martyred, more accurately—have endless sources of misery” (Fonte 1997, 68). The contrast, however, is considerably less stark than it seems to be. As Virginia Cox has suggested in a crucial footnote of her English edition of Il merito delle donne, the section of Fonte’s dialogue dedicated to friendship is to be read against the backdrop of “many Platonically inspired works” which “explicitly contrasts the spiritual friendship possible between males with “the baser, because more sensual, attachment between men and women” (Fonte 1997, 123). Building on Cox’s suggestion, Letizia Panizza has pointed out that Fonte did not follow the “Neoplatonic and courtesan solution of love and friendship outside marriage, alluding clearly, although implicitly, to the fourth book of Castiglione’s The Courtier. The scholar has also made clear that Fonte was neither a supporter of the “weak kind of affection within marriage” that preserved “a mitigated form of dominion and subjection”, referring clearly, although implicitly, to those works on marriage in which the conjugal relationship is based on true friendship. What is more, according to Panizza, by substituting Cicero’s idea of true friendship for “Platonic furor”, Fonte individuated the conditions of “true marriage” and thus tried to reconcile what was irreconcilable, i.e. “marriage and equality” (Panizza 2000, 61). One might wonder from which works Fonte actually distanced herself in the effort of conciliating marriage and equality.14 Although there is no evidence that she knew Alberti’s Libri della famiglia, what emerged about the ideal view of marriage as a form of true friendship in the previous section should be enough not only to realise that husband and wife, for Fonte, were equal friends, but also to recognise that she did not think of equality merely as a similarity in character and personal dispositions, a spiritual likeness in virtue, and a resemblance in age, fortune and social standing. It would be excessive to present Fonte as a forerunner of Wollstonecraft’s view of marriage, but the demanding conception of equality that she provocatively required for the form of true marriage envisaged in Il merito delle donne cannot but 14 Frigo

(1983) and Richardson (2000) might help to find an answer to this question.

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be emphasized. And the radical nature of this kind of equality cannot be fully grasped if one ignores that it is unachievable for theoretical and not only for socio-political reasons. What makes equality impossible in what we might describe as false or ordinary marriages is in fact also the exclusion of men form the realm of friendship because of their lack of affection and their natural desire to be overvalued. This is the original and unexpected outcome of a very intriguing Renaissance reflection on female friendship that argued for the superiority of women and questioned their subjection to men.

1.4 Male Friends and Wives: Montaigne’s De l’amitité Although she did not realise it, by excluding men from the realm of friendship Fonte upset Montaigne’s view of friendship. In his De l’amitié, the French philosopher banned women from the realm of friendship, making no secret of his belief that they are unable to establish such a relationship. In order to grasp this judgement in full, it is to be noted that Montaigne’s essay is entirely built on the argument that he and Étienne de La Boétie were united by an extraordinary form of friendship that could barely be defined and was without parallel. As he put it in one extremely famous passage: Such a friendship has no model but itself, and can only be compared to itself […] it was some mysterious quintessence of all this mixture which possessed itself of my will, and led it to plunge and lose itself in his; which possessed itself of his whole will, and led it, with a similar hunger and a like impulse, to plunge and lose itself in mine. I may truly say lose, for it left us with nothing that was our own, nothing that was either his or mine (Montaigne 1993, 97–98).

Through the use of the alchemical term “mixture”, Montaigne here describes a type of friendship that implies a total fusion of wills.15 His words contain an echo of the topos according to which friends share one soul in two bodies, which can be found in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (NE IX 8 1168b 9), but plays a fuller role in Cicero’s De amicitia, where it is linked to the idea that amicitia derives from amor (Cicero 1979, 139 and 189).16 Montaigne, however, goes beyond Cicero because he suggests that friends are bound together so closely that his friend is not another self, but rather a part of his own self. Moreover, while Cicero argues that true friendship is a form of love springing from virtue, Montaigne admits that he does not even recall the origins of his feelings for La Boétie: “If I were pressed to say why I love him, I feel that my only reply could be: ‘Because it was he, because it was I’” (Montaigne 1993, 97). Furthermore, as he continues with his reflections, Montaigne repeatedly notes that his enigmatic friendship with La Boétie is superior 15 In the lines of the poem Friendship Mystery, Catherine Philips used the same term (“Here Mixture

is Addition grown/We both diffuse, and both ingross”), which may derive from John Donne’s The Ecstasy: see Philips (1990, 112). 16 As Mills (1937) shows, this topos permeates Tudor literature and Stuart drama.

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not only to all other contemporary friendships, which he describes as ordinary and commonplace, but also to the friendships celebrated by ancient authors, which he describes as forms of true and perfect friendship (Pangle 2003, 64–66; Langer 2013, 65–69 and 82). Because of this, even though he apparently develops his reflection within a Ciceronian framework, in his De l’amitié Montaigne brings to light a new form of friendship that, while remaining an authentic, fully fledged and sacred bond, does not fall into the category of vera et perfecta amicitia. According to Montaigne, if it is rare enough for modern men to be capable of the kind of friendship that requires a total fusion of the wills then women are constitutionally completely incapable of it: Moreover, the normal capacity of women is, in fact, unequal to the demands of that communion and intercourse on which the sacred bond is fed; their souls do not seem firm enough to bear the strain of so hard and lasting a tie (Montaigne 1993, 95).

The misogynistic tone of this passage is worthy of note, but should not be overemphasized for at least two kinds of different reasons. As regards the first, it is well known that Montaigne chose as his fille d’alliance Marie de Gournay, the woman to whom we owe not only one of the first editions of his Essais (Devincenzo 2002) but also one of the most interesting reflections on the equality between men and women (De Gourney 2002). Since in De la presumption Montaigne goes as far as to say that he loved Marie de Gournay more than paternally and that he considered her to be one of the best parts of his own being, some scholars have compared and contrasted their relationship with the extraordinary friendship that united Montaigne and La Boétie (Losse 1996). Other scholars have instead related the passages dedicated to Marie de Gournay to those sections of Montaigne’s Essais that have urged many male and female thinkers to call into question the subordination of women to men (Plastina 2011, 78–90). Moreover, it has been persuasively shown that the conception of friendship that de Gournay borrowed from Montaigne and further elaborated influences her argument for the equality of women with men (Deslauriers 2008). As for the second kind of reasons, one cannot ignore that the exclusion of women from the realm of friendship is part and parcel of a rhetorical strategy aimed at revealing the uniqueness of the new kind of friendship described in De l’amitié. In order to do so, Montaigne first had to prove that this form of friendship is superior to any other relationship based on affection, including the one between husband and wife. It is in this context that he excludes women from the realm of friendship. And doing so, he links friendship to marriage and subjects it to a sharp, although brief, critique. Just before denying women’s capacity of being friends, in fact, in De l’amitié, Montaigne states that marriage is “a bargain to which only the entrance is free”, and here describes the conjugal relationship not only as a union that cannot give rise to an incessant “course of lively affection” because it is disturbed by “innumerable extraneous complications”, but also as a “constrained and compulsory” bond that depends “upon other things than our will” (Montaigne 1993, 95). Following his rhetorical strategy, Montaigne revives and revises Laërtius’ classification of friendship, to which he alludes as he considers the love between fathers and sons to remark once again the superiority of his bond with La Boétie. At this

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point of his analysis, his friendship with him appears greater than the four kinds of friendship of the ancients: natural friendship, social friendship, hospitable friendship and sexual friendship (Montaigne 1993, 95) or, as Montaigne calls it, “venerienne amitié” (Montaigne 1999, 184). He focuses on natural and sexual friendship. The former is analysed considering the ties between brothers in addition to the bonds between father and son. The latter is examined taking into account the relationship between man and woman inside and outside marriage. Montaigne shows little appreciation for the love between fathers and sons and for that between brothers on the basis that both are the product of nature rather than choice. As for the love between men and women, Montaigne opposes love within marriage to love outside marriage and holds little esteem for either, although he concedes that these kinds of love, like his friendship with la Boétie, both come about by choice (Montaigne 1993, 95). Love outside marriage is a form of erotic love exemplified by the verses of Catullus, the poet who presented his passion for a married woman as a foedus amicitiae. Love within marriage, on the contrary, is a form of kind and amiable affection that seems to be deprived of erotic connotation. This should not be surprising given that in Sur des vers de Virgile Montaigne contrasts erotic and conjugal love and echoes the idea that marriage should be based on friendship to point out that: A good marriage, if there can be such a thing, rejects the company and conditions of love. It tries to reproduce those of friendship. It is a sweet association in life, full of constancy, trust and an infinity number of useful and solid service and mutual obligations [..].17

Montaigne is sceptical about the existence of a good marriage because he is persuaded that any marriage inevitably results in a thorny and unhappy situation. This opinion clearly surfaces in the passage of De l’amitié in which marriage is presented, as already seen, as a condition void of freedom, full of disturbing obligations and lacking in a stable and permanent affection. This passages aims to prove that Montaigne’s friendship with La Boétie is more commendable and valuable than conjugal relationships. Montaigne’s friendship with La Boétie is finally to be considered superior also to relationships based on erotic attraction since Montaigne concludes this passage by describing erotic love as a perturbing and inconstant passion or, in his words, as “a reckless and fickle flame, wavering and changeable, a feverish fire prone to flare up and die down” (Montaigne 1999, 94). One might suppose that in De l’amitié Montaigne opposed love outside and inside marriage to harness, or channel, the disruptive effects of erotic love, as Alberti did in Libri della famiglia, but this was not the case. Just after excluding women from the realm of friendship, in fact, Montaigne alludes to the remote but not unthinkable possibility of grounding the conjugal relationship “on a fuller and more complete friendship”, a form which comes closer to his extraordinary tie with La Boétie than the kinds of friendship usually located in marriage because it is envisioned as “a free and voluntary relationship” in which “not only the soul” could find “its perfect enjoyment” but also the body could take “its share in the alliance” (Montaigne 1999, 94). This allusion is insufficient to support an argument that in De l’amitié Montaigne 17 My

translation from Montaigne (1999, 647).

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tried to individuate the condition of true marriage, as Fonte did in Il merito delle donne. If anything it shows that Fonte and Montaigne linked friendship to marriage in a different way: whereas the former tried to reconcile marriage and equality, Montaigne criticised marriage for its lack of freedom, intended in a broad and radical sense as the freedom to enter into the conjugal relationship and exit it voluntarily without foregoing sexual pleasure. This is the original and unexpected outcome of a well-known Renaissance reflection on male friendship that called into question women’s ability to be friends.

1.5 Final Remarks The comparison between Fonte’s Il merito delle donne and Montaigne’s De l’amitié has revealed that while the former excluded men from the realm of friendship, the latter claimed that it is in fact women who are unable to establish such a relationship. As noted, Montaigne’s misogyny is undeniable, but this opinion can be better understood if it is evaluated in light of the rhetorical strategy he followed in order to emphasize the extraordinary and scarcely definable nature of a form of friendship that requires a total union of the wills. What Fonte and Montaigne seem to have had in common when reflecting on friendship is that they both link the phenomenon to marriage. This connection is at risk of passing unnoticed and being misunderstood if one does not bring to mind that women entered the realm of friendship in their capacity as wives, as shown through the analysis of Alberti’s Libri della famiglia in the second section of this essay. What emerged at the end of this section makes clear that Fonte and Montaigne linked friendship and marriage in different ways: while Fonte tried to reconcile marriage and a form of equality that is more than a mere similarity in character, spirituality, age, fortune and social standing, Montaigne drew attention to the lack of freedom and pleasure that he believed distinguished the institution. As should now be evident, friendship is not simply a matter that concerned and belonged only to men. Scholars who aim to increase the presence of female friends in the current debate and thus to achieve a better and fuller grasp of Renaissance notions of friendship could well benefit from widening their field of investigation by taking into account not only novellas and poems, as Anderson has suggested in her article, but also, as I have encouraged in this essay, works by learned women in which one can find the theoretical roots of feminism, and Renaissance works in which marriage is grounded on true friendship. Starting from the Libri della famiglia and arriving at Montaigne’s De l’amitié by way of Fonte’s Il merito delle donne, I have sought to connect fields of research that up to now have seldom been brought together but which are in fact deeply intertwined and capable of illuminating one another. The research pathways identified in this essay may help to evaluate the extent to which the idea that husbands and wives are each other’s friends is of relevance to the rise of a more egalitarian and free conception of marriage, as well as to bringing about

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a better understanding of male and female friendship. As far as female friendship is concerned, it is entirely possible that friendship is an important topic in other works written by learned women between the fifteenth and the seventeenth century to challenge the misogynist assumptions of their times. A good point of departure might be the letters by Laura Cereta, a Renaissance feminist belonging to the socalled third generation of Quattrocento female humanists (Robin 1997, 1 and 3). It has been already noted that she called for a radical reconsideration of marriage (McCue Gill 2009), but her notion of friendship has yet to be explored. As we await new studies that will make female friends less absent than they currently are, we might do well to start by filling this particular gap.

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McCue Gill, A. (2011). Rereading I libri della famiglia: Leon Battista Alberti on marriage, amicizia and conjugal friendship. California Italian Studies Journal, 2(2), 1–23. Mills, L. J. (1937). One soul in bodies Twain: Friendship in Tudor literature and Stuart drama. Blomington, Ind.: The Principia Press (RP 1970). Montaigne, M. (1993). Essays (J. M. Cohen, Trans.). London: Penguin Books. Montaigne, M. (1999). Les Essais. In P. Villey (Ed.). Paris: PUF. Najemy, J. (2002). Giannozzo and His Elders: Alberti’s Critique of Renaissance Patriarchy. In W. J. Connell (Ed.), Society and individual in Renaissance Florence (pp. 51–78). Berkeley: University of California Press. Najemy, J. (2008). Alberti on love: Musings on private transgression and public discipline. In P. Arnade, & M. Rocke (Eds.), Power, gender, and ritual in Europe and the Americas: Essays in memory of Richard C. Trexler (pp. 135–152). Toronto: Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies. Pangle, S. L. (2003). Aristotle and the philosophy of friendship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Panizza, L. (2000). Polemical prose fiction. 1500–1650. In Panizza, L. & Wood, S. (Eds.). A history of women’s writing in Italy (pp. 65–78). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Philips, C. (1990). Collected work 1. The poems. In P. Thomas (Ed.). Stump Cross (Essex): Stump Cross Books. Plastina, S. (2011). Filosofe della modernità: Il pensiero delle donne dal Rinascimento all’Illuminismo. Rome: Carocci. Pulcini, E. (1992). J. J. Rousseau: L’immaginario e la morale. In J. J. Rousseau, Giulia o la Nuova Elosia (pp. III–LXXX). Milan: BUR. Pulcini, E. (1998). Amour-passion et amour conjugal: Rousseau et l’origine d’un conflit moderne. Paris: Champion. Pulcini, E. (2012). The individual without passions: Modern individualism and the loss of the social bond. Lanham: Lexington Books. Robin, D. (1997). Introduction. In L. Cereta (Ed.), Collected letters of a Renaissance feminist (pp. 3–19). Chicago: Chicago University Press. Ross, S. (2009). The birth of feminism: Woman as intellect in Renaissance Italy and England. Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press. Rummel, E. (1996). Erasmus on women. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Richardson, B. (2000). “Amore maritale”: Advice on love and marriage in the second half of the Cinquecento. In L. Panizza (Ed.), Women in Italian Renaissance culture and society (pp. 194– 208). Oxford: European Humanities Research Centre. Schwartz, D. (2007). Aquinas on friendship. Oxford: Clarendon. Seifert, L. C., & Wilkin, R. M. (Eds.). (2015). Men and women making friends in early modern France. Farnham: Ashgate. Sère, B. (2007). Penser l’amitié au Moyen âge: étude historique des commentaires sur les livres VIII et IX de l’Ethique à Nicomaque. Turnhout: Brepols. Shanley, M. L. (1993). Marital slavery and friendship: John Stuart Mill’s The subjection of women. In N. K. Badhwar (Ed.), Friendship: A philosophical reader (pp. 267–284). Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Shannon, L. (2005). Sovereign amity: Figures of friendship in Shakespearean contexts. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shorter, E. (1975). The making of the modern family. New York: Basic Books. Starobinski, J. (1971). Jean-Jacques Rousseau: La transparence et l’obstacle, suivi de Sept essais sur Rousseau. Paris: Gallimard. Starobinski, J. (1982). Montaigne en mouvement. Paris: Gallimard. Stern-Gillet, S. (1995). Aristotle’s philosophy of friendship. Albany: SUNY. Stone, L. (1979). The family, sex and marriage in England: 1500-1800. London: Weidenfeld and Nocholson.

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Todd, M. (1987). Christian humanism and the puritan social order. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Todd, J. (1981). Women’s friendship in literature. New York: Columbia University Press. Trouille, M. S. (1997). Sexual politics in the enlightenment: Women writers read Rousseau. Albany: State University of New York Press. Urbinati, N. (1991). John Stuart Mill on Androgyny and Ideal Marriage. Political Theory 19 (4):626– 648. Velasquez, E. (Ed.). (2003). Love and friendship: Rethinking politics and affection in modern times. Lanham: Lexington Books. Vernon, M. (2010). The meanings of friendship. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Vicinus, M. (2004). Intimate friends: Women who loved women. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wayne, V. (1992). Introduction. In E. Tylney (Ed.), The flower of friendship: A Renaissance dialogue contesting marriage (pp. 1–94). Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Zegura, E. C. (2017). Marguerite de Navarre’s Shifting Gaze. Perspectives on gender, class, and politics in the Heptaméron. New York: Routledge.

Chapter 2

Gender and Equality between Women and Men in Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue on the Infinity of Love Evangelia Aikaterini Glantzi

Abstract Tullia d’Aragona (ca. 1510–1556), a poet and courtesan, enters the renaissance tradition of love dialogues with her philosophical work Dialogo della Infinità di Amore (Dialogue on the Infinity of Love, 1547). Tullia d’Aragona is the only female writer in the renaissance tradition of love dialogues (Russell 1997, 21). Her account of love is impregnated by the idea of equality between women and men. This essay focuses on gender issues in Dialogue on the Infinity of Love and is composed of three parts. In the first part, I examine Dialogue’s passages where the issues of women’s true nature and equality between women and men are explicitly mentioned, so as to explore Tullia d’Aragona’s conceptions of gender and gender equality, as emerged from those passages. In the second part, I explore the following questions: (a) What does the incorporation of intercourse in honest love imply for Tullia d’Aragona’s conception of gendered human beings? I argue that it implies that she conceives of both women and men as autonomous pshyco-corporeal units. (b) What does Tullia d’Aragona’s account of honest love imply for gender and morality in general? I argue that it advocates in favor of a unified morality of love on the basis of both genders’ common humanity. In the last part, I reflect on the Dialogue from the perspective of a feminist history of philosophy. I argue that the fact that the idea of gender equality pervades the Dialogue both leads to the development of a feminist account of love and advocates for Tullia d’Aragona’s capacity to do philosophy.

1 The exact birth year of Tullia d’Aragona is not known. In Russell, we read that Tullia d’Aragona was born around 1510 (Russell 1997, 22) while, according to Hairston (2018), “she is thought to have been born” between 1501 and 1505. 2 Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogo della Infinità di Amore was first published in Venice, in 1547, by the publisher Gabriel Giolito de Ferrari.

E. A. Glantzi (B) Department of History and Theory of Law, Law School, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Athens, Greece e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_2

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Tullia d’Aragona (ca. 1510–1556),1 a well-known renaissance poet and courtesan, was established as a philosopher with her one and only philosophical work Dialogo della Infinità di Amore (Dialogue on the Infinity of Love).2 In Renaissance Italy of Cinquecento, there was a considerable production of philosophical dialogues on love.3 Plato’s Symposium inspired a lot of renaissance writers who composed their own dialogues on the matter and revised the platonic ideas.4 Tullia d’Aragona is the only female writer among them (Russell 1997, 21). Scholars have spotted two major points where the novelty of Dialogue on the Infinity of Love can be located. To begin with, her conception of honest love incorporates a physical dimension, that is, she renders intercourse an internal part of virtuous love. As Curtis-Wendlandt observes, Tullia d’Aragona “modifies the orthodox Neoplatonist position in its goal of overcoming the physical aspects of love” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 81). To the extent that her theory of love is impregnated with the idea of equality between women and men, the physical dimension of love applies to both women and men. For her era, this was a radical conclusion and in that respect, her contribution is original. As Russell points out “By founding the male–female bond on nature, she establishes a new morality of love” and “By positing the parity between the sexes, she removes women, traditionally identified with physicality and sin, from the marginal position they occupied in men’s progress to spiritual life and salvation and gives womanhood new meaning” (Russell 1997, 21).5 Furthermore, the very fact that a philosophical dialogue on love is written by a woman is, itself, a unique phenomenon within the renaissance tradition of love dialogues. As Giovannozzi writes: “The true novelty of the Dialogue lies not so much in its ideas, as in the fact that d’Aragona, a woman and courtesan, appears on the scene as a writer, and not just as a poet (a more frequent role for the women writer), capable of passing judgement—certainly, in her own way—on delicate philosophical issues that were still perceived as topics of discussion for men.” (Giovannozzi 2019, 713). Pallitto also contends that “the Dialogue on the Infinity of Love is unique in that it was written by a woman, Tullia d’Aragona, that its author is featured as a central character and a speaker, and that she gains the upper hand by the power of her wit and intellect” (Pallitto 1999, 303). By way of a summary, according to the aforementioned scholars Dialogue’s novelty consists in its raising issues of gender and gender equality and in its being written by a woman.6

3 For

the “antecedents” of Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue, see Russell (1997, 27–32). For a study on the love dialogues in Italian and French Renaissance, see Leushuis (2017). 4 As Russell (1997, 27) and Leushuis (2017, 2) point out, the renaissance tradition regarding the philosophical dialogues on love was prompted by Marsilio Ficino’s 1469 Latin commentary on Plato’s Symposium, and a 1474 Italian translation of it which was published in 1544. Plato’s Symposium thereby became accessible to a large audience. 5 See also Russell (1997, 36). 6 Curtis-Wendlandt argues that what renders Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue unique “is the way in which her discussion of love is tied to a concern about communication and the procedures of philosophic discourse itself” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 78). Hence, she offers one more reason in favor of Dialogue’s novelty. For her arguments, see Curtis-Wendlandt (2004, 78-89).

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This essay explores Tullia d’Aragona’s conceptions of gender and gender equality and is composed of three parts. In the first part, I explore Dialogue’s passages where the issues of women’s true nature and equality between women and men are explicitly mentioned. The basic aim of this part is to examine Tullia d’Aragona’s conception of gender and equality between women and men, as it emerges from those passages. In the second part of this essay I build on two of the conclusions that I make in the first part: (1) that Tullia d’Aragona adopts an inessentialist conception of gender, and (2) the idea of equality between women and men pervades her account of love and her perception of intercourse. I draw upon these conclusions, in order to answer the following questions: (a) what does the incorporation of a physical dimension in honest love imply for Tullia d’Aragona’s conception of gendered human beings? (b) what does Tullia d’Aragona’s account of honest love imply regarding gender and morality in general? In the third part, I articulate some final reflections on Tullia d’Aragona’s work, from the perspective of the feminist history of philosophy.

2.1 Reason and Gender In the opening scene of Dialogue on the Infinity of Love, the character Tullia, who verbalizes Tullia d’Aragona’s philosophical views,7 welcomes her interlocutor, Varchi in the discussion, and hastens to add that he appeared at a rather bad time (d’Aragona 1997, 55–56). As she says: Yet I rather wonder whether you may not end up feeling a little uncomfortable and perhaps regretting the fact that you came over, particularly because it was my turn to speak, and for the reasons that you will shortly hear: not only I am a woman—and you have some complex philosophical reasons for considering women less meritorious and intrinsically less perfect than men—but what is more, I do not possess either sufficient learning or verbal ornaments, as you are well aware. (ibid., 55–56)

In the above passage, Tullia d’Aragona stresses the fact the two interlocutors have a very different starting point in the debate on love, because of their gender, and their asymmetry in regards with knowledge and eloquence. Namely, Tullia d’Aragona esteems that her gender might be a reason that her interlocutor will not take seriously her philosophical ideas and arguments. This is because she knows that Varchi has defended philosophically the view that women are inferior to men (ibid., 55–56). Generally, in Tullia d’Aragona’s era, the view that women were inferior to men was not without implications regarding women’s capacity to do philosophy. This is because women’s rationality was questioned, but rationality is a precondition for philosophical reflection. As Gibson points out: “Before women could become visible as philosophers, they had first to become visible as rational autonomous 7 Muzio

Iustinapolitano, who edited the Dialogue, in his prefatory letter (to Tullia d’Aragona) incorporated in the first edition of the Dialogue (Russell 1997, 26), discloses that in the manuscript of the Dialogue, Tullia d’Aragona expressed her views under the name Sabina, which he changed into the real one, that is, Tullia (d’Aragona 1997, 52).

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thinkers. A social and ethical position holding that chastity was the most important virtue for women, and that rationality and chastity were incompatible, was a significant impediment to accepting women’s capacity for philosophical thought.” (Gibson 2006, 1). To be sure, Tullia d’Aragona was far from being considered as chaste due to her profession but still, she was a woman. In addition, she probably was well aware that it is not only Varchi but also her potential readers that will probably doubt her capacity for rational thinking and hence, philosophy due to her gender. In this passage, Tullia d’Aragona ironically points out that her interlocutor may feel uncomfortable with her taking part in a philosophical debate. That is because she is a woman and Varchi thinks of women as inferior. Tullia’s irony consists in an indirect affirmation of the view that her femininity is not associated with any intrinsic defect that would render her incapable of doing philosophy. She has the rational capacity required in order to take part in a philosophical debate. In that way, she establishes herself as an equal interlocutor in the philosophical dialogue and she places the burden of proof in regards to women’s presumed intrinsic inferiority and incapacity for philosophy both on Varchi and on the potentially distrustful readers. In parallel, she articulates the premise that women are equal with men. However, Tullia d’Aragona reveals some of her deficiencies in comparison with her interlocutor when she says that she does not have “either sufficient learning or verbal ornaments” (d’Aragona 1997, 56).8 To the extent that both knowledge and cultivated eloquence are the result of education, that is, to the extent that they are acquirable features, her deficiencies are not inherent to her gender. Yet, her deficiencies indirectly relate to female gender since in Tullia d’Aragona’s era, women’s opportunities for education were limited.9 Tullia d’Aragona was trained as an honest courtesan and enhanced her knowledge through conversations with men of letters (Russell 1997, 22). That is, she received some education but she did not have access to the formal education that the literati of her era had. Consequently, in the passage mentioned above, Tullia d’Aragona implicitly claims that women and men are both rational and capable of philosophical contemplation but the lack of education may pose some limits to women, as it happens to her. To be sure, these limits can be overcome by offering to women the same educational opportunities as men. As a result, women’s difficulties or exclusion from doing philosophy have social origins. In any case, as Smarr points out, Tullia d’Aragona “asserts her right to speak and be heard, even while acknowledging that men may not want to listen to her” due to her above deficits (Smarr 1998, 207). Varchi replies to Tullia saying: …I am not a fellow so inexpert in worldly matters and the facts of nature as not to know, at least in part, how great the power of women over men is, was, and always shall be, thanks to their spiritual qualities and, even more, to the beauty of their bodies. I would know as much 8 For

comments regarding this phrase of Tullia and Varchi’s response to it, see also Smarr (1998, 207–208). 9 For women’s opportunities for education and engagement with philosophy in the Renaissance, see Gibson and Waithe (1989, xxv–xxvii).

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had I not seen or heard any other women but you! But we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this matter on another occasion. (d’Aragona 1997, 56)

If Varchi wants to claim that he considers women equal to men, as Tullia does, his reply is not convincing. More specifically, he acknowledges that women have spiritual capacities but he contends that, for the most part, women gain their power over men through the beauty of their bodies, that is, by appeal to men’s sexual instincts, rather than appeal to their reason.10 This view of femininity totally denies women’s full potential as human beings and focuses only on their function as amorous beings, alluring to the male gaze. Clearly, Varchi offers a male-biased perspective of the female gender which does not take seriously women’s intellectual capacities. This perspective undermines women’s intellects and emphasizes their carnality. His view regarding female gender reaffirms Tullia’s suspicions. What is more, a bit later he adds: “Sperone, in his prose, and Muzio, both in his ornate prose and in different poetic meters, have written so much, and in such style, about you, that their texts “will last as long as the universe is in motion.”” (ibid., 56). The reference to Sperone carries some interesting implications given that 5 years earlier, Sperone Speroni had also published his own Dialogo d’ Amore (Speroni 1978)11 which included Tullia d’Aragona as one of its interlocutors.12 As Smarr underlines, in Speroni’s dialogue, Tullia d’Aragona’s main role is to pose questions to wiser men while she “is firmly identified with carnal, sexual love, and with the resistance of the flesh to accepting the sovereignty of reason. For her, human love is the same as animal love, and is utterly irrational.” (Smarr 1998, 205). Hence, in Speroni’s dialogue, Tullia d’Aragona is pictured as stereotypically female, that is, intellectual inferior and mainly linked to the flesh and passions, instead of reason. However, as I argued above, even from the first passages of the Dialogue Tullia d’Aragona aims at establishing herself as an equal interlocutor by shaking off the implications of inferiority that are related to the female gender. In any case, as already mentioned, Varchi prefers to transfer the debate regarding women’s nature and equality between women and men, into the future. However, he cannot. The disputation in regards with gender issues and the equality between women and men, that is, the “women’s question” has been set, even before the announcement of the main topic of the dialogue which is the question of whether love’s nature is finite or infinite. Throughout the whole Dialogue the latter question will be subtly entangled with the former.13 10 Curtis-Wendlandt also thinks that Varchi’s view of women “is rather a statement of the common stereotype of the time than any true admission of women’s equality to men” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 83). 11 Sperone Speroni’s Dialogo d’ Amore was first published in a volume (I Dialoghi) with other dialogues of the same writer. This first publication took place in Venice, in 1542 by the publishing house figliuolo di Aldo. 12 For a comparative study on the role and image of Tullia d’Aragona in each dialogue, see Smarr (1998). For comments regarding Tullia d’Aragona’s position in Speroni’s dialogue see also Russell (1997, 36). 13 Curtis-Wendlandt also comments that the above passages insert the topic of gender issues that is going to reappear in the surface from time to time: “Although d’Aragona introduces the gender

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In another passage Tullia parallels herself with Diotima and Varchi with Socrates. In that way, she indirectly defends women’s capacity to do philosophy: VARCHI: That itself would be no mean feat. You could compare yourself to Socrates, who was the wisest and most virtuous man in the whole of Greece. TULLIA: I didn’t mean that mine was the Socratic ignorance. You are putting excessively subtle interpretations on what I say. However, if Socrates was so wise and virtuous, why don’t you make a practice of imitating him? For as you know, he discussed everything with his friend Diotima and learned all manner of wonderful things from her, especially concerning the mysteries of love. VARCHI: And what do you think I’m doing? TULLIA: Quite the opposite of everything that Socrates did. Since he adopted a learning stance, whereas you’re imparting lessons. (d’Aragona 1997, 66)

In the above passage, Tullia defends her ability to do philosophy and teach “the most influential man of letters in Florence” (Russell 1997, 25). By referring to the paradigm of Diotima, Tullia d’Aragona attempts a pragmatic defense of women’s intellectual capacities. Particularly, she defends the position that women are able to do philosophy and even teach the wisest of men philosophers.14 In a coming passage, when Varchi asks Tullia what she thinks “love” is, Tullia seizes the opportunity to bring into the fore some male biases regarding love and women: VARCHI: Something that is quite impossible is clearly false and therefore cannot be shown to be true, nor would I try to prove its truth to you. Far less would I seek to make you say something you didn’t want to, as this would be grossly discourteous and presumptuous. I’ll try my utmost to prove to you, and induce you to affirm yourself, that what I said was quite true. So now, pray, what do you think “love” is? TULLIA: Do you think you can just fire off a question like that and so suddenly to a woman, especially to a woman such as myself? VARCHI: You are trying to get me to say that many women are of greater worth than a host of men. Perhaps you want me to touch on your own great merits, for you have always put more emphasis on decking out the soul with exceptional virtues than on embellishing the body with pretty or majestic ornaments. Yours is an attitude rare indeed at all times and worthy of the greatest acclaim. Actually, I didn’t ask you what love was, but what you thought love was. For I am well aware that normally women’s aptitude for love is feeble. TULLIA: You’re wrong there. Perhaps you were judging women’s love from your own. VARCHI: Imagine what you would have said if I had added (as I was on the point of doing) that women also love rarely and had quoted some lines from Petrarch: “Whence I know full well that the state of love Lasts but a short time in a woman’s heart.” topic forcefully, she is quick in removing it from the scene again, through Varchi’s words: “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss this matter on another occasion” (d’Aragona 1997, 56). The reader is made to believe that the discussion on gender relations is not going to occupy much of the dialogue’s textual space-a literary tactic d’Aragona presumably adopted not to appear too explicit. It is, however, a strategy of distraction rather than elimination, as the topic continues to play a central role throughout the dialogue in various ways. To a great extent, the question of gender relations simply moves underground, into the sheltered realms of the subtext. But whenever it comes back to the surface of the conversation again, it tends to get mixed up with the philosophical debate about love.” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 83). 14 For comments regarding the above passages see also Curtis-Wendlandt (2004, 86–87).

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TULLIA: Oh what a trickster you are! Do you think I can’t see what you are up to? Just think what would have happened if Madonna Laura had gotten around to writing as much about Petrarch as he wrote about her: you’d have seen things turn out quite differently then! Anyway, why aren’t you keeping your promise to me? VARCHI: It’s up to you, at this stage. You haven’t yet told me what you think “love” is. (d’Aragona 1997, 68–69)

In the above verbal exchange, Varchi accuses Tullia of attempting to force him to accept that “women are of greater worth than a host of men” although he holds that this is not the case. On the contrary, he thinks that women who focus on cultivating their virtues—such as Tullia—, instead of cultivating the beauty of their bodies are rare. Moreover, Varchi contends that women rarely do love and when they do, they have a weak and shallow way of doing so. He cites Petrarch in order to further support his view. This citation is far from accidental. As Kelso points out: For the most part it is left to poetry to present the lady at full length, but as the particular mistress through a particular lover’s eyes. How far Petrarch and some other poets, but especially Petrarch, meant to go beyond their Lauras to the general case is difficult to say now, nor can it be settled by the undeniable practice of renaissance Italians of using Petrarch’s poems to Laura as philosophical disquisitions and abstract potraits.” (Kelso 1978, 206).

Hence, Varchi appeals to the petrarchan Laura as epitomizing womanhood in matters of love. Tullia thinks that Varchi’s allegations about the female gender are not true, that is, women neither are inferior, nor lack in capacity to love. However, she does not offer a refined philosophical argument to defend her view. Instead she attempts a personal attack to Varchi, by accusing him of projecting his own weak capacity for love to women. In general, she seems very suspicious when intellectual men speak on behalf of women either it is Varchi or Petrarch. As she says, if women such as Madonna Laura could speak for themselves, they would give another version of the reality (d’Aragona 1997, 69). In that way, Tullia doubts the picture of womanhood in love matters as depicted in Petrarch’s Laura. In the above passages, Tullia d’Aragona juxtaposes the male perspective in regards with women and their capacities with the female perspective. In that way, she takes advantage of her position both as a writer and an interlocutor in the dialogue, in order to represent not only herself but also all women in her era whose voice was repressed and express their own side of the truth regarding their gender. In parallel, she reveals that prevailing conceptions of womanhood are male-biased and constructed without taking into consideration women’s views and experience.15 In another verbal sparring, Tullia expresses the view that reason is not the prerogative of men but it is rather genderless human quality: TULLIA: Please continue the discussion! As I said, you’ll be a mighty hero, if you can prove to my satisfaction that love is without end. VARCHI: Is it then such a heroic feat to defeat a woman? TULLIA: You’re not in a contest with a woman. You’re fighting against Reason. 15 For

the renaissance construction of womanhood through the male gaze in the literature on love, see Kelso (1978, 206–208).

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In the above passages, Tullia d’Aragona, once again, defends her position as an equal interlocutor who is able to reflect according to reason regardless of her gender.16 Actually, she presents herself as embodying reason. In any case, by refusing to giving in to Varchi’s ironical challenge who asks her if reason is female, she avoids identifying reason with male or female gender. Hence, it can be assumed that she is more interested in establishing women’s equality than superiority to men. Last but not least, an interesting direct reference to gender and women’s equality appears in the text of Dialogue after the main question on love–whether love’s nature is finite or infinite—has been resolved, and Tullia and Varchi, discuss the topic of homosexuality (ibid., 95–102). The word “homosexuality” does not appear in the text of Dialoge, but its notion is expressed periphrastically when Varchi asks Tullia her opinion about “those men who love boys” (ibid., 93–94). Tullia conceives homosexuality as a vice because physical intercourse between men does not lead to procreation and hence it violates “the dictates of nature” (ibid., 95). Nevertheless, she is well aware that Plato praised homosexual love, and challenges Varchi to comment on that (ibid., 95). Varchi argues that platonic homosexual love is “the real and authentic virtuous love” (ibid., 96) because it aims at the generation of a beautiful soul and the soul is superior to body (ibid., 96–97). Tullia is hardly convinced that platonic love was purely intellectual, as it is proved from her ongoing challenging questions that she poses to Varchi (ibid., 97–102). Moreover, she points out that Plato has unfairly excluded women from this type of intellectual love and forces Varchi to admit that women neither lack the “intellectual soul”, nor belong to an inferior species, that would justify such an exclusion: TULLIA: I wouldn’t like to let that point slip by in such a hurry. Despite my awareness that what you are saying is perfectly true, I should still like to know why a woman cannot be loved with this same type of love. For I am certain that you don’t wish to imply that women lack the intellectual soul that men have and that consequently they do not belong to the same species as males, as I have heard a number of men say. VARCHI: It was someone’s belief-but it is far from the truth—that the difference between men and women is not one of essence. And I myself maintain that not only is it possible to love women with an honest and virtuous love, but that one ought to. As far as I am concerned, I know those who have done it and do it all the time. (ibid., 97)

In the above passage, Tullia explicitly rejects the idea that men belong to essentially different human species than women and contends that both sexes are endowed by nature with an intellectual soul that renders them capable of the higher forms of love. Consequently, Tullia d’Aragona adopts an inessential conception of both female and male gender.17 16 For

comments on this passage, see also Gibson (2006, 13). (1997) and Curtis-Wendlandt (2004) contend that Tullia d’Aragona takes advantage of the discussion on homosexuality in order to promote her feminist ideas. Namely, Russell argues that

17 Russell

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Taking into consideration the above passages, the following conclusions can be drawn. First, in all passages mentioned above, Tullia implicitly or explicitly defends women’s equal rationality with men. Her defense culminates in the discussion of homosexuality where she claims that women dispose the intellectual soul which renders them capable of the higher forms of intellectual activity—that is, philosophy–and love. In this latter passage, Tullia d’Aragona’s full conception of gender emerges. Namely, Tullia d’Aragona adopts an inessential view of gender according to which both women and men are human beings which have an intellectual soul and a male and female body respectively. Hence, both women and men dispose an equal inherent capacity to philosophize and to love. Possible deficiences such as the lack of knowledge and cultivated eloquence, which Tullia detects in herself and might incommode her in the philosophical discourse have social origins, that is, they are due to women’s exclusion from the formal schooling that men can receive. Hence, if women display such inadequancies, the latter are not the result of any inherent incapacity that is inextricable to their gender but rather the outcome of their exclusion from receiving education and cultivating their intellectual capacities. Second, Tullia d’Aragona does not develop a philosophical argument regarding women’s nature or women’s equality to men. Furthermore, although she shows a remarkable erudition regarding the bibliography of love dialogues,18 she does not cite any work which defends women’s equality or superiority, e.g. Christine de Pizan’s Book of the City of Ladies (de Pizan 1982)19 in order to support her claims that women are equal to men. Instead, even from the opening scene of the Dialogue (d’Aragona 1997, 55–56), she seems to accept axiomatically that women are not intellectually inferior to men.20 Although Tullia d’Aragona does not offer a philosophical grounding of her ideas regarding female gender and gender equality, at least in two cases, it can be inferred that she provides a pragmatic defense of women’s intellectual equality to men. The first one, directly, when she brings into the fore the paradigm of Diotima (ibid., 66). The second one, indirectly, when she discusses the topic of homosexuality and she Tullia d’Aragona was not originally interested in condemning homosexuality but rather in bringing once again to the fore, the issues of equality of sexes and of physicality as an integral part of every type of love (Russell 1997, 35). According to Curtis-Wendlandt: “The anti-essentialist insistence on a gender-neutral intellective soul places women’s power of reason on an equal par with men’s. This, rather than a simple condemnation of homosexuality, should be considered d’Aragona’s paramount motivation for raising the topic of male love in her dialogue” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 85). 18 In several passages of Tullia d’Aragona’ s Dialogue, the works of other writers of love dialogues, such as Plato (d’Aragona 1997, 70, 92, 95, 96, 97, 107), Ficino (ibid. 92), Sperone Speroni (ibid. 109– 110), Leone Ebreo (ibid., 91, 92, 93, 107) and Pietro Bembo (ibid., 90, 93) are implied, mentioned or discussed. For the influence of Leone Ebreo’s Dialoghi d’ Amore in Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue see Giovannozzi (2019). 19 Christine de Pizan’s Book of the City of Ladies was written in French under the title Le Livre de la Cité des Dames and dates back to 1405. 20 Russell also writes that “Rather than proposing the gender issue for discussion, Aragona takes for granted that no reasonable man would want to doubt the essential equality of men and women. In this assumption, she was in tune with the most advanced views of some of her contemporaries.” (Russell 1997, 38).

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forces Varchi to admit, without any argument, that women belong to the same human species as men and do not lack the intellectual soul that men have (ibid., 97), although in Dialogue’s beginning she explicitly judges him for his misogynistic philosophical ideas (ibid., 55–56). More specifically, when Tullia and Varchi discuss homosexuality, the main topic of whether love’s nature is finite or infinite has been resolved, and Varchi has already been defeated by Tullia with arguments. Consequently and to the extent that a woman’s ability to do philosophy has been proved in action, such an argument is not needed. So, the authority of men to appropriate philosophy and the higher forms of love for themselves due to their alleged rational superiority has been successfully challenged on pragmatic grounds. One assumption that can be made in regards with the absence of a philosophical defense of women’s equality to men is the following: maybe Tullia d’Aragona thinks that it is so self-evident that women are equal to men that a philosophical argument to defend it, is odd. This assumption can be confirmed by the passage where she ironically says to Varchi that it is her turn to speak and this might makes him feel uncomfortable since he has “some complex philosophical reasons for considering women less meritorious and intrinsically less perfect than men” (ibid., 55–56). This latter passage advocates in favor of the view that she takes for granted that women are equal to men and she mocks Varchi’s “philosophical reasons” as both incomprehensible and unnecessary. Third, in all the above passages, the idea of equality between women and men is non-negotiable for Tullia d’Aragona. As I argued above, it is implicitly set as premise in the opening scene of the Dialogue. Hence, the idea of equality between women and men pervades all the topics that she discusses and develops. This applies to her account of love and conception of intercourse, even if she does not refer anything about gender equality in the relevant passages.21 Summing up, Tullia d’Aragona adopts an inessentialist conception of womanhood and defends women’s equality with men by claiming that both women and men belong to the human species and have an intellectual soul regardless of their different bodily anatomy. She defends her positions concerning gender issues pragmatically instead of philosophically. Last but not least, the idea of equality between women and men pervades her account of love and conception of intercourse.

2.2 Love, Intercourse and Gender As I argued in the previous part, Tullia d’Aragona’s inessentialist conception of gender and the idea of equality between women and men permeate her account of love and her perception of intercourse. This part addresses the following questions: a) what does the incorporation of a physical dimension in honest love imply for Tullia 21 Russell also points out that “The equality of the sexes is implied throughout the dialogue and is upheld by Tullia at crucial points” (Russell 1997, 38).

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d’Aragona’s conception of gendered human beings? b) what does Tullia d’Aragona’s account of honest love imply for gender and morality in general? To begin with, as already mentioned, in Dialogue on the Infinity of Love, Tullia d’Aragona explores the question of whether love’s nature is finite or infinite. The way she conceives “love” emerges from and is strongly intertwined, with the answer to the above question. Tullia d’Aragona defines love as “a desire to enjoy with union what is truly beautiful or seems beautiful to the lover” (ibid., 69). Then, she distinguishes between two types of love: the “vulgar” or “dishonest” love and the “honest” or “virtuous” love (ibid., 89–91). “Dishonest” love aims only at the carnal enjoyment of the object of love and procreation of the species “without any further thought or concern” (ibid., 89–90). This type of love is finite because it ceases, or even worse it turns into hatred, after its aim—sexual gratification—has been achieved (ibid., 90). On the contrary, “honest” love “has as its main goal the transformation of oneself into the object of one’s love, with a desire that the loved one be converted into oneself, so that the two may become one or four” (ibid., 90). The main goal of “honest” love can be realized only on a spiritual level (ibid., 90). However, an honest lover also desires the physical union with the beloved, so as to experience the “total identification” with him or her (ibid., 90). To the extent that “it is not possible for human bodies to be physically merged into one another” (ibid., 90), this latter desire can never be satisfied and hence “honest” love is infinite (ibid., 90–91). According to the above, intercourse is an integral part of honest love. Tullia d’Aragona considers that nature has endowed human beings with both reason and sexual instincts and the latter should be governed by the former (ibid., 94). Physical intercourse, is moral so long as it takes place under the dictates of reason, that is, sexual appetite should not become “unbridled and overpowering”, in a way that makes people behave like animals (ibid., 94–95). This is because people, contrary to animals, have free will (ibid., 94). In any case, intercourse is tied to procreation, to the extent that Tullia d’Aragona argues that “people should be praised, and no one censured, for generating offspring that are similar to themselves” (ibid., 94).22 Given the above, what does the incorporation of a physical dimension in honest love imply for Tullia d’Aragona’s conception of gendered human beings? As I argued in the first part, Tullia d’Aragona rejects the idea that men belong to essentially different human species than women and contends that both sexes are endowed by nature with an intellectual soul, that is, she defends an inessential conception of both female and male gender. Tullia d’Aragona’s account of honest love, to the extent that incorporates intercourse as one of its inextricable components, gives us one more hint in regards with how she conceives of gendered human beings. By way of explanation, if honest love constitutes the moral type of love, and if the moral type of love requires that both women and men take part in it with body and soul, then Tullia d’Aragona conceives of both women and men as autonomous psycho-corporeal units which equally take part in love with all their being. 22 As Curtis-Wendlandt observes “the goodness of physical love is still tied to procreation, which serves as its main justification” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 81).

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This should not come as a surprise given that in some passages that have preceded, firstly, she expresses the idea that body and soul taken together is more perfect than soul by itself. Then, after Varchi’s challenges, she ends up claiming that even if the body adds nothing to the soul, it still does not necessarily make it inferior: VARCHI: Which one do you judge to be more worthy, the soul taken by itself, without the body, or the soul and the body together? TULLIA: Now I can understand. Yet this seems to me to be one of those problems which is actually unproblematic. VARCHI: Perhaps you can’t understand me after all. TULLIA: Why so? VARCHI: First give me your answer, and then I’ll explain it to you. TULLIA: Is anyone ignorant of the fact that the whole, body and soul taken together, is more noble and more perfect than the soul by itself? VARCHI: Well, you, for one, seem to be in the dark about that. TULLIA: Why? VARCHI: Because the soul by itself is more perfect and nobler. TULLIA: That seems to me quite implausible, as well as downright impossible. You yourself would have to admit that at least the two are on a par, because the soul will exert the same power united with the body as it would by itself, being the same identical soul. Even if the body adds nothing to the soul, it still doesn’t have to reduce it to any degree.23 VARCHI: That’s an admission I can’t make. The reason is as follows: even if the soul remains identical, it is still more worthy in itself and more noble without the corporeal element than if it were united with the body, in just the same way as a lump of gold has greater purity taken by itself than if it is soiled by mud or mixed in an alloy with lead. At least it is the cause of the compound product, if nothing else. However, we’ve branched off on too many tangents. Perhaps we’re annoying these other gentlemen, who have listened in silence up to this point and may now want us to stop. TULLIA: Don’t you worry about that. Just carry on as you were, and, if possible, smooth things out and unfold them in minute detail, without taking into account what I might or might not know. To tell you the truth, I don’t seem to know anything, except that I know nothing. VARCHI: That itself would be no mean feat. You could compare yourself to Socrates, who was the wisest and most virtuous man in the whole of Greece. (ibid., 65–66).

The above passage indicates that, for Tullia d’Aragona, the bodily aspect of human beings is not per se inferior. Instead, it can form a unity with the soul without making the latter inferior.24 To be sure, sexual instincts are ascribed to the body but to the 23 In this passage, we must consider that the phrase “ doesn’t have to” has the meaning “does not logically imply that [the body] necessarily reduces [the soul] to any degree.” That is, the body can reduce the moral quality of the soul, but doesn’t necessarily do so. 24 Curtis-Wendlandt interprets the above passages as establishing, in the text, the hierarchy between body and soul which is a precondition for the distinction between spiritual and sensual love: see Curtis-Wendlandt (2004, 79). Although the discussion on the worth of the body and the soul closes with Varchi claiming that soul is superior to body, it would be more plausible to infer that it is Tullia’s view that prevails and is implied in her account of honest love for the following reasons. First, after Varchi has developed his view, Tullia does not express her agreement but she rather changes the topic. Hence, it seems that the two different opinions are expressed but nobody fully

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extent that the latter are governed by reason (ibid., 94) and intercourse takes place within honest love (ibid., 90–91), the body not only does not impede but rather contributes to moral love. In what follows, I will examine what Tullia d’Aragona’s account of honest love implies for gender and morality in general. I will focus on an aspect of her account that seems very problematic in the light of the standards of morality for women that were prevailing in Tullia d’Aragona’s era. Namely, coitus within honest love does not presuppose marriage—nowhere in the text, Tullia refers to marriage.25 Hence, Tullia d’Aragona’s account of love seems to carry a morally problematic implication for women in her era: if honest lovers can copulate outside the institutionally permitted framework, women in (honest) love but outside marriage may lose their chastity. More specifically, chastity was deemed as the ultimate virtue for a woman in Renaissance (Kelso 1978, 24–25). However, it was not one of the virtues required for the ideal renaissance man (ibid., 25). Hence, the question is what does a morality of love, which does not require chastity for women and which is impregnated with the idea of equality between women and men, imply for gender and morality, in general? Gibson points out that Tullia d’Aragona upturned the idea of women’s weak rationality, which was intertwined with the virtue of chastity, and argued that moral and rational choices in love do not require chastity. As she writes: In a dramatic move, Aragona severed the link so often alleged between weak feminine rationality and the fragility of chastity with her bold argument that chastity was not necessarily the rational, or moral, sexual choice required for women or men. She thus challenged both the denigration of women’s reason and the primacy given to chastity as a female virtue. (Gibson 2006, 12–13).

Elaborating on her arguments, Gibson writes that “Tullia argues for restraint within rational limits rather than abstinence.” (ibid., 14) and that: By defending the worth of a human sexual love on strictly rational grounds, Aragona rewrote the equation for women. She accepted that women who display cultivated rationality might not be chaste but she denied that this undermines either their intellectual or moral character. She did so as a woman who could sustain intellectual independence and a blatant lack of chastity as a result of her powerful professional associations and exemptions from customary roles. (ibid., 15)

Gibson focuses on the consequences that Tullia d’Aragona’s account of love has for women. That is, chastity is not a required virtue for women, if their rationality is to be acknowledged and if human sexual love can be defended on rational grounds. This changes her or his mind. Second, if sexual instincts are not blameable per se but only if they are not controlled by reason and to the extent that both honest and dishonest love incorporate a physical dimension but for the latter the spiritual part misses, it can be inferred that the body is not inferior as such but rather neutral. Otherwise honest love had to be only spiritual. 25 Russell writes that: “The male-female relationship that she [Tullia d’Aragona] proposes finds in itself the basis of its morality and is therefore independent of marriage and religious discipline” (Russell 1997, 39). Hence, she also underlines the fact that Tullia d’Aragona offers an account of honest love according to which marriage is not necessary.

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is a very interesting point but the exploration of the implications of Tullia d’Aragona’s work for gender and morality presupposes that we take into consideration the virtue of chastity from the perspective of both genders. Given that chastity is not one of the virtues required for the ideal renaissance man, Kelso seems to pose a right question regarding the difference between the virtues required for each gender: “Why should this one virtue have been singled out as so important for women when so unimportant for men?” (Kelso 1978, 25). In an attempted answer Kelso suggests that: …the ideal set up for the lady is essentially Christian in its character, and the ideal for the gentleman essentially pagan. Therefore even men who were most minded to accept women as having equal powers with themselves saw them still governed by a different conception of morality, or at least a different emphasis upon certain elements in that morality. Back of that conception lies of course, a tangle of social, economic, and political facts and ideas that I shall not attempt to analyze except to point out that chief of all the conditions that fixed the terms of a woman’s existence was the fact that she was the property of someone, usually a husband. Ownership implies special rights not shared by other people, and the reason frankly given for guarding so jealously the virginity of a girl before marriage and exclusive enjoyment of her by her husband afterward was the desire to insure a man heirs of his own body for the continuance of his race. Where estates and titles were in question the legitimacy of heirs easily assumed paramount importance. (ibid., 25).

As I argued above, Tullia d’Aragona adopts an inessential conception of both female and male gender since she conceives of both women and men as autonomous psycho-corporeal units endowed with same intellectual capacities in spite of their different bodily anatomy. Hence, honest love requires the participation of lovers in their full humanity (body and soul). To that extent, Tullia d’Aragona’s conceptions of womanhood and manhood are not compatible with a gendered system of double moral standards. Instead, Tullia d’Aragona’s account of love calls for a revision of the different gendered moral ideals that apply to each gender in favor of a unified morality which bids people on the base of their humanity and not their gender. Taking this last inference a step further, to the degree that, as Kelso points out, the moral ideal of renaissance woman was an expression of patriarchy which aimed at treating women as men’s property, Tullia d’Aragona’s account of love contains grains of social and political critique, as well. This is because, if both women and men are autonomous psycho-corporeal units who are equally responsible for loving honestly or dishonestly and if the same moral standards regarding love should apply to both genders, then the virtue of chastity that served men’s financial, political and social control over women is not required anymore. In the evidence of the morality of love, as proposed by Tullia d’Aragona, a new society should be designed, so that the latter will acknowledge women as equal human beings and not as men’s properties. Synopsizing, Tullia d’Aragona conceives of both women and men as autonomous psycho-corporeal units which are equipped with equal intellectual capacities regardless of their differences on the physical level. Her account of honest love, which applies to both genders, incorporates intercourse as one of its integral components. Honest love does not presupposes marriage, hence chastity is not required for moral love. In the Renaissance, chastity was a cardinal virtue for women but not for men. To the extent that chastity was a virtue that was imposed to women by patriarchy, it

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served for maintaining women’s status as men’s property. Tullia d’Aragona’s account of love challenges chastity as a required virtue for women and advocates in favor of a unified morality of love on the basis of both genders’ common humanity. The latter is not without implication for women’s equality on a social and political level.

2.3 Gender, Love, and Philosophy In the preceding parts of this essay, I argued that Tullia d’Aragona endorses an inessentialist conception of both genders and defends an account of honest love which applies to both women and men on the basis of their common humanity. This part aims at offering some final reflections on Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue on the Infinity of Love and its significance for the history of philosophy. From the perspective of the feminist history of philosophy, Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogue is invaluable because it is the case of the one and only woman writer to boldly affirm her right to an equal inclusion within the philosophical canon of renaissance love dialogues despite all the daunting reasons that she had not to do so.26 Those reasons included her gender which carried implications of inferiority and deficiency in rational thinking, her profession as a courtesan, and her unconventional education in comparison to the literati of her era who had received formal educations. But as Hagengruber has put it: “Women philosophers not only suffered constraints. They also—and without this they would not have become philosophers—distanced themselves from these constraints by reflecting on their circumstances” (Hagengruber 2015, 38). Specifically, in order to establish her position as equal contributor in the renaissance philosophical canon of love dialogues, Tullia d’Aragona, as a woman, had to defend her capacity for doing philosophy and the latter is interconnected with defending her gender against allegations of intellectual inferiority. Hence, the fact that the idea of equality between women and men pervades the whole dialogue has a double function. First, it leads to the development of a feminist account of love, which was Tullia d’Aragona’s basic aim. To the extent that both women and men are gendered bodies with an intellectual soul, they take part in honest love on equal terms and they are by nature pre-disposed to have the same capacity to love. Second, the idea of gender equality which permeates the Dialogue is itself evidence of Tullia d’Aragona’s capacity to do philosophy on equal terms with men. Women’s capacity to do philosophy is also grounded in their intellectual capacities which is the same as those of men. Hence, in Tullia d’Aragona, the capacity to do philosophy is strongly intertwined with the capacity to love and both capacities are based on men’s and women’s equal intellectual capacities. To conclude, as mentioned in the preface of this essay, Dialogue’s novelty consists in its raising issues of gender and gender equality and in its being written by a 26 For some interesting comments on how Tullia d’Aragona “circumvents the cultural exclusion of women from philosophy” in her era and “establishes her own philosophic standpoint”, see also Curtis-Wendlandt (2004, 93–95).

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woman. Insofar as Tullia d’Aragona had to defend her entry into the renaissance philosophical canon of love dialogues, these two central points of Dialogue’s novelty are interrelated.27

References d’Aragona, T. (1997). Dialogue on the infinity of love (R. Russell & B. Merry, Ed. and Trans.). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. de Pizan, C. (1982). The book of the City of Ladies (E. J. Richards Trans.). New York: Persea Book. Curtis-Wendlandt, L. (2004). Conversing on love: Text and subtext in Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogo della Infinità d’ Amore. Hypatia, 19(4), 77–98. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1527-2001.2004. tb00149.x. Gibson, J., & Waithe, M. E. (1989). Introduction to volume II. In M. E. Waithe (Ed.), A history of women philosophers vol. II: Medieval, renaissance, and enlightenment women philosophers A. D. 500–1600 (pp. xix–xxxviii). Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Gibson, J. (2006). The logic of chastity: Women, sex, and the history of philosophy in the early modern period. Hypatia, 21(4), 1–19. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1527-2001.2006.tb01125.x. Giovannozzi, D. (2019). Leone Ebreo in Tullia d’Aragona’s Dialogo. Between Varchi’s legacy and philosophical autonomy. British Journal for the History of Philosophy, 27(4), 702–717. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09608788.2018.1563765. Hagengruber, R. (2015). Cutting through the veil of ignorance: Rewriting the history of philosophy. The Monist, 98(1), 34–42. https://doi.org/10.1093/monist/onu005. Hairston, J. (2018). Aragona, Tullia d’ (1501/1505–1556). In Italian women writers. University of Chicago Library. Retrieved November 9, 2019, from http://www.lib.uchicago.edu/efts/IWW/ BIOS/A0004.html. Kelso, R. (1978). Doctrine for the lady of the Renaissance. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Leushuis, R. (2017). Speaking of love: The love dialogue in Italian and French Renaissance literature. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004343719. Pallitto, E. A. (1999). Diotima sometimes wears a yellow veil: On Tullia d’Aragona. In Differentia: Review of Italian Thought (Vol. 8, Article 25, pp. 303–307). Retrieved November 9, 2019, from https://commons.library.stonybrook.edu/differentia/vol8/iss1/25. Russell, R. (1997). Introduction. In Dialogue on the infinity of love (R. Russell, & B. Merry, Ed. and Trans.). (pp. 21–42). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Smarr, J. L. (1998). A dialogue of dialogues: Tullia d’Aragona and Sperone Speroni. MLN, 113(1), 204–212. Speroni, S. (1978). Dialogo d’Amore. In M. Pozzi (Ed.) Trattatisti del Cinquecento (I: pp. 511–563). Milan-Naples: Ricciardi.

27 In respect with the conjunction of the idea of gender equality and Tullia d’Aragona’s philosophical voice, as related to it, see also the following comment of Curtis-Wendlandt: “By appropriating the discourse on male love [homosexual love] for her own end, d’Aragona challenges the traditional topos of men’s superior rationality and creativity, and establishes her own philosophical voice as one explicitly concerned with gender” (Curtis-Wendlandt 2004, 85).

Chapter 3

Plato and the Platonism of Anne Conway Sarah Hutton

Abstract Anne Conway’s Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy exemplifies the multi-layered character of Renaissance Platonism. The overall metaphysical framework of Conway’s system, and its underlying principles, are broadly within the Platonic tradition. In this paper I argue that Conway’s philosophy is indebted not just to Platonism in general but also to Plato’s dialogues. In particular, her metaphysical conception of goodness or virtue as godlikeness, resonates deeply with Plato’s discussion of goodness in the later dialogues. By highlighting further parallels in the later dialogues, most notably in the Philebus, I seek to show that there are details of her discussion of goodness which suggest direct engagement with Plato’s philosophy. It may therefore be considered deeply embedded in the Platonist tradition.

3.1 Introduction The question whether Anne Conway was a Platonist seems hardly worth the asking. After all, it is well established that her Principia philosophiae (The Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy) has affinities with Plotinus, Kabbalism and Christian Platonism.1 The three species of Conway’s system (God/Middle Nature/Nature) bear resemblance to Plotinus’ principal metaphysical categories of the one, intellect and soul.2 Conway’s hierarchized metaphysics, and her use of 1 Conway’s Principia philosophiae was first published posthumously in Latin (Conway 1690), then translated into English as The Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy in 1692. I quote from the Latin-English parallel-text edition, by Peter Loptson (Conway 1998). There is also a modern translation by Allison Coudert and Taylor Corse (Conway 1996). For Conway’s philosophy see Broad (2003), Hutton (2004), Lascano (2013), Thomas (2018). 2 In this period, the modern distinction between Platonism and Neoplatonism did not obtain. Plotinus was regarded as the greatest interpreter of Plato. I therefore eschew the term Neoplatonism.

S. Hutton (B) Department of Philosophy, University of York, Heslington, York YO10 5DD, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_3

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such concepts as emanation and participation are the hallmarks of Neoplatonism. She was a pupil of the Cambridge Platonist, Henry More, and drew on the heavilyneoplatonised Kabbala denudata. However, to concede these Platonist credentials does not dispose of the question whether the apparent Platonism of her philosophy is anything more than a surface resemblance, since she pitched her philosophy against the moderns (Descartes, Hobbes and Spinoza) and appears to have been particularly anxious least her system be mistaken for a version of Hobbes or Spinoza. Conway’s anti-dualist conception of substance places her squarely within the debates surrounding her canonical contemporaries. In consequence most philosophical interest in Conway today focuses on her metaphysical monism.3 The apparent affinities between her philosophy and that of her contemporaries would therefore appear to support the view that the Platonism of her system is superficial. However, something that is less discussed is what might, for want of a better term, be called the moral dimension of her monism. Conway elaborates a dual aspect monism such that all created substance is both moral/spiritual and physical. This connects directly with a theme which is less than prominent in the philosophical systems of the contemporaries whom she names (Descartes, Hobbes and Spinoza), but which is central to hers: the nature of goodness. Arguably the chief concern of her philosophy is not the nature of substance but the goodness of God. It is her metaphysical conception of goodness, more specifically, her conception of goodness or virtue as godlikeness, which links her with the Platonic tradition in general.4 I have made this point elsewhere (Hutton 2018). In what follows I want to take those observations further to consider the Platonist aspect of her philosophy more closely, and to consider whether it is possible to be more specific about her sources. By showing that there are details of her discussion of goodness which suggest direct engagement with Plato’s dialogues, I argue that Conway’s philosophy is indebted to not just to Platonism in general but specifically to Plato. It may therefore be considered deeply embedded in the Platonist tradition. First, a couple of caveats: when considering early modern Platonism, we should be wary of reading Plato’s dialogues independently of the accretions of later Platonism; it is important to respect the early-modern way of interpreting Plato through later Platonism, which treated Plotinus as the great interpreter of Plato. In the case of Conway, to attempt to examine her debt to Plato, without considering the legacy of later Platonism seems particularly misguided, since, as a pupil of Henry More, she was schooled in the syncretic Platonism of the Renaissance. Her syncretism is implicit in the intentions expressed in her title that the book will deal with both the

3 For

a survey of recent literature on Conway’s monism see Jessica Gordon-Roth’s contribution to the topic (Gordon-Roth 2018). 4 It is undeniable that Christian conceptions of the good colour Conway’s conception of goodness and her articulation of it: God and Christ are the first two the ontological categories (or ‘species’ as she calls them) of her system. She also uses biblical references and the language of suffering, sin and redemption. Her conception of goodness does not reduce to religious conceptions of moral virtue and spirituality. She nevertheless believed that her system would be acceptable to Christians, Jews and Moslems.

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‘most ancient’ (antiquissima) and ‘most recent’ (recentissima) principles of philosophy. This conflation of ancient and modern accords with the early modern notion that the truths of philosophy constitute a prisca sapientia (ancient wisdom) known since ancient times, bequeathed down the ages as a philosophia perennis (perennial philosophy) by wise philosophers up until the present. One of the most well-known proponents of such a view of philosophy was the Italian Platonist Marsilio Ficino, the first to edit and translate into Latin the complete works of Plato. Others were the German philosopher (and reader of Conway) Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz and Anne Conway’s teacher, the Cambridge Platonist, Henry More. One of the ‘additions’ that More and Conway wove into it was the ‘philosophy of the Hebrews’ (philosophia hebraeorum), contained in Jewish kabbalist writings.5 For Christian Platonists the concept of philosophia perennis served to endorse Platonism as a religious philosophy, and a syncretic interpretation of the Platonic tradition. The fact that many of the ideas that served the Christian interpretation of Platonism recur in Plato’s followers and interpreters, as much as in Plato’s dialogues, presents challenges when trying to identify specific sources, especially in the absence of explicit references. Conway was working within a tradition of multi-layered Platonism. Other bearers of this tradition were the Christian philosopher, Origen and proponents of Lurianic Kabbalism. The aspect of Anne Conway’s knowledge of Platonist sources that is most well-documented is her knowledge of the Jewish Kabbalah, which she studied in the texts of the Lurianic kabbalah translated into Latin by Christian Knorr von Rosenroth to which she was introduced by Francis Mercury van Helmont (Coudert 1999; Hutton 2004). She was probably also familiar with the writings of Origen (Hutton 2012). For her direct knowledge of Plato’s dialogues, Plotinus’ Enneads and their Renaissance interpreters (e.g. Marsilio Ficino) we can be less specific. As a pupil of Henry More, Conway is associated with the philosophers now known as the Cambridge Platonists, through whom she certainly had exposure to Platonism (Hutton 2004). In his introduction to her Principles Van Helmont testifies that she studied both Plato and Plotinus. Since the Conways owned one of the largest private book collections in seventeenth-century Britain, it is very possible that she had access to original sources.6

3.2 Conway on Goodness Conway provides no definition of goodness as such, but she does make a number of statements from which its broadly Platonist character may be deduced. Goodness is absolute: ‘For true Justice or Goodness hath in it self no Latitude or Indifference; but 5 The apparent relevance of these texts arises from the fact that they had in their turn been influenced

by ancient Platonism. On prisca sapientia, see Walker (1972). For seventeenth-century kabbalism, see Coudert (1999) and the introduction to Conway (1996). 6 The Conway Library Catalogue lists a copy of Ficino’s Latin translation of Plato’s works. Whether this was still in the collection after the depredations of the Civil War is hard to be sure. See Hutton (2004).

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is like unto a certain right line, drawn from one point to another’ (Conway 1998, 101). God, in Conway’s system, is good. ‘God is infinitely Good’ (ibid., p. 175); ‘he is Charity and Goodness it self’, (ibid., 157). The goodness of the created world derives from God so everything in existence has some degree of the divine goodness. All created things are good: God ‘hath created every Creature good’ (‘quamlibet Creaturam creaverit bonam’) (ibid., 142–143), and all created things participate in God’s goodness: ‘there is no Creature which doth not receive something of his Goodness, and that very largely’ (ibid., 32). So, the goodness of created things is evidently some kind of god-likeness. Divine goodness is causal, to the extent that it is motivating: creation, Conway claims, results from an impulse of goodness ‘he made them [creatures] out of a certain internal impulse of his Divine Wisdom and Goodness’ (ibid). Divine goodness subsumes a number of properties, including ‘life’: ‘the Goodness of God is a living Goodness, which hath Life, Power, Love, and Knowledge in it’ (ibid., 175). Divine goodness is, as one would expect, infinite, but Conway holds that it is also ‘multiplicative’ (multiplicativa), that is, that it may increase. In fact, goodness is the only one of God’s attributes which Conway explicitly describes as ‘multiplicative’. This multiplicative character of goodness is directly related to another property of divine goodness, its communicability divine goodness may be imparted to other beings: ‘the Goodness of God in its own proper Nature is Communicative, and Multiplicative’ (‘Bonitas enim Dei e propria natura sua communicativa est & multiplicativa) (ibid., 94–5). Since there are no limits to goodness, every creature is capable of becoming better, of increasing in goodness, ‘to be advanced to a greater degree of Goodness, ad infinitum’ (ibid., 143). Good things are pleasant and beneficial to creatures (a good thing ‘either really or apparently pleases us’ and ‘it benefits us’ (‘sive realiter sive apparentur nobis placet’; ‘nobis beneficiat’, ibid., 182). Although everything in Conway’s system bears some resemblance to God, the subordinate species are differentiated from God, since they have properties not found in God. The key difference between God and the subordinate species is that God is unchangeable, while created nature is mutable. Middle Nature (or Christ) and created nature are further differentiated from one another because Middle Nature combines both divine immutability and creaturely mutability. In consequence, although in their first creation, everything created by God reflects his perfection to a greater or lesser extent, all created things of the third species, being sui generis mutable, are liable to fall away from the good. In this process their resemblance to God diminishes. However, nothing can fall away from the good completely and become totally evil, for that would mean becoming so unlike God as to cease existing. So, the residual godlikeness in degenerate creatures ensures that everything has the potential to increase in perfection, and to recover its original purity, and its original likeness to God. Broadly speaking, this pattern of degeneration and recovery can be described as Platonist, but Conway’s version of it is distinctive, because the degeneration and restoration is both physical and moral. The cycle of degeneration and regeneration entails metamorphosis that is both external (change in outward form or ‘figure’) and internal (change in virtuous disposition). The inner goodness of a creature is reflected

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in its appearance or ‘figure’. And this process involves pain and pleasure. According to Conway, as a creature degenerates it acquires more material characteristics, through a process which she compares to thickening. But no entity can become fully material, since that condition would be so un-godlike that it could not exist. The corporeal condition resulting from degeneration is painful. Since the pain results from decline in goodness (i.e. sin), she calls it punishment. But it is also purgative. This gives pain a role in arresting and reversing the decline. Regeneration involves a reversal of the process of degeneration, in such a way that, as creatures increase in goodness, so their physical form changes. This metamorphosis entails increased refinement of substance. It is also something which causes pleasure. The pleasure involved in regeneration is the pleasure of recognition of the good. Wherefore do we call a Thing Good? But because it either really or apparently pleases us [nobis placet], for the unity it hath with us, or which we have with it:… [and] the reason why we call or esteem a Thing Good, is this, that it benefits us, and that we are made Partakers of its Goodness [quodque participes fiamus bonitatis ejus]. (ibid., 182–183).

In the course of this cycle of loss and recovery things ultimately regain their original condition, their original resemblance to God.

3.3 The Horse This physico-spiritual process of regenerative transformation may be illustrated by the example of a horse which by striving to fulfil itself, moves up the scale of being increasing its godlikeness. The horse in Conway’s example is endowed by its creator with different degrees of perfection, such as bodily strength, and obedience to its master. The horse also exhibits anger, fear, love, memory and various other qualities which it has in common with human beings and animals. These are all degrees of perfection endowed by the creator (diversis perfectionum gradibus a creatore dotata) (ibid., 142). Although some of these are qualities which are common to humans (such as anger and love), the horse has its qualities in so far as it is a horse (qua horse). They may therefore be said to constitute the good of the horse, which distinguish it from other creatures (e.g. cows and more brutish beasts). By the exercise of the good appropriate to it, the horse increases its goodness. The full exercise of these qualities will lead to a betterment in its nature, such that, eventually, the horse will transgress the limits of its horse-ness, to ascend the ontological scale, bringing the creature it nearer to God. … An Horse in divers Qualities and Perfections draws near unto the Nature and Species of a Man, and … may in length of Time be in some measure changed into a Man… we see how gloriously the Justice of God appears in this Transmutation of Things out of one Species into another; and that there is a certain Justice which operates not only in Men and Angels, but in all Creatures. (ibid., 145, 147)

The horse rises in the hierarchy of being, ‘unto an higher degree of Goodness, as the Reward and Fruit of its Labour’(ibid., p. 143). As it does so it undergoes

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refinement of substance, reducing corporeality, as it were re-balancing its constitutional make-up to recover its original pristine condition. All creatures may continue to increase in god-likeness to infinity, they ‘might by continual augmentations (in its Mutability) be advanced to a greater degree of Goodness, ad infinitum’ (‘ita quidem, ut in mutabilitate sua continuis augmentis ad bonam provehi queat in infinitum…’, ibid., 142, 143). As a result it is possible for creatures to recover not merely their original state but to improve on it, ‘to be converted and restored, not only to as good [a state], but unto a better State than that was in which they were created’ (ibid., 169). But they can never become infinitely good, for then they would become God.

3.4 Echoes of Plato and Plotinus The overall metaphysical framework of Conway’s system, its underlying principles and her account of the means by which goodness is achieved, are broadly within the Platonic tradition. The cycles of degeneration and restoration which characterise the third species of Conway’s system recall patterns of outgoing and return in Plato’s dialogues (e.g. the myth of Er in the Republic). Such patterns are especially strong in Plotinus Enneads and in the Kabbalistic notion of Tikkun. In particular, the idea of good as godlikeness to which Conway holds is shared by both Plato and Plotinus. It occurs in different forms across Plato’s dialogues, in the Phaedrus, Timaeus, Laws, Republic, and Theaetetus, as well as in the Phaedo and Philebus (Russell 2005; Sedley 2000, 2017). For Plotinus all things bear traces of the highest good, by which they have some participation in the ideal form of Being. For Plotinus, the good man will choose the life of the gods, because we are made like gods (Enneads I.2.7.26–30, cf also I.6.9.32–4; V. 1.16–21). In ‘On Virtues’ (Peri Areton) Plotinus describes this participation in terms of proximity (nearness), the Soul being nearer than the body to ideal form, That which is altogether unmeasured is matter, and so altogether unlike: but in so far as it participates in form it becomes like that Good which is formless. Things which are nearer participate more. Soul is nearer and more akin to it than body, so it participates more. (Enneads 1.2.2.25, Armstrong translation, Plotinus 1989)

For Conway, too, to be more godlike is to be closer to God in the hierarchy of being. The definition of God with which Conway begins her Principles, echoes the godly ideal of holiness, justice and wisdom from Plato’s Theaetetus: Conway’s God is not just ‘Spirit, light, life,’ but ‘he is infinitely Wise, Good, Just’ (infinite sapiens, bonus justus, validus) (Conway 1998, 86). Broadly speaking, for Conway, as for Plato and Plotinus, goodness operates on a cosmic scale. For Conway the inherent goodness of things (the virtue and excellence of a thing) is instrumental, ensuring that each thing can fulfil its function appropriately. This excellence or virtue consists in something exercising its function well, that is doing well. This is clearly exemplified in Conway’s example of the horse, for which goodness consists in living in accordance with its true nature and living well

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means striving to fulfil its nature as a horse. Conway’s account of the excellence of the horse) recalls Plato’s functionary account of virtue in The Republic where Socrates establishes the principle that it is the use or function that determines what it is to be good: ‘Do not the excellence, the beauty and rightness of every implement, living thing, and action refer solely to the use for which each is made or by nature adapted’ (Republic 601d).7 In the Republic, Plato does not envisage that living well in accordance with one’s nature is a means to ontological advancement. However, in the Theaetetus, he proposes that living well is the path to the divine, since the model of goodness or righteousness is God. This ideal of god-likeness is a transcendent condition, achieved through liberation from the encumbrances of earthly condition. In order to become ‘righteous and holy and wise’ like God: We should make all speed to take flight from this world to the other, and that means becoming like the divine so far as we can, and that again is to become righteous with the help of wisdom. (Plato Theatetus 176b)

Plotinus quotes this passage to express the idea that virtue is godlikeness (Enneads I.2.1). In Conway, too becoming more godlike, is achieved through escaping the encumbrances of physicality, such as the debilitating ‘crassness’ that afflicts the most degenerate beings, or the outward shape of a particular creature (e.g. a horse). Plato offers no explanation of how escape from the earth is possible. But Conway envisages recovering a full state of god-likeness by the purging of all that is not like god, and the recovery of a pristine state reflective of the communicable attributes of God.

3.5 Differences Even where there are parallels between Conway and Plotinus, there are also differences: the goodness achievable by Conway’s creatures is not a transcendent goodness. It is not the austere, other-worldly goodness so often imputed to Plato (Russell 2005). For Plotinus becoming like godlike is achieved by transcending the physical entirely. In Plotinus, becoming godlike involves rising above the plane of matter, which, for Plotinus, is measureless and evil (Enneads 1.2.2). For Conway, becoming godlike certainly means becoming nearer to god. It also involves overcoming the encumbrances of body, but this is not so much a shedding of body, as refinement of bodily substance. For Conway, the created realm is measureless in the sense of infinite, but she denies the existence of matter. In Plotinus, godlikeness is transcendent to the extent that the soul becomes not just godlike, but god (Enneads I.2.6.1–3). Conway’s conception of goodness is very much in this world; although she claims it is possible for creatures to go on increasing in goodness infinitely, she denies that 7 Cf.

Republic I (353a–e) where Socrates defines the excellence of anything in terms of its capacity to fulfil its purpose.

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creatures can become infinitely good. Their condition is god-like, but not God. The goodness exemplified by the good horse is goodness achieved in the life (or lives) of creatures. This is goodness achieved not by forsaking creatures’ (animal) nature, but by fulfilling it, not by the creature abandoning its physical nature, but by refining it. Of course, Conway’s account of goodness can be understood as a variation within the Platonic tradition, which after all, accommodates many variants, of which Plotinus’ system was just one of the most important. Christian Platonism made its own adjustments and Renaissance Platonism was the inheritor of that tradition. But there are a number of details in the Conway ‘variant’ of this tradition which can, I think, be linked to Plato himself, specifically to a dialogue not so far discussed, Plato’s Philebus.

3.6 The Philebus Had Anne Conway wished to consult Plato on the highest good, a handy guide to where to look in Plato’s dialogues was the Latin translation by Marsilio Ficino, which provides a thematically systematised arrangement of the dialogues. The dialogue which Ficino designates as treating of the highest good is Plato’s Philebus. This might, on the face of it, seem an unlikely choice, since today the Philebus is treated chiefly as a dialogue on pleasure. And Ficino too recognises this aspect of the dialogue: De voluptate is its secondary title. But the main title which he gives it is Philebus vel de summo bono [Philebus or on the highest good].8 And for Ficino the Philebus proposes that the highest good of the soul is likeness to God, and that the highest good of man is a mixture of wisdom and pleasure. (Summum animae bonum dei similitudinem esse. Summum hominis bonum in sapientiae voluptatisque mixtione locavit). The good is the end towards which everything is moved; ‘the one and the good itself are the same, but the good itself is the principle of all’ (Idem enim unum et ipsum bonum, ipsum vero bonum principium omnium, Ficino 1975, 102–103). Like earlier interpreters Ficino focuses on Plato’s fourfold ontological scheme of ‘cause’, ‘mixture’, ‘limited’ and ‘unlimited’, outlined at the beginning of the dialogue (Philebus 23c–27c). Ficino attributes this scheme to ancient theologians who taught three things: that all things are one and many; that ‘the species are finite, the individual things infinite’; that progression from the one to the many required a middle being (medio). Ficino describes the beings of this world, as having varying degrees of goodness; some are more one, true, good; others less so as they decline or are restored. The whole of created nature is thus in a state of flux, undergoing cycles of degeneration and return within this fourfold division of things. In this process,

8 Ficino

wrote two commentaries on the Philebus which he regarded as one of the foundational dialogues of Plato’s philosophy. This was the dominant view in the Renaissance, when it was one of the most popular of Plato’s dialogues. See Michael Allen’s Introduction and notes to his English translation (Ficino 1975). See Plato 1978 for a modern translation of Plato’s dialogue.

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there are limits, for things neither ‘ascend to infinity’, nor do they ‘endlessly descend’ (Ficino 1975, 250). Latterly, Dorothea Frede has re-directed attention to the fourfold ontological scheme set out in the Philebus, arguing that it is not extraneous to the dialogue, but supports ‘a new ontology of pleasure and pain’, in which the best of all states to be attained is not transcendent (Frede 1992, 437).9 The good is the state of godlikeness achievable within the impermanent condition where everything is in a state of flux (Philebus 43a). This conclusion is echoed by Daniel Russell, who has argued that the godlike ideal in Philebus ‘is emphatically and explicitly a human life, as opposed to an otherworldly one’, and that ‘we live the life that is the most godlike of those that are possible for us considered as human beings’ (Russell 2005, 148 and 149). Together, Frede and Russell highlight a striking difference between the Philebus and Plato’s earlier dialogues, namely that the Philebus is not concerned with the good per se, or with cosmic good, as in the Republic or Timaeus. The ‘godlikeness’ on which Philebus focuses is not other-worldly godlikeness, such as the ascetic abandonment of the corporeality envisaged in Theaetetus. Rather, the dialogue focuses on the godlikeness that is achievable in human lives, a state of integrity free from pleasure and pain (Philebus 33b), which results from restoring orderliness and balance ‘of all there is’ (i.e. the unlimited, limit, their mixture, and the cause of the mixture). Viewed this way, Plato’s account of the good in the Philebus invites comparison with Conway, for whom the restoration of the godlikeness of creatures is affected not by transcending mutability, but by recovering the original orderliness and balance of spirit and body in individual creatures as originally created. If we confine our analysis to three of Plato’s ontological principles, leaving ‘cause’ aside, Conway’s third species lends itself to description in terms of the principles of everything set out in the Philebus, since it is constituted of limited elements (specific sub-entities, e.g. horses) and unlimited elements (the infinite multiplicity of spirits, i.e. that which does not possess a beginning, middle, or end, in Socrates’ terms). The constituent sub-species (individual creatures) are themselves ‘mixtures’ (composites) of more spirit-like and more body-like substance. Becoming godlike for Conway involves a rebalancing or harmonisation of the elements which had become disordered in the creature’s fall. Perhaps most striking of all is that for both Conway and Plato the process involves pleasure and pain. For both, pain results from the disturbance of the equilibrium of what Plato calls the ‘good mixture’, which is a harmony of the limited and the unlimited. For Conway too, pain results from a kind of disequilibrium between corporeality and spirit, with the thickening of the errant creature’s substance. Pleasure accompanies the rebalancing towards the good during the process of restoration. Pleasure is not of itself the good, but it results from the beneficial effects of increasing in goodness. Suggestive though these parallels are between conceptions of the good in the Philebus and Conway, there are of course, many differences. Not least of these is the fact that quadri-partite ontology outlined in Philebus 23c–27c (the unlimited, limit, their mixture, and the cause of the mixture) does not map on to Conway’s 9 There

is, of course, more to Frede’s discussion than this reductive summary.

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explicitly tri-partite ontology. For Conway, it is goodness rather than reason which is the driving force in all things. Conway does not posit a soul of the universe, on which the human soul is dependent, and which ensures the wisdom of human soul, nor does she use Plato’s argument for deducing human rationality from the human soul’s dependence on the world soul. But she does posit an intermediate being, ‘middle nature’ which we could (loosely) call a world soul, since its functions include all the functions associated with the world soul as cause of natural things—in Conway, Middle Nature is the principal cause of all processes and events in created nature. And for Conway as for Ficino (though not for modern commentators), the authority of Philebus would have been enhanced by the fact that Plato cites as his source the ancient wisdom of Theuth or Thoth (Philebus 18b). This mythical figure was taken by Ficino to be identical with Hermes Trismegistus, whom he mistakenly believed to be the key source of the ancient wisdom (prisca sapientia). Ficino’s version of the contents of the wisdom of Thoth in the Philebus commentary could almost be a summary of Conway: ‘the species are finite, the individual things infinite’; there is a medium or middle being (Middle Nature) between the one (God) and the many (created nature) (Ficino 1975, 254). Two other details they share are, first, that in Ficino’s interpretation there is a limit to the ascent and descent of things: they do not ‘ascend to infinity’ nor do they ‘endlessly descend’. Like Conway, Ficino uses the term ‘species’ for beings of this world (Ficino 1975, 249). However, there is no hard evidence that she read either Plato’s Philebus or Ficino’s commentary. Although it is probable that Conway was familiar with both, without definitive proof that she read them, any argument that the Philebus was a source for Conway must be inconclusive. Nevertheless, the parallels between them do highlight the fact Conway, like Plato in the Philebus, was concerned with how goodness operates in the mutable condition of the world we inhabit (what Conway calls the third species).

3.7 Conclusion As already noted, the overall metaphysical framework of Conway’s system, and its underlying principles, are broadly within the Platonic tradition. Conway’s Platonism is most apparent in her metaphysical conception of goodness, and her subscription to the Platonist ideal of the good as godlikeness. But her ontological account of the workings of goodness in the realm of created nature also resonates deeply with Plato’s discussion of goodness in the later dialogues. In general terms Conway’s Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy exemplifies the multi-layered character of Renaissance Platonism. By highlighting parallels in the later dialogues of Plato, I have sought to show that Conway’s philosophy is deeply embedded in the philosophy of Plato itself.

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References Primary Sources Conway, A. (1690). Principia philosophiae. Amsterdam. Conway, A. (1996). The principles of the most ancient and modern philosophy. Translated by A. Coudert, & T. Corse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Conway, A. (1998). The principles of the most ancient and modern philosophy (2nd ed.). Edited with an introduction by Peter Loptson. Ficino, M. (1975). The Philebus’ commentary (Edited and translated by Michael J.B. Allen). Berkeley, London: University of California Press. Plato. (1978). Philebus (transl. R. Hackforth). In E. Hamilton, & H. Cairns (Eds.), The collected dialogues of Plato (pp. 1086–1150, 1st ed. 1961). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Plotinus. (1989). Plotinus with an English Translation by A. H. Armstrong. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Walker, D. P. (1972). The ancient theology. London: Duckworth.

Secondary Sources Broad, J. (2003). Women philosophers of the seventeenth century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Coudert, A. (1999). The impact of the kabbala in the seventeenth century. The life and thought of Francis Mercury van Helmont (1614–1698). Leiden: Brill. Frede, D. (1992). Disintegration and restoration. In R. Kraut (Ed.), The Cambridge companion to Plato (pp. 425–463). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gordon-Roth, J. (2018). What kind of monist is Anne Conway? Journal of the American Philosophical Association. https://doi.org/10.1017/apa.2018.24. Hutton, S. (2004). Anne Conway. A woman philosopher. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hutton, S. (2012). Anne Conway and Origen. In A. Fürst & C. Hengstermann (Eds.), Autonomie und Menschenwürde Origenes in der Philosophie der Neuzeit (pp. 221–234). Adamantiana 2. Münster: Aschendorff Verlag. Hutton, S. (2018). Goodness in Anne Conway’s metaphysics. In E. Thomas (Ed.), Early modern women and metaphysics (pp. 229–246). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lascano, M. (2013). Anne Conway: Bodies in the spiritual world. Philosophy Compass, 8(4), 327–336. Russell, D. (2005). Plato on pleasure and the good life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sedley, D. (2000). The ideal of godlikeness. In G. Fine (Ed.), Plato 2: Ethics, politics, religion, and the soul (pp. 309–328). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sedley, D. (2017). Becoming godlike. In C. Bobonich (Ed.), The Cambridge companion to ancient ethics (pp. 319–337). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thomas, E. (2018). Anne Conway on the identity of creatures over time. In E. Thomas (Ed.), Early modern women and metaphysics (pp. 131–149). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Part II

Women Philosophers and the New Philosophy of Nature

Chapter 4

Letters on Natural Philosophy and New Science: Camilla Erculiani (Padua 1584) and Margherita Sarrocchi (Rome 1612) Sandra Plastina

Abstract This chapter aims at showing that, against the traditional narratives of the history of philosophy and science, a large number of women actively contributed to the scientific debate. In particular, two exemplar figures are considered here, the Italian learned ladies Camilla Erculiani and Margherita Sarrocchi. Erculiani’s (Letters on Natural Philosophy, 1584) deal with some of the most debated topics of that time, including the presumed female intellectual inferiority, the nature of the soul, planetary influences, and physical causes of the deluge. The correspondence between Sarrocchi and Galilei (1611–1612) offers an excellent analysis of the consequences of his astronomical observations.

4.1 Introduction Despite the traditional historiographic approach, which attributed to Italian women an education based almost exclusively on music and grammar, we now know, thanks to archive documentation and research, that many Italian women applied themselves with genuine and profound interest to scientific studies. Limiting ourselves only to the period between the fourth decade of the sixteenth century and the early years of the following century, the list of prominent women includes, among others,Laudomia Forteguerri, Isabella Cortese, Teodora Danti, Fiammetta Frescobaldi, Camilla Gregetta Erculiani, Maria Gondola, Moderata Fonte, Lucrezia Marinella and Margherita Sarrocchi. The relationship between women interested in science and institutions of the highest cultural level, such as universities and academies, and the women’s active presence in their respective reference communities, become more visible between the eighteenth and nineteenth century. This connection is rooted in the cultural debate to which women writers and philosophers took part during the Renaissance, until the first decades of the seventeenth century. The map of the rich S. Plastina (B) Dipartimento di Studi Umanistici, Università della Calabria, Via P. Bucci Arcavacata di Rende (CS), 87036 Rende, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_4

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and articulate presence of women writers contains such extensive and composite features that it requires a reconsideration of the interpretative categories that have so far led to a discontinuous periodization. The Renaissance, with the advent of the press, allowed many women to make their writing public, and thanks to their experiments, with the introduction of some unpublished themes in their works, they established an innovative relationship with the canon. Considered in these terms, the sixteenth century acquires the character of a genuine laboratory in which the forms of self-representation were also altered by writers, who were at the same time readers, and whose voice was at once lyrical and took on a narrative form, modifying the relationship with the literary tradition. During this period, Italian writers and philosophers began to translate scientific texts from Greek and Latin and developed a deeper interest in, chiefly, literary works, prayer, dialogue, poetry and moral philosophy treatises, or in writings in defense of the female gender. Scientific culture is, in fact, a prerogative of cultured women of the age, who were very interested in astrology and cosmology, physics and mathematics, botany and alchemy, chemistry, medicine and natural history. Many of them also engaged in patronage and became translators and collectors, expressions of a new approach to science. Their purpose was to give an account of the discoveries of early modern women philosophers, as can be found in the treatises written in the Italian vernacular, with an eventual refutation of the Aristotelian principles. During the sixteenth century, the debate on women and their role in society was engendering a lively output of printed literature in Italy, written by both male and female authors, especially in the Veneto area. Some Renaissance treatises rejected the old stereotypes and conventional models of female behavior, leading to instances of gender revisionism and a confutation of Aristotelian gender norms, while a significant number of women engaged with the task of refuting scholastic philosophical arguments of female inferiority.1 In addition, the end of the century was a time of great cultural change, as the need for transformation was becoming increasingly urgent for the scientific philosophy was starting to show its limitations thanks to new discoveries and theories. In this period, authors including Moderata Fonte (1555–1592), Maddalena Campiglia (1553–1595), Margherita Sarrocchi (1560–1617) and Lucrezia Marinella (1517– 1653) tackled questions dealing with natural philosophy. Throughout their works, women philosophers put themselves on an equal footing with contemporary male authors and forcefully challenged their theories, often contradicting them. Their writings express a point of view that is quintessentially female: they were aware of the difficulties in making their voice heard as philosophers, but at the same time they were convinced of their ideas and determined to introduce them into contemporary scientific discourse. The works of Camilla Gregetta Erculiani and Margherita Sarrocchi, ranging between natural philosophy and modern science, appear strongly representative of the philosophical and scientific culture of their time. 1 However,

the gender prejudice was not exclusively Aristotelian, and not all the Aristotelians adopted this position v.g., see Piccolomini (1560).

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4.2 Camilla Erculiani Against the Gender Prejudice Camilla Erculiani’s Lettere di philosophia naturale (Letters on Natural Philosophy) is a book featuring a specific philosophical argument meant to introduce new scientific theories. She was accused of heresy by the Inquisition for several passages contained in her book: it is rare to find a woman accused of expressing heretical ideas in a book about natural philosophy. Erculiani’s story gives us many opportunities for reflections on the early modern philosophical debate, on the role of women in it, and on the relationship between science and religion. Erculiani, whose work has been recently published in a new critical edition (Erculiani 2016), addressed some of the most important issues of Aristotelian natural philosophy in her book. The volume includes also the letters addressed to Erculiani by Venetian patrician Sebastiano Erizzo, a scholar and translator of Plato’s work, and Maria Gondola’s letter of dedication to Discorsi sulle Meteore, written by her husband Nicolò Vito di Gozze (1549–1610). The Lettere di Philosophia naturale, the only known work by Camilla Erculiani, (Camilla Herculiana Gregetta, as she signed herself in the dedicatory letter), an apothecary at the Tre Stelle [three stars] pharmacy in Padua,2 was published in Kraków in 1584, by Officina Lazari, overseen by the printer Jan Janszowski (1550–1613), who had studied in Padua. The work, composed of four letters, is dedicated to Anna Jagiellon, the daughter of Sigismund I and Bona Sforza and the wife of Stefan Báthory, who became king of Poland, as Stefan I, in 1575. At first, the author had decided to dedicate her work to Báthory, ‘but knowing you are busy waging war, I didn’t want to impose this care on you’ (Erculiani 2016, 106). However, this idea confirmed the choice of the Polish monarchs as illustrious addressees of her work (Erculiani 1584, f. 2). At university, Camilla had probably come into contact with some medical students who belonged to the Polish community in Padua and were frequent visitors of the pharmacy, habitual meeting place that, in that period and in many parts of Italy, was becoming a sort of embryonic scientific and cultural club (De Vivo 2007). Many pharmacies were located close to the University, and it is possible that students and lecturers of various nationalities would discuss medicine and natural philosophy at the Tre Stelle too, which was situated a stone’s throw from Palazzo del Bo, where university lectures were held (Carinci 2013, 208). Erculiani had listened to the Polish students singing the praises of Anna, their Italian-born queen, ‘she made them such that they never tire of proclaiming to all and sundry her virtue, piety and sense of justice’. Stefan Báthory himself, the future voivode of Transylvania, according to some accounts,3 attended the University of Padua in 1549 and, once he came to the throne of Poland, he promoted a broad 2 For Camilla Erculiani’s biography and the circumstances of the publication of Lettere, see Carinci

(Carinci 2013, 202–229). Dudith, an Italian-Hungarian diplomat and ecclesiast, said he had attended, with Bathory, the lectures given by the humanist Francesco Robortello and the historian Carlo Sigonio in Padua; see Dudith1992. On the presence of Hungarian students in Padua, see Bónis (1973, 234).

3 Andrea

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program aimed at extending the range of studies offered, through the presence of many Italian scholars, as suggested by Zamoyski. Some years later, as a confirmation of the good political and cultural relationship between Italy and Poland, the Venetians dedicated to the lord of the powerful ItalianPolish confederation an anthology of poems and encomiastic compositions, compiled by Ippolito Zucconelli, a doctor and scholar from Belluno,4 that included also some compositions written in the Italian vernacular by the Venetian woman of letters Moderata Fonte. Fonte was the author of Merito delle donne, and the only woman included in the editorial project; she dedicated to the king, among others, a poem in octave celebrating his successful campaign against the Muscovites between 1580 and 1582. A couple of years later, in the epistle dated 25 February, 1584, addressed to the Polish queen, Erculiani briefly explained the themes of her writings, which ranged from the natural causes of floods to the natural inclinations of men and the natural formation of the sky. Above all, she affirmed her trust in the intellectual faculties of women, and stated that the purpose of her work was that of making the world aware that women are capable of engaging in all kinds of scientific study, just like men (Erculiani 2016, 104). The Paduan author, by addressing the readers, had proudly claimed her intellectual independence, as she ‘naturally did not rely on Aristotle and Galen’ (ibid., 134) and emphasized her desire for knowledge and her experience as a self-taught reader of philosophical texts, intolerant towards the principle of authority: Someone will undoubtedly find it extraordinary that I, a woman, have set out to write and publish about matters which (according to the fashion of our times) have nothing to do with women: but if they were inclined, with common sense and without being biased, to consider how times and states of existence change, and men too, and of which substance they are made of, they would find that women are not devoid of those endowments and virtues that men have […]. Assuredly, they would be greatly surprised by the fact that I, without looking at any book, did set out to publish these few, ill-written pages, beginning from the middle of the subject (Erculiani 2016, 107). I would reply and say that I read [this] in no other author, and I don’t consider putting down the opinion of others as one’s own as praiseworthy; I won’t hide the fact I have read several authors and reflected on their definitions, and our own opinion can be expressed, once I too, duly impressed by their ingenuity and their various opinions, undertook to write down my own thinking (Ibid., 142).

Through her work, Erculiani challenged the narrow-mindedness and distrust characterizing male behavior towards women who had the insolence of writing about philosophy, and openly opposed those who kept stubbornly affirming the inferiority and flawed nature of women5 : 4 The volume

is divided into two parts: the first one consists of some Latin and Greek poems, while the second one, written in Italian in 1583, is entitled: Del giardino de’ poeti, in lode del serenissimo re di Polonia, libro secondo, Venetia:Guerra, in Viridarium poetarum tum Latino, tum Graeco, tum vulgari eloquio scribentium, Venetiis: Ad signum Hyppogriphi. 1583. 5 On women’s imperfection and their ‘natural’ deficiencies, see Speroni (1978, 565–584, in part. 583), dealing with ‘donnesca imperfezione’ (womanly imperfection).

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It riles me very much that many ill-disposed [critics] will lambast my efforts and my writing, and they will be held as vain and worthless just as the Women of our times are […] And I am sure that if women put their mind to [stimulating their intellect], foreign Knights would not dare come to this learned city of Padua and, wielding sabre and spear, accuse us of imperfection (Erculiani 2016, 108).

Erculiani’s tone hints at how much the consideration of contemporary women had changed compared to how it was described in the treatises of the beginning of the sixteenth century, in which the enhancement of the female figure, connoted by positive features such as excellence, dignity and nobility, prevailed. In the second half of the century, attacking or defending women for their limitations or virtues had become a sort of cliché, one that produced a great number of invectives and panegyrics. Many works dealing with this issue had a didactic purpose, and were stuffed full of stereotypes, and some treatises were real diatribes with an annexed misogynist repertoire. At the end of the century, the output relating to discourses on women was almost monotonous. Misogyny prevailed and reached a peak of strength and vigour. Padua, for instance, became the heart of a fiery debate (Chemello 1985, 109). Some pamphlets in defence of the ‘gentle sex’ were published in reply to the mischievous insinuations on Paduan noblewomen, made by one of their fellow citizens who, under the name of Onofrio Filiriaco, published the Vera narratione delle operazioni delle donne (Padua 1586).6 Even more relevant, within this changed cultural atmosphere, were some attempts to assert the importance of erudition in women, and of women’s ability in dealing legitimately with philosophical and scientific themes, which were instead considered as an exclusively male preserve. Actually, what is strongly stated in the Lettere is that every individual can tackle philosophical speculation if it is expressed in a language that she or he knows, ‘beginning from the middle of the subject,’ as Erculiani efficaciously wrote (Erculiani 2016, 107).7 The Paduan apothecary, however, made clear that ‘I have read several authors and reflected on their definitions’. The references within her pages, in fact, could help us to reconstruct the contents of her library, whose models were certainly Aristotle and the Hippocratic-Galenian tradition, and whose reading improved a philosophical tradition that increasingly featured new contributions made available in Italian vernacular. From the books of the Bibliotheca historica of Diodorus Siculus,8 for instance, Erculiani learnt, in reference to generation, that ‘many were the opinions and much was the discord among Philosophers because, as great historian Diodorus Siculus wrote in the first book of his histories, 6 Under the pseudonym of Prodicogine Filarete, a Paduan author railed against the explicit and spite-

ful slanders of Onofrio Filiriaco, and wrote in 1584 a Difesadelledonne contra la falsa narratione di Onofrio Filiriaco, Padova: Meietti. 7 About fifty years before the publication of Erculiani’swork, Pietro Pomponazzi, in Padua, had supported the teaching of philosophy in the Italian vernacular and the Paduan Accademia degli Infiammati led by SperoneSperoni, Alessandro Piccolomini and Benedetto Varchi, had promoted the use of the vernacular in the communication of scientific knowledge and philosophy. 8 Diodorus Siculus (1542), vernacularization of the extant books of Diodorus’s Biblioteca storica; Erculiani refers to book i: Come il mondo e le cose, secondo gli antichi fisiologi e gli storici si formassero, Chap. I, Sect. 1, 6.

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some philosophers believed that the world and mankind had a beginning, while other philosophers were of the opinion that the whole world and mankind have existed for eternity’ (ibid., 126). From the very famous Aureo libro di Marco Aurelio,9 Erculiani drew confirmation, at the end of the third letter, that one cannot leave the body and its conditions aside, because ‘Those who want to think wise thoughts need to be of healthy body and untainted mind, otherwise they will not do good deeds’ (ibid., 140–41). But, above all, by drawing from the most famous philosophical vernacular version of the time, she created her own personal interpretation of some of the natural phenomena debated by Aristotle in Meteorologica. Erculiani, in fact, took over, in her own fashion, ‘the project of writing about natural philosophy in the Italian vernacular’devised in the mid-sixteenth century by Alessandro Piccolomini,10 to which the Paduan apothecary explicitly referred also on particular scientific issues (ibid., 143).11 Piccolomini had been one of the greatest supporters of scientific prose in Italian vernacular, aimed at making available to a wider audience texts hitherto inaccessible, creating a different kind of communication addressed to several new cultural targets, such as, for instance, women: And indeed, it is a great shame that many are born each day in Italy who are endowed with a high, luminous intellect, capable of attaining the perfection brought about by sciences and learning; and that, because they were prevented from learning languages, whether Latin, Greek or Arabic, they are forced to live so imperfectly. (…) Women equally, whose virtue accounts, according to Aristotle, for half of the happiness of the state, since it is not the custom in Italy to make them learn a language other than the one they learn from their wet nurse, they remain, through no fault of their own, devoid and empty of those skills that could make them happy.12

Venetian Lodovico Dolce started the third part of Somma della filosofia d’Aristotele, with virtually the same tone. In the epistle “Ai Lettori” (to the readers) he claimed he wished to apply the laudable practice of editing and summarizing the best authors, and the great works of Aristotle too, pointing out that they are difficult to teach in schools but, once reduced to size, they can be easily enjoyed by many (Dolce 1565, f.2r-v). The Aristotelian tradition therefore represented, during the Renaissance, and ‘despite the competition of Platonism, Stoicism, Atomism and Skepticism, one of the main sources of philosophical culturalization in the West; one that was no longer the exclusive domain, as in the late Middle Ages, of university students and lecturers, or of a handful of lay people able to master scholastic Latin, but was now able to engage broader swathes of society’ (Bianchi 2009, 385).

reference to Marcus Aurelius is taken from de Guevara (1568), vol. I, Chap. xl, 63. is the phrase coined for the Filosofia naturale by Alessandro Piccolomini, by Caroti (2003, 361–401). On Alessandro Piccolomini and his philosophical work, see Piéjus M. F.et al. (2011). 11 As regards the critique of infinity in nature, Erculiani refers to the effective synthesis of Aristotle by Piccolomini (1576, ii, 21r): ‘How important it is for natural philosophy, to seek and examine if there is to be found any natural body of infinite size’. 12 Piccolomini (1551, ff. 3v-4r, 5v). 9 Erculiani’s 10 This

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Discorsi sopra le Metheore di Aristotele by the philosopher from Ragusa Nikola Vito Guˇceti´c (1549–1610) represents an interesting example of the diffusion of Meteorologica. Nicolò Vito di Gozze, in fact, created a connection between writings by women and the role of women and science in contemporary culture, and turned canonical teaching into a conversation with a cultured female audience (Martin 2012), as shown by the preface addressed to a female interlocutor written by his wife. Maria (or Mara) Gondola from Ragusa, in the dedicatory letter addressed to her friend Fiore (or Flora) Zuzori, ardently argued in favour of the ability of women to deal with philosophical and scientific themes.13 Through an original subversion of the Aristotelian paradigm, Maria, in one of the most significant passages of her preface, ascribed to women, as opposed to men, a greater and better disposition for the exercise of intellectual faculties, ‘since women have a softer constitution, as can be clearly observed, [women] having a warmer temperament; thus Aristotle said that those with a softer flesh are more able in the mind, since the soul operates by way of the body’ (Erculiani 2016, 85).14 Inspired by Plutarch, Pythagoras, and Plato, Maria Gunduli´c dealt with the excellent qualities of famous ancient women, and ended with some contemporary examples that showed ‘how easy it is for women to learn, how more acute their intellect is, and how better disposed it is to sciences than that of men’ (ibid., 91).15 So, the ‘matter’ from which women are constituted makes them ‘perfect’, more suitable for dealing with philosophical and scientific issues,16 fitter than men, who were considered by a long-established tradition, because of their warm and dry nature, ‘naturally’ gifted for knowledge. This proposition was fully shared by Erculiani, and led her to tackle some interesting questions on natural philosophy, since she had both science and virtue at heart and thought that anything that was not concerned with a knowledge of natural philosophy was ‘vain and worthless’(Erculiani 2016, 123); and, if those who are distrustful were ‘inclined, with common sense and without being biased, to consider how times and states of existence change, and men too, and of which substance they are made of, they would find that women are not devoid of those endowments and virtues that men have’ (ibid., 107). It was to be hoped that men would change their mind (some women too) about the physical constitution of women, which was considered unsuitable for intellectual

13 Maria Gondola is also one of the interlocutors in her husband’s Neoplatonic dialogues, in which Francesco Patrizi also features: see di Gozze (1581). 14 The recent critical edition of Lettere di Filosofia naturale (Erculiani 2016) also includes Maria Gondola’s letter of dedication to Discorsi sulle Meteore, and the letters addressed to Erculiani by Sebastiano Erizzo, a Venetian translator of Plato. 15 On the same issue, see Rabitti (2000, 399–433). 16 Similar feminist ideas can be traced in the work of the Polish philosopher Andre Glaber De Kobylin, author of some Problemes aristoteliciens (Problematy arystoteliczne, published many times: 1535, 1535, 1542). In particular, see Gadkio skladno´sci czlonkówczlowieczych (Tales about the Harmony of Human Limbs), ed. J. Rostafi´nski, Kraków, 1893, in Bogucka (2004).

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activities, as women are endowed with prudence and virtue exactly because of their constitution and humid temperament.17

4.3 Erculiani on Natural Philosophy The change in attitude towards the female sex, as every social change in history, can be read in the light of a wider and more general change, and Erculiani knew this well, drawing from astrological knowledge and Ptolemy’s works. ‘Change’ and the act of changing, in fact, assumed a crucial role in Erculiani’s thinking and represented an essential key to understanding the radically naturalistic vision contained in the Lettere. Throughout this work, the notion of astronomy-astrology inspired by Aristotle and Ptolemy is based on the theory of nature as being in motion, composed of the four elements and their qualitative dispositions, as well as made up of forms that are generated and perish continuously according to the rhythm of celestial revolutions. By following the Ptolemaic vision, ‘which released the doctrine of astral foretelling from the determinism typical of Stoic philosophy, bringing it closer to Aristotle’s philosophy’,18 Erculiani acknowledged the validity of Ptolemaic astrology based on birthday and resorted to a definitely materialistic etiology in the explanation of the natural phenomena, the object of her studies. The transformations that happen in men, whose qualities and dispositions change with age, do not happen ‘because of the inclination of planets or for a lack of vital spirit, but because of the abundance or lack of matter’. Erculiani’s material microcosm, in which intellectual faculties too are deeply rooted in the body, posed some crucial questions: ‘which kind of matter spawns our soul, which elements are we made of, and which elements contribute with their own substance to our creation’ (ibid., 141). Matter is able to impress changes on the soul: this happens through natural elements, not because of the soul’s fault, nor the influence of planets. Changes depend on the good or bad composition of matter, from when bodies are created to their subsequent development. Erculiani focused on the natural structure of the body, as it emerged from the Aristotelian perspective relating to the physiological identity of the human body’s constituent matter. Everything happens due to abundance or lack of matter, which is composed of elements because, according to Aristotle, as he wrote in Metereologica, in our world there exist only mixed bodies, whose prevalent features are those that make them most similar to the elements that are governed by planets. 17 According to Moderata Fonte, changing men’s mind is a difficult task, ‘even harder than modifying the shape of trees, and when they do change their mind, it’s sometimes for the worst,’ (Fonte 1988, 112–113). 18 Ernst (2001, online), Camilla wrote some years before the new directives on astrology issued by the Roman Church in 1586, and explained in Coeli et terrae Creator by Sixtus, which banished all forms of judicial astrology; cf. the Italian translation in Campanella (Campanella 2003, 255–264).

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The reflection on how the equilibrium of natural elements is unstable and is constantly adjustingled Erculiani to dwell on the characteristics of the human compound and on the natural temperament of man, to which she daringly linked the question of the Flood. In the first two letters, dated 1577, proof of an epistolary exchange with Burgundian doctor Giorgio Garnero (Georges Garnier 1550–1614) and in the third and last one dated 1581, addressed to Martin Berzeviczy, a diplomat at Báthory’s court and a philosophy scholar, Erculiani dealt with some important philosophical issues. In the letter on the ‘natural cause of the Flood and man’s natural temperament,’ the author reported a conversation with an ‘Excellent man,’ according to whom, if Adam had not committed the original sin, man’s life would be eternal. Erculiani, in open disagreement, illustrated her theory on the natural origin of the Flood, according to which the latter happened because men had become too numerous and had taken away too much matter from Earth, ‘which found itself so much diminished that it was inevitably wallowed by waters’ (ibid., 68), for the balance among elements to be restored.19 Erculiani stated that man cannot live forever in any case, because he is composed of mud and earth and, even if he had not committed the original sin, he would have died in any case. In fact, according to natural reason and the ideas included in De elementis ex Hippocrate by Galen, the material body cannot be made of one element only, and man cannot avoid the decomposition of the compound he is made up of, and which consists of contrasting elements that fight each other to destruction.20 The assumption that the Flood was ascribable to natural causes, by embodying the predominance of one of the four elements on the other three within the sublunary world—a predominance determined by precise astral constellations, can be related to the ideas expressed by Avicenna in the pamphlet De diluviis, composed of the comment on Chap. XIV of book I of Meteorologica, explained by Pietro Pomponazzi in a series of texts for the courses held in Bologna.21 The natural cause of the Flood was that earth was diminished, because of the multitude, size and longevity of men, since ‘no other animal, plant or construction is designed to live eight hundred, nine hundred and eighty years like man’ (Erculiani 2016, 144). So, the end was brought about by the constant growth of men, who impoverish earth, and from the subsequent predominance of water on the other elements, to which follows the destruction and the following reconstruction of a new order, a new beginning, a new generation. At this point, Erculiani advanced the hypothesis that men, after earthquakes and floods, can reproduce themselves by spontaneous generation thanks to the beneficial influence of the stars. In the Lettere, the naturalistic idea of the origin of man on 19 On

the Flood as a natural phenomenon, see di Gozze (1584, 56r). Erculiani (2016, 126). A similar view was presented in Fonte (1988, 79). 21 There are two reportationes of the Quaestio de genitis ex putri materia, debated by Pomponazzi in 1518 during the course on the viii book of Fisica, recommended by Bruno Nardi and edited by Perrone Compagni (2011, 199–219); by the same author, see Perrone Compagni (2007, 99–111). 20 See

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earth is occasionally present, as in the question, asked with a candid tone to doctor Montagnana, to whom Erculiani said she ‘asked whether nature can produce a living animal without generation’ (ibid., 121), and in the opinions held by Greek philosophers about generation, as Erculiani ascribed to ancient philosopher Anaximander the paternity of the theory of man’s generation on earth (ibid., 126). As Avicenna stated only terrible upheavals can upset the Aristotelian law that like begets like, similar generates similar, so that men are eternally generated from men and horses from horses.22 The cataclysms caused by land(earthquakes), water (floods), air (plagues) and fire (droughts and fires) can lead to the total destruction of the human species on Earth. In De diluviis, Avicenna claimed that if this happened, the human species, fertilized by the influence of the stars, could be born again from the earth like, according to Aristotle, the inferior species that are generated ex putri or ex putredine, by spontaneous generation.23

4.4 A Silenced Voice: Gender or Heresy? The work of Camilla Erculiani, as highlighted above (Carinci 2013), was relegated for centuries to the dark corners of indifference and silence, and it asks a series of questions that are difficult to solve (Plastina 2011, 11). Some information is provided by the jurist Jacopo Menochio (1532–1607)24 who, in the eighth volume of his large collection of Consilia (Venetia, 1609), reported that Erculiani’s book was suspected of heresy and the author was summoned by the Inquisition and interrogated. Menochio examined the controversial statements included in Lettere and, in his defence of Erculiani, he argued that her ideas should not be considered heretical, above all because the author expressed them from a philosophical perspective, not from a theological one. The first thesis regarded as heretical was that which questioned the Holy Scriptures and the sentences of the Fathers of the Church, who claimed that if man had not sinned, violating the divine precepts, he would not have been subject to corruption and death. According to what was reported by Menochio in his defence of the Paduan apothecary, instead, ‘if we consider the philosophical and natural sense of Camilla’s claim [that Man, as a mix of the four elements, must die], it is true and not heretical’ (Menochio 1609, 227). Erculiani made her philosophical purposes explicit from the very title of her work, and also made clear that her interests related to the survey of nature. When she was interrogated by the inquisitor, she countered: ‘I will reply with these words, that since man is made of four elements, he cannot live forever, from the point of view of natural philosophy.’ She answered to the objections that her statements contrasted 22 See

De gen. et corr. I, 5, 320b 18–20 and Met. VII 8, 1033b 29–32. Avicenna, De diluviis, in Alonso Alonso (1949, 38–39). 24 See the entry Giacomo (Jacopo) Menochio, written by C. Valsecchi, in Dizionario Biografico degli italiani, 2009 vol. 73. 23 See

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with the Holy Scriptures by saying that these facts could be debated in philosophy. And, when further asked ‘an et nunc hanc probet opinionem’, she replied: ‘speaking in philosophical terms, let me tell you that you can never state a thing is true’.25 The second statement that was considered heretical related to the natural causes of the Flood: As men grew so much in numbers and in sheer body size and length of live lived, the earth was so diminished it was perforce swallowed by the waters; which little did contribute to those bodies: and for this reason, besides sin, came the flood (Erculiani 2016, 68).26

In order to defend Erculiani, Menochio advanced the same motivation she had used before, and reported as further proof that, in a letter addressed to Martin Berzeviczy, the ‘apothecary’ had written: I now intend to speak as a Natural Philosopher (…) that land was submerged by water because it was diminished is clear from a natural point of view (…) nor indeed can Natural Philosophers or Astrologers attribute a different cause to this or to other universal floods (Menochio 1609, 229).

With regard to the statement that aroused suspicions of heresy and was examined by Menochio, relating to the question of the natural origin of the Flood which undermined the truthfulness of the Genesis according to which it was sent by God to punish men (Gen. 6), Menochio made a remarkable reference to Russiliano Calabrese and his thesis, included in Apologeticus (Russilliano 1994, 165–183), that the Flood could be foreseen for its natural causes, by quoting the confutation of this thesis that was made by Dominican scholar Gerolamo Armellini.27 In his conjunctionist astrological vision, Tiberio, an occasional listener of Pomponazzi, dealt with the thesis of the celestial cause of the Flood (exactly for this reason Noah was able to foresee it, by observing the stars hence saving himself in the Ark) in many passages of his work, and claimed the infinite repeatability of the Flood. In fact, since the sky’s motion is perennial and perpetual and follows certain constant measures, any previous constellation will continue perpetually. Although there is a wide range of analogous references, this scheme based on vicissitudes is not present in Erculiani’s Lettere: rather than the relentless cyclic nature of astral conjunctions, at the heart of her writing lies the unceasing and ‘natural’ corruption and transformation of matter.

25 Menochio (1609, 228). See also Piccolomini (1576, i, c. 50r), who clearly claimed the full freedom

of philosophical investigation. 26 See Piccolomini (1576, I, c75v). He made a distinction between the domain of the natural philoso-

pher and that of the ‘divine’ theologian or metaphysician, which cannot be confused because of the considerable diversity of the subjects they investigate. 27 Menochio, Consiliorum (1609, 229), See Plastina (2014, 155).

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4.5 Margherita Sarrocchi Like Camilla Erculiani,Margherita Sarrocchi was a woman of formidable character and broad knowledge, highly honoured and appreciated by her contemporaries for her literary works and cultural activity. As Ray has recently noted both Erculiani and Sarrocchi ‘likened her role as a woman in the world of learning to a battle of sorts with male detractors’. Like Erculiani, ‘Sarrocchi had many supporters, and she participated in scientific culture in public, visible ways that shed important light on the power wielded by early modern women in such circles’ (Ray 2015, 132). Margherita Sarrocchi aroused great passions and inextinguishable hate, and she equally earned herself conditional praise and harsh criticism in Rome in the early seventeenth century. As a poet, Sarrocchi had already demonstrated her talent at the age of fifteen, when she composed a sonnet that was part of a collection—published by Muzio Manfredi (Manfredi 1575),28 a scholar from Cesena—that was written in honour of Felice Orsini, the wife of Marcantonio Colonna, the Duke of Tagliacozzo, and a hero of the Battle of Lepanto. One of Sarrocchi’s early biographers,29 Bartolomeo Chioccarelli, in the book Illustres scriptores Regni Neapoletani, wrote that ‘Neapolitan’ Margherita was born in Gragnano in 1560. Orphaned at a very early age, she was raised by Guglielmo Sirleto,30 a friend of her family–who was later to become a cardinal—who took care of her education. He brought the girl to Rome with him with a view to educating her, and she spent her adolescence at the Convent of the Benedictine nuns of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, a prestigious institution in Rome at that time. More recent and in-depth studies have highlighted that girls who were accepted in monastic boarding schools usually belonged to wealthy and aristocratic families. They had to pay a monthly boarding fee and were subject to seclusion rules. Sarrocchi’s bonds with the Orsini family and above all the Colonna family (which was in close contact with her until about 1613) probably originated at the Convent of Santa Cecilia. In fact, the women who belonged to the most ancient and prestigious Roman families played a key role in the foundation/re-foundation of monasteries between the sixteenth and the seventeenth century. The monasteries were usually engaged in supporting pious female communities and were always seeking for ‘new symbolic legitimation.’ Girls entered convents at about the age of seven and they remained there up to the age of twenty-five; they were then compelled to take the vows or leave the monastery to get married.31 Margherita Sarrocchi opted for marriage, and probably married Carlo Biraghi in 1580; nothing is known about the latter, except that he did not play an important role in Sarrocchi’s life.

28 Three

sonnets appear in the collection edited by Bergalli (1726, 111–112). Sarrocchi’s biography, see Chioccarelli (1608), Borzelli (1935). For a deeper analysis see Verdile (Verdile 1989–1990) and Baldini and Napolitani (1991). 30 An international conference was recently held at the University of Calabria on the figure and work of Sirleto, on the occasion of the fifth centenary of his birth, entitled Il cardinal Sirleto (1514–1585). Il sapientissimo calabro e la Roma del XVI secolo, whose publication is forthcoming. 31 On this aspect of Sarrocchi’s life, see Lirosi (2009, 2012) and Sarrocchi (2006, 1–22). 29 For

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Chioccarelli, more than other historians, focused on the details of Sarrocchi’s education, and wrote that the young girl studied all the relevant disciplines, such as rhetoric, poetry, Greek literature, geometry, philosophy and theology, being an excellent student in all of them and prompting the admiration of all. If we consider that in monasteries (besides more traditional feminine tasks such as cooking, sewing and weaving), girls learned the principles of the Christian doctrine, were taught how to read and write, and to sing and play a musical instrument, it is clear that Margherita’s education had been completed outside the Convent of Santa Cecilia. Thanks to her brilliance, Margherita was a student of the mathematician Luca Valerio, who had a very important role in her life; she was emotionally and intellectually close to him until her death. She also studied with the scholar Rinaldo Corso, who, approximately in the mid-sixteenth century, had commented the Rime written by Vittoria Colonna, upon commission by the poet Veronica Gambara. It is no surprise, then, that the names of these famous female poets were mentioned some years later in a letter sent by Muzio Manfredi to Sarrocchi. In this letter, the scholar wrote he was pleased of the success Margherita was achieving, as ‘our era has no cause to be envious of those recently gone by, thanks to the excellence of the likes of Vittoria Colonna, Veronica Gambara and other famous [women],’ and was happy he had been one of her first supporters, having encouraged and spurred Margherita not to give up (Manfredi 1606, 142). Sarrocchi, as shown by the plaudits she received, had gained a reputation, respect and powerful protection, not only for her erudition in poetic studies, but also because of her knowledge of philosophy and mathematical sciences. She had also translated from Greek into the Italian vernacular the epic verses of the Loves of Hero and Leander, a work by Greek poet Musaeus, and had commented the Rime by Giovanni della Casa; both works are now lost. However, the work that has always been associated with her name is the heroic poem Scanderbeide, celebrating the heroic deeds of the Albanian Castriota Scanderbeg, which was published for the first time in 1606. Sarrocchi had devoted much effort to this work, and the last ten years of her life were linked to the troubled vicissitudes of this book (Sarrocchi 1633, Soggetto della Scanderbeide, 1).

4.6 Not a Virago She was often praised in Mannerist fashion by scholars of her period—who dedicated sonnets and literary works to her—and constantly referred to in admiration for her wide-ranging knowledge, a rare quality among women in that period: ‘O immortal splendour of our age, o noble shame of ages gone by, o proud and rare monster among women’ (Bronzini 1624, 133). This quality made her the recipient of bewildered admiration and of the kind of astonishment felt when facing mythical creatures (Mostri, literally ‘monsters’) and any exception to the rules of nature; her skills placed her ‘outside’ the female sphere. Mythical creatures were used as a metaphor for women authors, individuals who did not fit with conventional social rules; the ‘monster’ was thus the symbol of a

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talented woman, blessed with the gift of higher education. This was quite unusual for an era when women were rarely granted the same opportunities of expression that were, instead, the norm for men who made a similar choice. It is, therefore, astonishing that in her biographical accounts, very often reference is made to her ‘virility’. In On Women’s Dignity and Nobility, Cristoforo Bronzini celebrates Sarrocchi (ibid., 130) as a very virtuous woman and an expert in philosophy, geometry, logic and astronomy; he also played with words about the surname she had taken after her marriage (Biraghi) which has an assonance with ‘virago’, and praised the great merits of “valorosa e famosa Birago, virago veramente!”, (the heroic and famous Birago, a genuine virago!).32 And even if, in the late nineteenth century, for some people the word ‘virago’ expressed the highest admiration for great women who had the mindset and bravery of men,33 it is not a coincidence that this term is not mentioned in the chapter Lucrezia Marinella dedicated to the words generally used to refer to women (Marinella 1601, 5). She listed five words taken from different languages and gave them a value based on the level of strength they expressed: ‘The names that confer honour to our sex are 5 in number, and they are taken from different languages, i.e. Donna, Femina, Eva, Isciach and Mulier; they are all noble and precious, starting from the first, which comes from the Latin Domina’. As Sandra Gubar (Gubar 1977, 380–394) effectively pointed out, the figure of the virago was included in a deeply rooted misogynistic list: a topos that was very common in the satirical genre that mocked women by emphasizing their physical and moral imperfections. The same destiny was shared by the Amazons, who were regarded with suspicion because they had taken possession of attributes that were generally considered to be typically male ones, such as strength, initiative and power; however, they were antagonised essentially because of their overt ‘otherness’. In the portrait Gian Vittorio Rossi (called the Eritrean) painted of Sarrocchi in his Pinacotheca, the truly virile bravery she had been capable of in describing Scanderbeg’s deeds was associated to another feature that permanently distanced Sarrocchi from the more traditional image associated with women in literature: ‘Sarrocchi described the deeds of Scanderbeg with truly virile bravery […] and she was not, as some evil people maintained, a man among women and a woman among men’ (Capaccio 1599, 353). As regards her alleged ambivalence, other writers affirmed that they had been pleasantly surprised to discover a virile mind in a female body. She was a woman whose nature was far from womanish; she was not really feminine yet a little less than masculine, and her eclectic erudition and elegance in poetry never made men who were learned and sophisticated look feeble before her. Since she was an authoritative and determined woman, Sarrocchi did not stick to the cliché of the female poet traditionally writing about troubled love, someone who—in expressing the sufferings of love, often transmuted into aspiration to divine love—modelled her poetic language on the example of Petrarch’s hendecasyllables. 32 ‘Virago’

refers to the traditional subordination of women to men (see Genesis 2,23), debated in several Renaissance treatises dealing with the querelles des femmes, starting from Cornelio Agrippa of Nettsheim (1529), see Agrippa (1990, 50–51). 33 See Burckhardt (2014, 164).

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These aspects were completely alien to Sarrocchi; in fact, according to the accounts of her contemporaries, love for herself was Sarrocchi’s dominant trait, and she put this far above the love that anyone else (however distinguished and devoted) might have for her. Self-love, intended as a deep respect for oneself and confidence in one’s own worth, and the emotional expression of oneself as free from any restriction that prevent self-fulfilment and limit one’s own aspiration to be the protagonist of his/her own life, are distinctive traits of Margherita Sarrocchi’s personality. The philautia attributed to Sarrocchi, rather than hinting at the topic of self-love (the core of the dialogue between Francesco Patrizi and Tarquinia Molza in the Amorosa filosofia [Philosophy of Love]) is more into the concept of amor sui, the dominant passion of the modern age and a sign of emerging individual sovereignty.34 Margherita Sarrocchi’s pursuit of personal fulfilment and her firm expression of authorship place her on a similar level to Margaret Cavendish (1623–1673), a multitalented and prolific scholar who lived during the English revolution and who— towards the end of the seventeenth century—made a name for herself as a writer of works on natural philosophy, as well as a playwright and essayist. Cavendish, who was defined ‘mad, ridiculous and presumptuous’ by Samuel Pepys in his Diary (Pepys 1970–1983, 243–244) had the ambition of establishing herself in the cultural milieu of the time, without hiding behind any false screen. Indeed, in one of her first works she wrote: ‘all I desire is Fame’ (Cavendish 1655). Obviously, she was aware she lived in an age in which philosophy was a man’s prerogative only and that, perhaps, women themselves might disapprove of her: ‘But I imagine I shall be censur’d by my owne Sex; and Men will cast a smile of scorne upon my Book, because they think thereby, Women encroach too much upon their Prerogatives; for they hold Books as their Crowne, and the Swords as their Scepter, by which they rule and governe’ (Cavendish 1653, 3r-v).35 This risk, however, did not prevent Cavendish from challenging social conventions, and from claiming the right to set forth her own idea of the world. Based on the narrative of her contemporaries, Sarrocchi is portrayed as a very determined, self-confident and sometimes arrogant woman, nurturing great love for herself. Her confidence in her own skills and her stubborn determination to play a role in the difficult and often contentious Roman literary world, surely contributed to arousing antipathy and hostility towards her. A self-confident woman who trusted her own intellectual skills necessarily clashed against the representatives of that intellectual environment, who were not at all willing to grant cultivated women the right to be active in cultural milieus. One of Sarrocchi’s biographers underlined that vanity and pride were some of her greatest merits: she put herself above anyone else, could not stand anyone and, if one of her eulogizers merely affirmed she was above any other woman and not above all men too (both those still living and those who passed away), she complained as though she had been insulted. In conclusion, as 34 In this dialogue, Tarquinia Molza embodies the typically Renaissance ideal of the perfect woman, the new Diotima, who explains her theory about love, inspired by psychological and naturalistic investigations. Patrizi (1963, 101–102). 35 See Scott-Baumann (2008).

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those who attacked her were forced to admit, there was hostility towards her because she was a skilled, clever and determined woman; this perfectly embodies a perennial cliché: the more intelligent and charismatic women—those defined as Women on Top by Zemon Davies—have always been discredited and criticized.36 As is well known, the negative consequences for a woman who expressed her own opinions, and attempted to make her mark as an author, were not limited to criticism of her bizarre, eccentric and irritable nature but, more radically, they included blame for the inconsiderate and rebel feminine nature which—as Paolo of Tarso indicated in Timothy 2:10–12—manifests itself through impudence and arrogance whenever women exceed their limits. Even if meekness was still considered the best feminine quality, in some cases women expressing their opinion were more than tolerated, provided that they were deprived of any form of power and, in expressing their submission, they understood that some limits were not to be exceeded, since violating them would imply wrongful conduct. A woman who expressed her opinion not only represented a threat of insubordination, but could also imply a different kind of transgression: sexual transgression. The transgressive nature of women’s culture and writing was clear to the few women who decided to write in the early seventeenth century.37 They were aware of the exceptional nature of their attempt and overtly acknowledged and accepted the male monopoly on culture and opinions. In writing by women, the constant presence of dedications, explanations and apologies could be interpreted as an attempt by the authors to legitimise their books, because a rhetoric that was too strongly based on gender opposition could lead to the masculinization of the notion of ‘author’. The heirs of a millennial tradition, i.e. Academics and Scholars, provided further examples of the shackles imposed on women. Jesuit scholar Giovanni Domenico Ottonelli (1584–1670), in a long chapter of La pericolosa conversatione con le donne, o poco modeste, o ritirate o cantatrici o accademiche (1646), warned against ‘academic’ women and described the risks men could run when participating in social and literary events where so-called cultivated women were also present. The risk was not only to be lured by the women’s charm and powers of fascination, but also to become their accomplices, thus violating Saint Paul’s order. Ottonelli was a harsh critic of contemporary societal mores, a man of action who was very active against the theatre and, in particular, against the role women played in the theatre. He promoted his crusade across Italy with the specific aim of banning women from the stage, since ‘women of the theatre are Amazons from hell, armed with sword and thunderbolts’ (Ottonelli 1655, 85).Women were generally considered to be very dangerous, first and foremost for their gaze; in fact, Ottonelli wrote that a scholar explained to him that, according to Aristotle, the pupils in women’s eyes contain poison! Women 36 Zemon

Davies (1975). See also Jones (1999). (1601, 130), aware of the hostility to which women are subjected, proudly calls for the need to make their virtuous actions and their scientific works known far and wide: ‘and I, encouraged by the opinion of Gorgias and Plutarch, say that the cheer for the works of women, in the sciences and other virtuous enterprises, must resonate not just in their own towns, but in various other provinces.’

37 Marinella

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appearing on stage, in whatever form of artistic exhibition or conversation and, even worse, their participation in ‘those infernal assemblies called academies because of their appeal,’ were strongly disapproved of. Ottonelli was in Rome for a brief visit in 1639 and the tolerance shown towards actresses, and some women’s active participation in the cultural life of the city, disconcerted him. Obviously, the Jesuit did not dare criticise the powerful members of the Papal court, and mitigated his tones when he described the Roman cultural environment in the Academies close to the upper ecclesiastical hierarchies, which Margherita Sarrocchi was in contact with and by which she was protected. Ottonelli, in fact, expressly referred to the Academy led by Sarrocchi (Cox 2011, 21) within the palace of a very important man: In our century, a highly honoured woman called Sirrocchia lived in Rome, who run an academy of fine letters in the palace of a very influential man; many gentlemen attended the academy with much satisfaction, to listen to her learned arguments and erudite conversation. But in dealing with her, and in her presence, one had to behave with great propriety, because if one only slipped up, saying an impolite or indecent word, one was no longer admitted to conversing with her, as though she was not just a princess in an academy of fine letters, but the overseer of modesty in society. In Rome too, there live women worthy of commendation (Ottonelli 1646, 392–393).

Gian Vittorio Rossi, also known as the Eritrean, had a completely different opinion and concluded his biographical description of Margherita Sarrocchi with one of the most trivial commonplaces. He maintained that (about her modesty) people affirmed what is generally said about poets, musicians and singers and about those women who disregarded wool and distaff to paint and carve. The fact that gender issues strongly affected judgements on women involved in creative and artistic activities is totally obvious, and there is further evidence to support this assumption. A significant proof is provided by Margherita Costa, a singer and probably a courtly woman and a poet, as well as one of the few female secular writers of the seventeenth century, who published the autobiographical poem Ellissa Infelice in 1640. One of the poem’s stanzas focuses specifically on the initial ambitions of the poet Ellissa and on her slow and gradual disillusionment. Lack of protection from the court and the mockery of the readers convince her to hand her ‘poetic mandate’ back to Apollo, and within the god’s building on the Parnassus, Elissa meets a group of poets: five men (Dante, Petrarch, Bembo, Guidiccioni and Della Casa), and three women (Vittoria Colonna, Veronica Gambara and Margherita Sarrocchi). The presence of these three women is surely proof of a new approach; however, Costa underlined the enormous gap between her ideals and the reality she faced. The same gap is described in two books from the literary production of Lucrezia Marinella. The Nobiltà et Eccellenza delle donne co’difetti et mancamenti de gli huomini (1601) and the Essortationi alle donne et a gli altri, se a loro saranno a grado (1645), written later in life, tell of the clash between an idealist and utopian enthusiasm and the real experiences of life, which led the author to bitterly discard her ambitions. Surrounded by envy and resentment, women writers were denied the right to be cultivated and to receive fair appreciation for their works:

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Marinella’s parable symbolised feminine creativity which, after the glorious Renaissance era, had been constrained by a drastic narrowing of its horizon. As Virginia Cox wrote, the decrease in the number of women acting as potential sponsors, the fact that fewer literary publications were dedicated to women, the flourishing of the Baroque and a mistrust in the intellectual exchange between sexes, all contributed to marginalize the writer and to bring her back to a position somehow close to that of Medieval women writers. In this perspective, Essortationi holds an emblematic value as virtually the epicede for female creativity, ‘the death knell of the Renaissance tradition’ (Cox 2008, 204). Even in the sixteenth century, which Tommaso Campanella in his Poetica (v. 337) defined as the ‘feminine century’,38 the presence of women in Italian Academies was scant, and women members in any Academy were a rarity: among them, Veronica Gambara (Sonnacchiosi, Bologna), Laura Terracina (Incogniti Naples), TarquiniaMolza (Innominati, Parma), Isabella Andreini (Intenti, Pavia) and Eleonora from Toledo (Alterati, Florence), to name but a few.39 A surprising number of women writers published Epic and Heroic poems in that period: in 1551 in Venice, Laura Terracina published her Discorso sopra il principio di tutti i canti dell’Orlando furioso, which was re-issued 14 times and was considered by some teachers as a substitute of Ariosto; in 1635, Lucrezia Marinella wrote the Enrico, ovvero Bisanzio acquistato and in 1640, Barbara Albizzi—Tagliamochi wrote Ascanio errante. Meanwhile, other books had been published: Il Meschino ditto il Guerrino by Tullia d’Aragona (Venice 1560), Tredici canti del Floridoro, a Chivalric Romance by Moderata Fonte (Venice 1581), and Scanderbeide by Sarrocchi, whose first edition in 1606 contained nine cantos, with a summary of the thirteenth and fourteenth canto; the book was later published again in a final edition in 1623, with twenty-three cantos. The genre met with great success in all social classes (including courtly audiences)40 and many women writers practised it. They also took part in the controversy about heroic poems that developed in Italian literary societies, with the juxtaposition of the model of Ariosto’s Furioso to that proposed by Tasso in the Liberata. The clash among the supporters of either authors’ had the power of granting legitimacy to authors, positioning them on either side of the debate, for women (…) it was a double-edged strategy: to enter the conversation meant adopting a specific position, 38 See

Bolzoni (1989, 193–216). Cox (2016) and Fahy (2000, 438–452). 40 It is not a coincidence that Vincenzo Maggi (1545, 46c), in the second part of his amazing work, stated that if men had not developed their ancient virtues, they would have been surpassed by women. 39 See

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and adapting to it, while at any rate bearing in mind that the aesthetic setting was invariably tailored to the needs of a male protagonist’ (Finucci 1994, 210). Developing a female model for authors of heroic poems was undoubtedly complex for these women. Besides writing a large epic poem was per se a heroic deed for a woman, one which might bring honour and fame to them, but might not generate benevolence. Margherita learned this truth at her own cost, as we read in the 1606 edition of the Scanderbeide; the incomplete manuscript had hastily been published to avoid plagiarism and to ‘render vain the belief that these [people] have, convinced that the world would never think that the ingenuity of a woman might have created this’. In accomplishing her ‘heroic’ deed Sarrocchi (an overt supporter of Tasso), stuck to the topics that Tasso himself, in the Discorsi dell’arte poetica e del poema eroico, had indicated as the traditional themes of the epic poem; this enhanced her sense of belonging to a legitimate tradition. The author of Liberata in fact, had strictly adhered to Aristotle’s rules and held Homeric poems in great esteem. He considered them as firm reference points, and for this reason he was criticized by the philosopher Francesco Patrizi da Cherso. According to Tasso, Patrizi’s assumption in the Parere went beyond the boundaries of a defence of Furioso and became a clear offence to Aristotle, Homer and all those writers who had followed the teaching of the former, or the legacy of the latter. In a letter addressed to Count Giovanni Bardi di Vernio, the same recipient of the Parere written by Patrizi, Tasso aimed at clarifying, once and for all, the truths about the real nature and aim of heroic poems. This literary genre, according to Tasso (during his imprisonment in Sant’Anna, when he started the transition from Liberata towards the epic magnificence of Conquistata) had been specifically encoded based on Aristotle’s rules, whose authority had to be defended against its opponents (Tasso 1832, 177). After the sixteenth century controversy, Torquato Tasso was unanimously considered as the new Homer and the new Virgil: ‘When I wrote to your Lordship the other day, I had not read Homer recently and all my claims were perhaps too boldly made, from memory. In these past days, I have gone through the Iliad and I find that I was not mistaken at all’ (Tasso 1995, 126). The names of Homer and Virgil are mentioned as the eminent forerunners and mentors for the poem’s composition in a passage of Poetical Letters. The Homeric model, in particular, became a paradigm for Tasso, both when he developed the tale’s plot, and when he employed it as a ‘shield’ to defend himself in poetical disputes; thus, Rinaldo played the role of the ‘fated hero’, just like Achilles in the Iliad. The sequence featuring the clashes between Christian and heathen armies had also been sketched based on the battles between Trojans and Greeks. Even though Tasso, more than once, showed his doubts as to the propriety of the Homeric postulate, the model of the Iliad acquired even more importance later in his life, both in the pages of the Discourses on the heroic poem and—above all—in the rhymes of Jerusalem Conquered where, indeed, the increased Homeric influence is one of the corrective factors, in comparison with Jerusalem Delivered. Evidence of Tasso’s knowledge of the Greek author is found in a volume in which Tasso took notes, a

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translation of Homer by Valla, printed in Lyon in 1541 (the book is at the Cornell University Library). In this perspective, the praise to Margherita Sarrocchi becomes more important, insofar as she was compared to Erinna Teia and to Proba. Erinna Teia was celebrated for her ability to write heroic verses and put on an equal footing with Homer, as was written in Dialogue on the Institution of Women by Dolce (1545, 15). On the other hand, as Boccaccio and his translator Betussi wrote: But, please, what is more desirable than listening to a woman reciting some verses by Virgil and Homer and noticing that she takes inspiration from them for her work? […] [women] would for sure notice the difference between seeking eternal glory though brilliant works and burying their name, and body, and dying as if they had never really lived (Boccaccio 1972, 394–397).

4.7 Sarrocchi and Galilei Sarrocchi had read Galileo’s works and known him, long before their meeting in Rome in 1611, through the friendship and mutual esteem between Galileo and the mathematician Luca Valerio, who was Sarrocchi’s teacher and, subsequently, her friend. The friendship between Valerio and Galileo was interlinked with the relationship the latter had, for a long time, with the poet Margherita Sarrocchi, who was considered one of Rome’s most outstanding personalities at the time. Galileo himself had been a guest in the home of the then “nostri saeculi Musa” (‘the Muse of our time’) and Sarrocchi actively promoted Galileo’s discoveries in the years between 1610 and 1612. When Galileo arrived in Rome on 29 March, 1611, Holy Tuesday, he carried with him a letter from Cosimo de’ Medici, who asked Cardinal Del Monte to support Galileo’s project, ‘in recognition of him as a Florentine and for the public good and the glory of our times’. On 18 May, Galileo went back to the Roman College in order to be celebrated in front of all his students and professors, as well as princes, prelates and cardinals. He also took part in some scholarly meetings: during one of these assemblies, held in the palace of Cardinal Giovanni Battista Deti, he listened to his old friend Strozzi giving a speech on the theme of ‘pride’. The scientist established some important contacts: in the literary salon of Margherita Sarrocchi, he met many supporters. The most important event for his future and for the history of culture and science in Italy was certainly his encounter with Federico Cesi, who had founded the ‘Accademia dei Lincei’ in 1603. Sarrocchi’s enthusiastic scientific interests clearly emerge from the correspondence she had with the author of Discourse on Bodies that Stay A top Water or Move in it. The correspondence is about her skills, which were widely acknowledged by mathematician Luca Valerio, Sarrocchi’s companion, and held in high esteem by Galileo who, in numerous epistolary exchanges, referred to Sarrocchi’s accuracy and ability in the field of mathematics and astronomy. Sarrocchi’s knowledge and abilities, which she put to the service of the Galilean cause,

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were also engaged on looking for support and backing for the poem she was writing on the figure of the Albanian hero Scanderbeg. The attention with which Sarrocchi followed Galileo’s discoveries and writings and also the fact that others turned to her for an opinion on these matters, offer compelling evidence of the reputation Sarrocchi enjoyed in both scientific and literary circles. The epistolary exchanges between Sarrocchi and Galileo are primarily concerned with Galileo’s observations of Jupiter’s four ‘Medicean stars’, observed with his telescope and described in Sidereus Nuncius. Almost immediately, in May 1610, Valerio and Sarrocchi were reading and praising Sidereus, as evidenced by a letter in which Valerio reminds Galileo, on their behalf, not to completely abandon the study of terrestrial movement (Sarrocchi 2016, 191–192). When, in January 1610, Galileo Galilei pointed his telescope at Jupiter and saw some ‘small planets’ around it, the news was welcomed with curiosity and admiration, but it also generated doubts and misgivings, not to mention the accusations levelled against him of being an impostor, a heretic and a blasphemer, since only the traditional seven ‘lights’, and no more, were deemed to be existing in the sky. We hear from Valerio that Margherita Sarrocchi was enthusiastic about the discovery of Jupiter’s four moons, and about how important that discovery was for astrology, since Jupiter often ‘showed itself to look very different from what it was’, and probably the cause was the fact that ‘these other stars were not known’ (Sarrocchi 2016, 209–210). Despite Galileo’s enormous success, the scientist was anxious about cementing his reputation. Like Valerio, Margherita also found herself in the position of supporting Galileo’s discoveries of Jupiter’s satellites and the phases of Venus, responding to epistolary requests for her opinion on the matter. That others wrote to Sarrocchi directly to seek her judgment is, again, strong evidence of the reputation and influence she had garnered within the scientific community. Guido Bettoli, a scholar of the University of Perugia, acknowledging her erudition in this area, begs her to offer her view: As you are so accomplished in all sciences, I hope you can tell me the exact truth, since you will have already verified it in a thousand ways, and heard the opinion of many about it, as your home is the port of call and academy of Rome’s foremost learned men, and through your peerless judgment and knowledge you will have determined the truth (Sarrocchi 2016, 201).

Margherita answers to Bettoli thus: I will tell my illustrious friend that all that is being said about Mr Galileo’s discovery of these stars is true, to wit that there are four wandering stars alongside Jupiter, moving of their own accord and always at the same distance from Jupiter, though not from one another, and I saw them with my own eyes through Mr Galileo’s glass, and I showed them to many friends, so that everyone knows about it (ibid. 202).

A copy of this letter was sent to Galilei, who wrote on the back of it this note: ‘Deals with the glass and new discoveries’(‘Tratta dell’occhiale e de nuovi scoprimenti’). Demonstrating her understanding of the importance and implications of Galileo’s observations (although without following them through to their Copernican conclusions), Sarrocchi writes elegantly and clearly about the position of the

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satellites and the phases of Venus as well as of Saturn’s composite nature, while also showing that she is following the latest developments in the controversy. For this reason, the correspondence between Sarrocchi and Galilei—she wrote him seven letters, he only one—is worth reading, as are also the letters Valerio wrote to Galilei, in which he referred to Sarrocchi, her studies and literary activity. In their direct and indirect exchange of letters (through Valerio), great appreciation is expressed by Galileo for the writer’s commitment in defence of his theories and for promoting his new discoveries among her acquaintances, who considered her as a cultural reference point.41 Yet, despite their excellent relations, it seems that in subsequent months a certain coldness developed between Galileo and Margherita Sarrocchi, affecting Valerio too. When the Copernican crisis began to heat up in 1616, eventually leading to the ban of De Revolutionibus, Valerio was asked to resign from the Accademia dei Lincei, on the grounds that he did not agree with Galilei’s and Cesi’s pro-Copernican stance. His resignation was rejected by the prince in an official meeting of the Accademia; however, Valerio was deprived of his right to participate in the meetings. Apparently, Valerio’s strange behaviour might have been due to his fear of falling into disrepute among members of the Curia. In fact, he had been hired by the Vatican Library as a proof-reader for the Greek language and—since he was a lecturer at Sapienza University—he was an employee of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, the nephew of Pope Paul V and head of the Curia. However, Valerio could also have been influenced by his friend Margherita. The latter was mentioned by Cesi in a letter dated November 1617, where—in commenting on Sarrocchi’s death—he affirmed he hoped Valerio would join the Accademia again, as he was now free from her pernicious influence. Valerio passed away in January 1618, leaving behind an extensive literary production which—so far—seems to have been lost. Sarrocchi intervened in defence of Galileo, arguing knowledgeably and repeatedly, in the debate triggered by the new astronomical discoveries, a debate which aroused distrust and suspicion in some cultured circles. Sarrocchi herself was not spared this widespread suspicion. Her detractors accused her of assuming arrogant and presumptuous attitudes: her awareness of herself as an author, in fact, induced her to try to write an epic poem, a genre traditionally considered an exclusive male prerogative. Sarrocchi’s clearly expressed dissatisfaction with the dominant male hierarchies within Italian academies did the rest. Sarrocchi contributed to the foundation of the Academy of Humorists and, after leaving it, not without controversy, she was associated with the Ordinates’ Academy. In the early decades of the seventeenth century, only a very small number of women were allowed to become part of the most popular and rapidly expanding cultural institutions in Europe. Margaret 41 For historical references and a reconstruction of the scientific environment to which the correspondents refer, see Favaro (1894, 6–31); Gabrieli (1933, 694–727); the correspondence is included in Galilei, 1965, a reprint of the edition by Favaro 1890–1909, vol. X Carteggio 1574–1610, 18–318, and vol. XI, Carteggio 1611–1613, 1966, 191–382. The epistolary exchange between Sarrocchi, Galilei and Valerio is now included in Sarrocchi (2016). See also Ray (2016), which contains the first complete annotated English translations of Margherita Sarrocchi’s seven extant letters to Galileo and Galileo’s one surviving letter to Sarrocchi.

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Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, was, for example, allowed to attend the Royal Society meeting in May 1667, only because of her position in the higher echelons of British aristocracy, as the wife of William Cavendish FRS, a member of the most important aristocratic dynasty of English science. As was expected, Royal Society members raised a hue and cry, and the dangerous experiment was not repeated for another couple of centuries. Someone simply commented on Margaret Cavendish’s dress, so extravagant and out of the ordinary and enough to create discomfort within Royal Society members. The philosopher got her ‘revenge’ by taking on the members ferociously and attacking them, for example, about the practice of dissection, and first of all asking what rational explanation these learned gentlemen could ever find to justify the exclusion of women from respublica litterarum et scientiarum!

4.8 Conclusions Camilla Erculiani and Margherita Sarrocchi with their works, between natural philosophy and modern science, are strongly representative of the philosophical and scientific culture of their time. The examples of Camilla Erculiani and Margherita Sarrocchi reveal how women nourished a real interest for the scientific enterprise and assumed an increasingly public presence in scientific culture. In her Lettere di philosophia naturale, Camilla Erculiani states her trust in the intellectual abilities of women and declares that the aim of her work is to show the world that we are competent in all the sciences, just like men. In the four letters, Gregetta resumes the project of a natural philosophy in the vernacular first elaborated by Alessandro Piccolomini, whose work she explicitly recalls, covering topics such as the status of women, the structure of the soul and planetary influences, and the physical causes of the deluge. In the correspondence of Margherita Sarrocchi and Galileo Galilei, both the cooperative nature of new science and the forgotten female voices of the Scientific Revolution are brought vividly to life. Sarrocchi understood the implications of Galileo’s findings and endorsed them wholeheartedly. As Sarrocchi tells Galileo an Augustinian friar at St. Maria Novella in Perugia had asked for her opinion: she defended Galilei’s discoveries only to be much offended by her interlocutor’s response (Ray 2015, 149): ‘But I’ve set straight better people than him, and so I hope to do the same with him, even thought I am a woman and he is a learned friar’ (Sarrocchi 2016, 209).

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Perrone Compagni, V. (2007). Un’ipotesi non impossibile. Pomponazzi sulla generazione spontanea dell’uomo (1518). Bruniana & Campanelliana, XIII(1), 99–111. Perrone Compagni, V. (2011). La stagione delli frumenti. Due lezioni di Pomponazzi sulla generazione spontanea. Bruniana & Campanelliana, xvii(1), 199–219. Piccolomini, A. (1551). La prima parte della filosofia naturale. Venezia: Vincenzo Valgrisi. Piccolomini, A. (1560). L’instrumento della filosofia. Venezia: Francesco Lorenzini. Piccolomini, A. (1576). Filosofia naturale. Venezia: Zanetti. Piéjus, M. F., Plaisance, M., & Residori, M., (Eds). (2011). Alessandro Piccolomini (1508–1579). Un siennois à la croisée des genres et des savoirs, Actes du Colloque International (Paris Septembre 2010). Paris: Université Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris 3. Pepys, S. (1970–1983). The diary of Samuel Pepys, a new and complete transcription. In R. Latham & W. Matthews (Eds.) (Vol. 8, pp. 243–244). London: G. Bell & Sons. Plastina, S. (2011). Filosofe della modernità. Il pensiero delle donne dal Rinascimento all’Illuminismo. Roma: Carocci. Plastina, S. (2014). «Considerar la mutatione dei tempi e delli stati e degli uomini» : le Lettere di philosophia naturale di Camilla Erculiani. Bruniana & Campanelliana, 20, 145–158. Rabitti, G. (2000). La letteratura femminile e l’Europa, Storia della letteratura italiana, diretta da E. Malato, vol. XII, La letteratura italiana fuori d’Italia. Roma: Salerno Editrice. Ray, M. K. (2015). Daughters of alchemy: Women and scientific culture in early modern Italy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ray, M. K. (2016). Margherita Sarrocchi’s letters to Galileo. Astronomy, astrology and poetics in seventeenth century Italy. London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Russiliano, T. (1994). Apologeticus adversus cucullatos 1590, In Zambelli P. Una reincarnazione di Pico ai tempi di Pomponazzi. Milano: Il Polifilo. Sarrocchi, M. (1633). La Scanderbeide poema heroico della sig.ra Margherita Sarrocchi alla principessa D. Giulia da Este. Dal sig. Giouanni Latini dato alla stampa. Roma: Andrea Fei. Sarrocchi, M. (2006). Scanderbeide. The heroic deeds of George Scanderberg, King of Epirus (Trans. by R. Russell). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sarrocchi, M. (2016). Lettere a Galilei (1611–1612). In E. Carinci & S. Plastina (Eds.), Corrispondenze Scientifiche tra Cinquecento e Seicento. Lugano: Agorà. Scott-Baumann, E. (2008). ‘Books as their crown’ politics and gender in the reading strategies of lucy Hutchinson and Margaret Cavendish. Oxford: University of Oxford. Speroni, S. (1978). Dialogo della dignità della donna (1542). In M. Pozzi (Ed.), Trattatisti del Cinquecento (Vol. I).Milano-Napoli: Ricciardi. Tasso, T. (1832). Opere, a cura di Rosini. G. Pisa: Capurro. Tasso, T. (1995). Lettere poetiche, a cura di Molinari. C. Parma: Guanda, Fondazione Pietro Bembo. Verdile, N. (1989–1990). Contributi alla biografia di Sarrocchi. Rendiconti dell’Accademia di Archeologia Lettere e Belle Arti di Napoli, 62, 165–206. Zemon Davies, N. (1975). Women on top, in society and culture in early modern France. Stanford and Cambridge: Stanford University Press and Polity Press.

Chapter 5

Margaret Cavendish and Robert Boyle on the Purpose, Method and Writing of Natural Philosophy Emma Wilkins

Abstract This paper discusses the intellectual relationship between Margaret Cavendish (c.1623–1673) and Robert Boyle (1627–1691), arguing that they have more in common than is often thought. At first sight, their opinions in natural philosophy appear somewhat divergent: while he championed mechanical philosophy and pioneered the experimental method, her views are considered both anti-mechanical and anti-experimental. In much of the historiography, Boyle is seen as a cool-headed ‘modern’ whose views paved the way for scientific advance while Cavendish is often presented as a more disorganized thinker who resisted innovations in science. This comparative study of Cavendish and Boyle reveals a more complex relationship, including some intriguing similarities in their approach to scientific writing and publication. While many scholars emphasize Cavendish’s hostility to the Royal Society, this analysis suggests that there was a surprising degree of common ground between her views and those of Boyle, especially in relation to the purpose of natural philosophy and the ways in which reliable scientific knowledge might be established.

5.1 Introduction When Margaret Cavendish visited London in the spring of 1667 she embarked on the kind of sight-seeing enjoyed by tourists down the ages. Highlights included a trip to the theatre, a coach tour around Hyde Park, and a day out in Whitehall.1 There was also a rather more unusual item on her itinerary; as the author of several volumes of natural philosophy, Cavendish was determined to visit the Royal Society, the newly formed cradle of experimental science in England. After an internal debate on the matter, the society’s fellows agreed to issue an invitation and on the afternoon 1 On Cavendish’s visit to London from her home in Nottinghamshire see Whitaker (2003, 291–306), Pepys (1983, VIII, 196–7, 209, 243–4).

E. Wilkins (B) Centre for Renaissance and Early Modern Studies, University of York, York, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_5

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of May 30 Cavendish arrived at their headquarters on the Strand to watch a series of chemical, pneumatical and magnetical experiments.2 The show, which had previously entertained visiting ambassadors from Denmark and Genoa, was conducted by Robert Boyle and his assistant Robert Hooke—both key voices in the development of experimental natural philosophy in England.3 It is, I believe, the only recorded occasion on which Cavendish and Boyle met in person and, as such, it provides a useful starting point for this comparative analysis.

5.2 Cavendish and Boyle in Context Cavendish’s encounter with Boyle in the marbled halls of Arundel House was a remarkable moment for it seems—at least on the face of it—that these two thinkers advocated significantly divergent views on the conduct of and theoretical framework for natural philosophy. By the time of her visit, Cavendish had formulated a series of objections to experimentalism which she had published the previous year as Observations upon Experimental Philosophy (1666). In this text, Cavendish focused on the problems of microscopy, attacking those ‘Modern Microscopical or Dioptrical Writers’ who based their claims for scientific truth on what she saw as defective equipment. Microscopes were, in her opinion, not truth-tellers but ‘deluding glasses’ (Cavendish 1666a, sig. b1r; 1666b, 4).4 Experimental knowledge, acquired by means of such uncertain instruments, could hardly be described as reliable and was therefore, in her view, of limited value. Meanwhile, Boyle cast himself as a champion of experimental techniques, declaring that ‘[…] few have a greater Love & value for Experiments than I […]’ (BP 9, fol. 105 (b); Hunter and Anstey 2008, 12). If their methodological preferences seem very different, so do their views on the most appropriate theoretical framework for contemporary science. Although Boyle’s natural philosophy allowed some leeway for active principles in matter, nevertheless he must be considered one of the seventeenth century’s foremost champions of mechanical philosophy.5 Not only did he hold that the world operated on clockwork principles in accordance with natural laws, he also held fast to the view that matter itself was unthinking—what he called ‘brute’ matter (Boyle 1996, 11, 112). In Cavendish’s opinion, mechanism failed to account for a number of perplexing natural phenomena (for example, magnetism) and could not properly explain the 2 On

Cavendish’s visit to the Royal Society see Mintz (1952, 168–176), Birch (1756–7, II, 176), Dear (2007, 125–142). 3 On the ambassadors’ visits, see Birch (1756–7, I, 16, 75). 4 ‘Further Observations upon Experimental Philosophy Reflecting withal upon some Principal Subjects in Contemplative Philosophy’ was published within Observations upon Experimental Philosophy, but paginated separately. For the sake of clarity, the two works are listed separately in the bibliography and distinguished as 1666a, b. On early microscopy see Wilson (1995). 5 On Boyle’s mechanism see Anstey (2000); Garber and Roux (2013, xi–xiii), Garber (2013, 3–26); McGuire (1972, 523–542), Newman (2006, 175–8). On ‘occult qualities’ in Boyle’s thought, see Hutchison (1982), Henry (1986).

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ways in which parts of matter interacted—the problems of impact and motion. It was therefore, in her view, no more satisfactory than the scholastic Aristotelianism which its promoters were hoping to supplant. According to Cavendish, natural phenomena were better explained if matter was both self-moving and perceptive—what she called ‘animate matter’ (Cavendish 1663, sig. d4r-v, 13–4; 1664, 58, 99, 525). But this version of vitalism was unusual in that it was grounded in a thoroughgoing materialism; in Cavendish’s view the whole of nature was material (including thoughts and ideas) and therefore all phenomena (even those with hidden causes) must have material explanations—something which gave her natural philosophy a rather Hobbesian flavour.6 There also appear to be significant differences in their attitudes towards the relationship between the scientist and the natural world that she (or he) was studying. While Boyle declared that he wanted to ‘Master and Command’ nature, Cavendish argued that man was merely a small part of nature; indeed, compared to infinite Nature, man was ‘but as an Atom’ (Boyle 1999, 3, 211; Cavendish 1663, 29). She attacked anyone who wanted to be a ‘Lord of Nature, as to rule her, and bring her under his Subjection’ (Cavendish 1655a, 177). A further area of apparent difference concerns the relationship between natural philosophy and theology. While Cavendish often claimed she wanted to keep religion out of natural philosophy, a key part of Boyle’s program was to deploy natural philosophy as a means to promote and strengthen religious faith—as is apparent throughout his writings and especially in The Christian Virtuoso (1690), the full title of which made clear its author’s intentions.7 Given these seemingly significant differences we might be surprised to find not only that Cavendish thoroughly enjoyed her 1667 visit to the Royal Society (she left full of ‘admiration’) but also that she was complimentary about Boyle in her writings (Pepys 1983, VIII, 243). He was ‘that Learned and Ingenious Writer B.’ whom she observed—from having read ‘but some part of his works’—was ‘a very civil, eloquent, and rational Writer’ (Cavendish 1664, 495). She was particularly impressed by his experimental techniques, noting that ‘his experiments are proved by his own action.’ Cavendish also praised Boyle’s clarity of expression and noted approvingly that he was a ‘very industrious and ingenious person’ (ibid.,§ 496). Why did Cavendish endorse Boyle in this way when his views seemed so different from her own? One possible answer is that Cavendish was ignorant of Boyle’s views in natural philosophy and was simply being polite—praising him on the grounds of his reputation at the time as a leading natural philosopher.8 I think we can dismiss this fairly easily. By 1664, when Cavendish made her positive assessment of Boyle, she was thoroughly au fait with his views on pneumatics, which he had published in 1660 as

6 On

Cavendish and Hobbes see Hutton (1997, 421–432); Wilkins (2016, 858–877).

7 The Christian Virtuoso shewing that by being addicted to experimental philosophy, a man is rather

assisted, than indisposed, to be a good Christian […] London, 1690. Boyle’s reputation see Hunter (1981, 49, 54).

8 On

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New Experiments Physico-Mechanicall touching The Spring of the Air. Boyle’s findings (that air had weight and certain elastic properties) were attacked by Henry More in additions to a new edition of his collected writings, published in 1662 (More 1662). Cavendish had read More’s commentary on Boyle in preparation for her own work, Philosophical Letters (1664)—using it as a basis upon which to attack More’s neoPlatonism. From her reading, Cavendish judged that Boyle’s experiments focused on the ‘different parts and alterations’ of nature, rather than on the motions which caused those alterations—a more potentially profitable avenue, in her opinion (Cavendish 1664, 496). Over the next two years, Cavendish studied a selection of Boyle’s works in some detail. It seems likely, from references in her Observations upon Experimental Philosophy (1666), that Cavendish had read Some Considerations Touching the Usefulnesse of Experimental Naturall Philosophy, which Boyle had published in 1663 (Cavendish 1666b, 15, 23–4). She was also aware of his Experiments and Considerations Touching Colours (1664) and his New Experiments and Observations Touching Cold (1665), (Cavendish 1666a, 60, 64–5, 70). In addition, shortly before her own 1666 volume was published, she had read at least part of Boyle’s The Origin of Forms and Qualities according to the Corpuscular Philosophy (Cavendish 1666b, 62–63). Thus we can see that Cavendish was well-informed about Boyle’s views in natural philosophy—and became increasingly so over time. Another reason for Cavendish’s praise of Boyle could be related to social class. As the youngest daughter of an Essex country gentleman and a duchess by marriage, Cavendish may have felt some affinity with Boyle, who was the youngest son of the Earl of Cork. It is worth noting that Cavendish highlighted Boyle’s social status in her short assessment of him in Philosophical Letters. Along with his ingenuity and civility, she noted that: ‘[…] the truth is, his style is a Gentleman’s style.’ (Cavendish 1664, 495). While their shared nobility is well known, what is less well known is that Cavendish and Boyle were actually related (albeit distantly) by marriage. The connection came via the Killigrews—a Cornish landowning family, many of whom became courtiers under both Charles I and, later, Charles II. Cavendish’s elder sister Mary married Peter Killigrew in 1625 while Boyle’s elder brother Francis married Elizabeth Killigrew, daughter of Sir Robert Killigrew, in October 1638.9 Sir Peter and Elizabeth were cousins—both descended from John Killigrew of Arwennack in Cornwall.10 I am not aware of any evidence that Cavendish or Boyle thought of each other as kinsmen, but it is striking that she declined to subject him to the 9 On

Peter Killigrew’s marriage, see Whitaker (2003, 13, 32); The Boyle-Killigrew marriage took place in the King’s Chapel at Whitehall when the groom was aged just 15; he left on a European tour with his brother, shortly afterwards. See White (1949, XI, 655–656), Hunter (2009, 21, 41, 58, 314), Whitney (2006, 232). 10 John Killigrew of Arwennack was great-grandfather to both Peter and Elizabeth Killigrew. See Gay (1903); https://www.historyofparliamentonline.org/search/peterkilligrew, accessed 7 July, 2018. The Killigrews were an extraordinary family; Thomas Killigrew, the playwright was Elizabeth Killigrew’s brother and Anne Killigrew, the poet, was her niece. Elizabeth herself was, like Cavendish, a maid of honour to the Queen in exile; she became one of Charles II’s mistresses, bearing him a daughter in about 1650. Her husband was raised to the peerage as Viscount Shannon by Charles II at the Restoration in 1660.

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same hostile treatment that she meted out to other contemporary figures, including René Descartes, Henry More, Thomas Hobbes and Robert Hooke in Philosophical Letters (1664) and Observations upon Experimental Philosophy (1666). Perhaps Cavendish’s reluctance to criticize Boyle might be explained by family ties? As for Boyle, I cannot find any direct reference to Cavendish in his published writings— although he wrote warmly of her husband’s cousin, the 3rd Earl of Devonshire, as ‘my highly Honour’d and Learned Friend’ (Boyle 1999, 3, 116).11 A further reason why Cavendish might have praised Boyle is that she recognized in him some of the same anxieties and melancholies from which she suffered (or at least, claimed to suffer) both as a child and in later life. While Cavendish’s selfcharacterization as solitary, melancholy and somewhat disorganized is well-known, we are more used to thinking of Boyle as a confident, ‘modern’ thinker whose scientific works were marshalled around clear matters of fact.12 However, there is some evidence that Boyle was not quite as assured as we might think. Indeed, the ways in which each writer presented themselves to their readers reveal some intriguing similarities, as we shall now see. The autobiographical accounts which each writer composed provide us with a useful place to start. Both Cavendish and Boyle wrote autobiographies in which they described their childhoods in remarkably similar terms. It is worth quoting two particular passages: the first, from Cavendish’s ‘True Relation of My Birth, Breeding, and Life’, published in 1656, described a period in her life between the ages of about seven and seventeen when she used to roam around the family estates at St John’s Abbey in Colchester, Essex.13 Thus: […] I was from my childhood given to contemplation, being more taken or delighted with thoughts than in conversation with a society, in so much as I would walk two or three houres, and never rest, in a musing, considering, contemplating manner, reasoning with my self of every thing my senses did present […] (Cavendish 1656, 386).

This sort of activity was, in Cavendish’s view, a feature of her character, which was ‘more inclining to be melancholy than merry […].’ (Cavendish 1656, 388). Boyle’s autobiographical account, which describes (in the third person) the first sixteen years of his life, relates a similar interlude when he returned to spend the summer at the family estate at Stalbridge, Dorset. Writing of himself as Philaretus, he tells us that: During this Pleasing season, when the intermission of his Studys allow’d Philaretus Leasure for Recreations; he would very often steale away from all Company, & spend 4 or 5 howres 11 William

Cavendish (1617–84), 3rd Earl of Devonshire was the son of William’s cousin. Cavendish’s character, see Grant (1957, 41–44), Whitaker (2003, 19, 29, 141–3). On her (sometimes misleading) self-characterizations, see Fitzmaurice (1990, 199–209), Rees (2003, 26, 31, 186). On lack of organization in her writings, see Bowerbank (1984, 395–6, 402), Meyer (1955, 2–3), Smith (2005, 34). On Boyle’s commitment to matters of scientific fact, see Shapin and Schaffer (1985, 22–26). On Boyle as a ‘modern’ see Jones (1982, 162–9). For a reassessment of Boyle’s character, see Hunter (2015, 3–5, 8, 18, 25). 13 Cavendish’s ‘True Relation’ was first published in Natures Pictures Drawn by Fancies Pencil to the Life. London (1656, 368–91). 12 On

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E. Wilkins alone in the fields, to [walk] about, & thinke at Random; making his delighted Imagination the Scene, where some Romance or other was dayly acted [.] (Boyle 1994, 12).

This activity was imputed to ‘his Melancholy’, or his ‘yet untam’d Habitude of Raving’ (ibid.,§ 12). Thus we can see that both Cavendish and Boyle wrote of themselves as lonely types who shunned society to spend hours walking in the countryside in solitary contemplation. Both associated this activity with melancholy which Cavendish embraced as a feature of her character—indeed much of her autobiography was written to promote her self-image as a uniquely creative thinker, untainted by the thoughts of other philosophers.14 While Boyle’s account of his character was similar, unlike Cavendish he was determined to curb the ‘roving wildness’ of his thoughts, which he accomplished by doing maths—especially algebra and cubic/square roots (Boyle 1994, 8–9). Despite these attempts on Boyle’s part to master his melancholic disposition, both he and Cavendish seem to have suffered from considerable anxiety in their approach to scientific writing. This is evident from a number of the prefaces, letters to readers and epilogues which punctuate their works. Both Cavendish and Boyle worried (or at least claimed to worry) that their efforts would attract criticism but persevered in spite of this. For example, in a preface to Occasional Reflections upon Several Subjects (1665), Boyle expected to be ‘censured’ in what he called ‘an Age […] so Censorious’ while Cavendish believed she lived in an ‘Iron age’ in which her book would be met with ‘hard Hearts’ and severe ‘Censures’ (Boyle 1999, 5, 8; Cavendish 1653a, sig. [A*3]r-v).15 Perhaps anticipating just such a critical response, both writers self-consciously trivialized their scientific efforts. So, for example, we find Cavendish declaring her works to be ‘innocent’, ‘harmlesse’ fancies—scarcely worthy of attention, let alone criticism. These trifles were ‘like an Unpolish’d Stone or Metall, a meer Rough-cast without any Gloss or Splendor’ (Cavendish 1653a, sig. A3r, 1663, sig. b4r). Boyle too was self-deprecating—and in very similar terms, referring to his publications as ‘unfinished and unpolished…Trifles’ while his subject matter was ‘very Mean, and Trivial’ (Boyle 1999, 5, 5, 9). Cavendish’s strategy of self-trivialization is sometimes seen as connected to her position as a female author who published in an age of hostility to women writers (especially those who encroached upon the ‘male’ topic of science).16 There may well be a gender dimension to Cavendish’s remarks, but we should not let this obscure the possibility that other factors may have been at play. Indeed, if gender is the only 14 On the accusations of plagiarism which prompted Cavendish to develop and promote this selfimage, see ‘AN EPISTLE To justifie the LADY NEWCASTLE, AND Truth against falshood, laying those false, and malicious aspersions of her, that she was not Author of her BOOKS’ in Cavendish (1655b, sig. A1v). For Cavendish’s positive assessment of melancholy, see Cavendish (1655b, 128). 15 This pagination is found in Cavendish (1653a) inserted between A and B. 16 See Fitzmaurice (2009, 21), Bowerbank (1984, 396), Sarasohn (2010, 34). On difficulties faced by women writers, see Crawford (1985, 212), Hackett (1996, 171). In Cavendish’s case, claims of literary humility are somewhat undermined by her self-confessed pursuit of fame—see Cavendish (1653a, A3r); (1655a, A1r).

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answer to Cavendish’s self-trivialization, how can we explain Boyle’s very similar self-deprecation? One possibility is that both Cavendish and Boyle’s attitudes to publication were shaped not so much by gender but by what we might call aristocratic insouciance. Indeed, their works are often prefaced by remarks which display a blend of anxiety and laziness—perhaps suggesting that neither author wanted to be seen as trying too hard with their scientific writings. These attitudes are especially clear when it came to the onerous task of preparing and revising manuscripts before publication. For example, Boyle claimed to have flung Occasional Reflections together, in a ‘Casual’ manner, haphazardly drawing fragments from his ‘loose and forgotten Papers’ (Boyle 1999, 5, 9). Any errors in the text should be excused, because he had not taken a great deal of care over the manuscript. Thus he explained that: […] the Book is, in general, far short of being an Exact and Finish’d Piece…But by way of Apology, it may be represented, That most of the following Papers, being written for my own private Amusement, a good deal of Negligence in them may appear as pardonable, as a Careless Dress, when a man intends not, nor expects, to go out of his study or let himself be seen (Boyle 1999, 5, 8).

We find a similar attitude in the composition of another work, where Boyle writes about discovering various notes among his ‘loose Sheets’ before publishing them randomly, without revision. Boyle excused this on the ground that he needed time to devote himself to other projects (including doing further experiments). Thus he explained that: […] meeting with these Collections in loose Sheets among my old Papers, I must either publish them as I find them, or take the pains to Polish and Contract them, which would require more time, then I can at present afford them (Boyle 1999, 3, 483).17

We find a similar reluctance to ‘Polish and Contract’ in Cavendish. Thus, for example, confessing that she could not be bothered to correct the manuscript of The Worlds Olio (1655), she revealed that: ‘[…] I being of a lazy disposition, did choose to let it go into the World with its Defects, rather than take the pains to refine it […] (Cavendish 1655a, sig. A3v). Her Philosophicall Fancies (1653) was similarly thrown together at the last minute—it was ‘huddl’d up’ in under three weeks and ‘I took not so much time, as to consider [it] thoroughly.’ (Cavendish 1653b, sig. [B*2]r).18 Like Boyle, she told her readers that her works were written for her own amusement and, like him, she privileged writing over revising. For example, in an introduction to The Worlds Olio (1655) she made it clear that: ‘I have my delight in Writing and having it printed […]’ asserting that: ‘there is more Pleasure and Delight in making than in mending.’ (Cavendish 1655a, sig. A3v). In fact, both writers were dissembling somewhat—and here we find a further similarity. Despite claiming that their works were trivial and error-strewn, in reality, Cavendish and Boyle took their writings extremely seriously. This is evident from the arrangements which they made in relation to translation. Both writers wrote their 17 ‘Of

the Usefulnesse of Naturall Philosophy. The Second Part.’ 1663. pagination in Cavendish (1653b) is inserted between B and C.

18 This

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scientific works in English, targeting domestic readers, but both were also keen to reach a wider Continental audience. In order to achieve this aim, both Cavendish and Boyle went to considerable lengths to have their works translated into Latin— the language of international scholarship at the time. Cavendish employed Walter Charleton, the society physician, to translate her biography of her husband William; and she ensured that copies of her works were presented to universities, not only in Oxford and Cambridge but also in Europe (Cavendish 1655b, sig. (a)2r). Similarly, Boyle wanted to promote his ideas to a wider audience, employing a series of Oxford scholars to translate his works into Latin; Robert Sharrock was one of the first to occupy this role before it was entrusted to Henry Oldenburg. After Oldenburg’s death, Boyle employed David Abercromby, a lapsed Jesuit, who translated several of his texts including A Free Inquiry into the Vulgarly Received Notion of Nature, (1686) (Hunter 2015, 153). Thus we can see that there are a number of similarities in Cavendish’s and Boyle’s attitudes towards scientific writing and publication. Both claimed to be anxious about presenting their ideas to the public and expected criticism; both described their works as uncorrected trifles but, rather than spend time in revising, celebrated their own disorganization and begged their readers’ indulgence. Despite this carapace of carelessness, Cavendish and Boyle took their writings seriously and promoted their works to a wider audience through Latin translations. Furthermore, both writers were keen to portray themselves as lonely, thoughtful types as we can see from their autobiographical accounts. These similarities may help us understand why Cavendish looked on Boyle relatively favourably in 1664 and reacted with such appreciation at their meeting in 1667. Another reason for her positive endorsement of Boyle is that in relation to some important questions in contemporary science, she agreed with him. It is to these areas that I now turn.

5.3 The Purpose of Natural Philosophy Seventeenth century scientists spent a lot of time discussing the purpose of their endeavours. Many were keen to emphasize the practical nature of their aims—natural philosophy would help transform lives through advances in medicine, agriculture, navigation, and so forth. One of the benefits of this approach—adopted by many Royal Society fellows—was that it seemed to distinguish them from the scholastics, whom they accused of wasting time in sterile and pointless debates over terminology. Thus Thomas Sprat asserted that: ‘[…] while the Old could only bestow on us some barren Terms and Notions, the New shall impart to us the uses of all the Creatures, and shall inrich us with all the Benefits of Fruitfulness and Plenty’ (Sprat 1667, 438). But practical utility was only part of the purpose of natural philosophy. Many thinkers also emphasized the ways in which natural philosophy could bring individuals closer to God—for example by studying the wonders of his creation. In this way, natural philosophy was promoted as an alternative form of divine worship— spiritually useful both for its exponents as individuals and for Christian society as a

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whole. Another view was that natural philosophy had value as a delightful exercise in its own right—knowledge for knowledge’s sake—without the need to demonstrate any kind of utility (practical or spiritual). A further feature of debates over the purpose of natural philosophy was a renewed focus on the relationship between the scientist and the natural world which she (or he) was studying. Some of the language used by fellows of the Royal Society seemed to suggest that they saw natural philosophy as a means by which to extend male power over the natural world; as a result, some scholars have argued that seventeenth century science was a ‘masculinist’ project (to which Cavendish was opposed).19 The ways in which Cavendish and Boyle addressed questions around utility, delight and dominion will help us to better understand their natural philosophies and will also illuminate these themes more broadly. (i) Utility In Boyle’s judgment, practical utility lay at the heart of the new science. Or, as he put it: I shall not dare to think my self a true Naturalist, till my skill can make my Garden yield better Herbs and Flowers, or my Orchard better Fruit, or my Fields better Corn, or my Dairy better Cheese, then theirs that are strangers to Physiology (Boyle 1999, 3, 295).20

The foundation of the Royal Society in 1660 seemed to offer a new route by which to achieve these aims. It was hoped that experiments would lead to inventions with a whole series of useful applications; for example, there was considerable interest in a developing a device to make drinking water from sea-brine—a project which involved Boyle (Hunter 1981, 95). Boyle’s ‘grand Design’ as a natural philosopher included ‘promoting Experimental and Useful Philosophy’; in his view, the study of nature should involve ‘inventing & promoting things useful to human Life […].’ (Boyle 1999, 1, 143; Hunter and Anstey 2008, 7).21 Boyle’s vision for natural philosophy was, at heart, an optimistic one; in his opinion knowledge of the natural world had the potential to transform men’s lives in a whole variety of practical ways. Thus: […] if the true Principles of that fertile[e] Science [i.e. natural philosophy] were thorowly known, consider’d and apply’d ‘tis scarce imaginable, how universal and advantageous a change they would make in the World.

Boyle wanted to promote ‘the advantagiousness of Natural Philosophy to [… man’s] Body and Fortune’ (Boyle 1999, 3, 296, 295).22 Given her reservations about the usefulness of microscopes, we might expect to find Cavendish casting doubt on the practical utility of natural philosophy. However, this is not the case. In fact, Cavendish shared Boyle’s view that utility lay at the heart of the new science, arguing optimistically—like him—that natural philosophy would 19 Keller

(1997, 466), Rogers (1996, 181, 205). On ‘male hegemony’ in natural philosophy, see Sarasohn (2010, 33). For an alternative view see Hutton (2011). 20 Of the Usefulnesse of Naturall Philosophy. The Second Part, 1663. 21 New Experiments Physico-Mechanical, Touching The Spring of the Air and its Effects, 1660. 22 Of the Usefulness of Naturall Philosophy. The Second Part. 1663. For an analysis of satirical attacks on the supposed usefulness of natural philosophy see Anstey (2007), 154–158.

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bring a whole series of practical benefits to mankind. Although scientists would never, in her view, acquire complete knowledge, they could nevertheless discover ‘many necessary and profitable Arts and Sciences, to benefit the life of man.’ (Cavendish 1664, 508). In The Philosophical and Physical Opinions (1655), Cavendish defended natural philosophy against its critics—those who dismissed it as ‘unprofitable, bringing no advantage’; in her view it was of critical importance in astronomy, animal husbandry, architecture, navigation and medicine (Cavendish 1655b, sig. (a)1v). In the 1663 reissue of this work, Cavendish returned to her theme, arguing: The Truth is, that without Natural Philosophy Men could not tell how to Live; for Natural Philosophy doth not onely Instruct Men to Know the Course of the Planets and the Seasons of the Year, but it Instructs Men in Husbandry, Architecture, and Navigation, as also Combination and Association, but above all it Instructs Men in the Rules and Arts of Physick; indeed all Arts and Sciences are produced in on[e] kind or other from Natural Philosophy, insomuch as it may be said, Man Lives meerly by Natural Philosophy […] (Cavendish 1663, sig.b3r).

Elsewhere, Cavendish argued that natural philosophers should investigate nature so that ‘[…] we [shall] know how to Increase our Breed of Animals, and our Stores of Vegetables, and to find out the Minerals for our Use […].’ One of the key purposes of science was ‘for the Profitable Increase for Men’—an aspiration which looks very similar to Boyle’s view that natural philosophy should promote ‘things useful to human Life’ (Cavendish 1662, 245). Not only do Cavendish and Boyle look similar on the subject of practical usefulness, they both understood that utility had a broader meaning—it also involved a spiritual dimension. Boyle’s devotion to this project is well known.23 Throughout his works, Boyle stressed the value of natural philosophy in promoting Christian virtues. These included the virtue of charity; for example, he argued that there was scarcely any other science ‘that does more enable a willing mind to exercise a Goodnesse beneficiall to others’ than natural philosophy (Boyle 1999, 3, 199).24 In his view, natural philosophy was a godly endeavour; the (male) scientist was ‘the Priest of Nature’ who acted on behalf of all the inanimate creatures to return thanks to God for the wonders of his creation (Boyle 1999, 3, 238).25 Studying natural philosophy would bring man a greater appreciation of the divine Creator. Or, as Boyle put it, (in rather florid language): In Man alone, every sense has store of greedy Appetites, for the most part of Superfluities and Dainties, that to relieve his numerous Wants, or satisfie his more numerous Desires, He might be oblig’d with an inquisitive Industry to Range, Anatomize, and Ransack Nature, and by that concern’d survey come to a more exquisite Admiration of the Omniscient Author (Boyle 1999, 3, 237).26 23 Hunter

(1994a, b, 1, 2015, 9, 16), Boas (1952, 491), Fisch (1953, 252–65). Considerations Touching the Usefulnesse of Experimental Naturall Philosophy, 1663. See also Glanvill (1676, 5). On debates about natural philosophy and Christian charity see Harrison (2007), 15–35. 25 Some Considerations […] 1663. 26 Some Considerations […] 1663. 24 Some

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Perhaps this desire to demonstrate the spiritual usefulness of natural philosophy is best illustrated in Boyle’s The Christian Virtuoso (1690) which he wrote in order to show that ‘[…] there is no Inconsistence between a Man’s being an Industrious Virtuoso, and a Good Christian’ (Boyle 1999, 11, 283). Unlike Boyle, Cavendish did not produce a book-length study on this subject; indeed, in some works she seemed reluctant to even discuss theological issues at all. For example, in an introduction to a new edition of her Philosophical and Physical Opinions (1663), she promised that her latest book contained: […] Pure Natural Philosophy, without any Mixture of Theology, for I have not Imitated the Philosophers or Theologers of this Age, who do Mix one Sort with the other, for in my Opinion this Mixture doth Disturb and Obstruct their Works, wherein is neither Philosophy nor Theology Clearly Argued or Declared […] (Cavendish 1663, sig. b2v).27

Given this ambition, we might expect to find questions around the spiritual usefulness of natural philosophy to be absent from Cavendish’s works. However, this is not quite the case. In fact, Cavendish’s remarks about separating natural philosophy from theology are somewhat misleading because, on occasion, she did bring theological questions into her works—an aspect of her thought which is just beginning to attract the attention it deserves.28 A close examination of Cavendish’s works reveals that she shared some of the same attitudes that we find so prevalent in Boyle on the spiritual purpose of natural philosophy. For example, in 1655, Cavendish argued that those who studied nature glorified the God of nature and in 1663 she claimed that natural philosophy was a divine ‘Light’ from God, showing mankind how to live (Cavendish 1655b, sig. (a2)r, 1663, sig. b3r). By 1666, she was even arguing that natural philosophy provided a route by which to secure religious faith: Natural Philosophy is the chief of all sorts of knowledges; for she is a Guide, not onely to other Sciences, and all sorts of Arts, but even to divine knowledg[e] it self; for she teaches that there is a Being above Nature, which is God, the Author and Master of Nature, whom all Creatures know and adore (Cavendish 1666b, 39).

Thus, like Boyle, Cavendish argued that natural philosophy strengthened religious faith. It is quite true that Cavendish devoted considerably less space to this question than Boyle. But it would be wrong to ignore this aspect of her thought; in her view, natural philosophy was useful in both a practical and spiritual sense. There is a further aspect to spiritual usefulness which we should also consider here. Both Cavendish and Boyle argued that natural philosophy encouraged Christian virtue and thus had a moral purpose. In this way, natural philosophy was useful as a kind of antidote to sin. This had a particular application, in Cavendish’s view, to women, whose ‘idle time’ might otherwise be misspent in gossiping, and getting up to no good. When women spent time thinking of ‘honest, Innocent, and harmless Fancies’ (such as natural philosophy) their menfolk could relax, they have no need to fear ‘an Injury by their loose Carriages…Neither will Women be desirous to Gossip abroad, when their Thoughts are well employed at home [on scientific subjects].’ 27 See

also Cavendish (1666b, 77). and Sarasohn (2014).

28 Siegfried

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(Cavendish 1653a, sig. A3v). Applying the same idea to herself, Cavendish argued that writing natural philosophy was, in itself, a virtuous act. Thus: ‘[…] for sure this Worke [writing natural philosophy] is better than to sit still, and censure my Neighbours actions, which nothing concernes me; or to condemne their Humours…or ridiculously to laugh at my Neighbours Cloaths…all these Follies, and many more may be cut off by such innocent worke as this’ (ibid., § sig. [A*]r).29 Cavendish re-emphasised this point in her later writings, arguing that ‘[…] if all Women that have no employment in wordly affairs, should but spend their time as harmlessly as I do [in the study of natural philosophy], they would not commit such faults as many are accused of’ (Cavendish 1666a, sig. c1v). We can find a similar sentiment in Boyle; in his opinion, natural philosophy was a virtuous pursuit which he contrasted with the indolence of ‘Gallants’ and ‘Profane Persons’ (Hunter 1981, 177). Indeed, according to his biographer, Boyle was convinced that natural philosophy was of particular use to rakish members of the gentry and nobility; it would ‘divert them from those impertinent and criminal amusements, with which most of them busied themselves, and would make them not only better Christians, but likewise more useful members of society’ (Birch 1772, lx). This idea was also developed by Joseph Glanvill, the Anglican divine and enthusiastic promotor of the Royal Society, who argued that experimental natural philosophy encouraged moral development, albeit in a rather masculine way. Thus: This I dare affirm, that the Free, experimental Philosophy will do to purpose, by giving the mind another tincture, and introducing a sounder habit, which by degrees will at last absolutely repel all the little malignancies, and setle [sic] in it a strong and manly temperament, that will master, and cast out idle dotages, and effeminate Fears (Glanvill 1671, 46).

Although Glanvill and Cavendish were illustrating different attitudes to gender, their central point was the same—natural philosophy encouraged virtue in the person doing it, a point of view which was also shared by Boyle. In this way, we can see Cavendish as part of a project which promoted natural philosophy as a useful distraction from sin. We might think that the usefulness of natural philosophy to human life is one of those self-evident truths that need no further explanation, but it is worth asking how normative such views were in a seventeenth century context. The fact that Boyle felt the need to compose an entire book dedicated to proving the ‘Usefulnesse’ of natural philosophy suggests that the question was somewhat contested. While many contemporary figures (especially the Greshamites) shared the Cavendish-Boyle view, other thinkers raised objections.30 One such was Meric Casaubon, son of the famous humanist thinker Isaac Casaubon, who argued that the study of nature had more to do with ‘pleasure and curiosity’ than ‘use and profit’ (Casaubon 1976, 31).31 In his 29 This

pagination is found in Cavendish (1653a) between A and B. use the term ‘Greshamites’ as a useful shorthand, meaning ‘fellows of the Royal Society’. The term refers to their original meeting place—Gresham College, in the City of London. 31 On the context of such criticism see Hunter (1989, 45–71, esp. 63–4). See also Dryden’s view that speculation in natural philosophy had more to do with mere ‘sophism’ than with real usefulness, quoted in Levine (1999, 227, n54). Dryden was a client of Cavendish’s husband. 30 I

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view, natural philosophy was a ‘bewitching’ pursuit which did little to enhance lives in either a practical or spiritual way. Casaubon’s very different assessment of the value of natural philosophy was rooted in his very different concept of what constituted useful knowledge. In his view, the only really useful knowledge was self-knowledge (knowledge of ourselves). This classically humanist view was inspired by writers like Petrarch (1304–74), who had enquired: ‘What use is it, I ask, to know the nature of beasts and birds and fish and snakes, and to ignore or neglect our human nature, the purpose of our birth, or whence we come and wither we are bound?’32 Casaubon did not disavow the study of nature altogether, but he did argue that truly useful knowledge could not be generated by natural philosophy—for this we needed moral philosophy and ethics. For example, he argued that the best learning (and the most ‘useful’) was that which ‘reclaim[ed] men from that…close adherence of the mind to the body and senses (which most men are actually prone to) to the care and culture of their souls’ (Casaubon 1976, 7). Boyle and Cavendish took a rather different view; in their opinion, natural philosophy was of key importance in delivering the kind of spiritual self-knowledge that Casaubon wanted. Importantly, in their opinions, it also offered additional benefits—advancements of a practical kind. Thus we can see that Boyle and Cavendish had more in common with each other when it came to the usefulness of natural philosophy than either had with Casaubon. (ii) Delight Along with practical and spiritual utility, Cavendish also argued that natural philosophy should be pursued for its own sake as a ‘delightful’ pastime. For example, in The Worlds Olio (1655), she argued that the study of nature was ‘[…] pleasant and delightful to the contemplation […]’ (Cavendish 1655a, sig. E3r).33 In The Philosophical and Physical Opinions (1655), she argued that natural philosophy was both useful and delightful. After listing the practical benefits which natural philosophy brought to mankind, she continued: ‘[…] but above all, this study [natural philosophy] is a great delight, and pleases the curiosity of mens minds, it carries their thoughts above vulgar and common Objects, it elevates their spirits to an aspiring pitch […]’ (Cavendish 1655b, sig. (a)1v). Developing this idea in Philosophical Letters (1664), Cavendish emphasized the pleasures to be gained from studying natural philosophy; addressing an imaginary female correspondent, she argued: I think you cannot spend your time more honourably, profitably, and delightfully, then in the study of Nature, as to consider how Variously, Curiously, and Wisely, she acts in her Creatures […] (Cavendish 1664, 414).

Similarly, in Observations upon Experimental Philosophy (1666), Cavendish declared that writing natural philosophy was ‘a great delight and pleasure to me’ (Cavendish 1666a, sig. c1v). 32 Francis 33 This

Petrarch, On his own Ignorance and That of Many Others, in Marsh (2003, 239). pagination is inserted in Cavendish (1655a) between pages 26 and 27.

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Boyle was similarly keen to promote the delights of natural philosophy. For example, he hoped that his account of pneumatological experiments would ‘awaken mens thoughts, & excite them to new speculations (such as perhaps even inquisitive men would scarce else light upon;) […] (Boyle 1999, 1, 146).34 In Boyle’s view natural philosophy had value in ‘[…] instructing our Understandings and gratifying our Curiosities’; it involved ‘the Contemplation of Natures Wonders’ (Boyle 1999, 3, 200).35 As a keen student of the natural world, Boyle was ready to marvel at ‘this magnificent Fabrick of the Universe, furnished and adorned with such strange variety of curious and usefull Creatures […]’ (ibid., § 200). There is a real sense of excitement and delight in Boyle’s fascination with stories from far-off lands—a project with which he became involved towards the end of his life, interviewing explorers, adventurers and sea-captains at his sister’s house in Pall Mall, in London. These travellers’ tales were set to be published as ‘Physica Peregrinans, or the Travelling Naturalist’—a text which Boyle intended to be ‘entertaining and educative in its own right’, as Michael Hunter has argued (Hunter 2015, 9). Thus we can see that both Cavendish and Boyle valued natural philosophy as delightful and entertaining. (iii) Dominion Many contemporary scientists wrote about natural philosophy as a means by which they could extend man’s dominion over the natural world.36 In Boyle’s view, one of the purposes of science was ‘to increase the Power and enlarge the Empire of Mankind over the Creatures’ (Boyle 1999, 13, 350). Boyle argued that natural philosophy provided a means by which he could ‘Master and Command’ Nature, bringing man ‘Dominion’ over his environment (Boyle 1999, 3, 211–212). Nature was, in his view, a reluctant witness who needed to be ‘skillfully compell’d to give us a farther account of her self’ so that ‘she would then be brought to confess many things that we should never have otherwise learn’d of Her’ (Hunter and Anstey 2008, 6). His remarks, quoted earlier, about wanting to ‘Ransack’ nature, suggest that this confession might be extracted somewhat forcefully. Indeed, Boyle admitted that Chemistry was a kind of torture perpetrated on nature. Noting that mankind was very far off a complete explanation for natural phenomena, Boyle declared that it was likely that his generation will be ‘not much happier Unriddlers, then our ForeFathers’ because—in spite of ‘[…] our Chymical Tortures’—scientists had so far ‘forc’d no Confessions’ that were truly enlightening (Boyle 1999, 3, 243).37 Cavendish shared the view that chemists were torturing nature, arguing that: ‘[…] Chymists torture Nature worst of all; for they extract and distil her beyond substance, nay, into no substance, if they could’ (Cavendish 1664, 491).

34 New

Experiments Physico-Mechanical, Touching the Spring of the Air and its Effects (1660). Considerations Touching the Usefulness of Experimental Naturall Philosophy (1663). 36 On the context of contemporary debates on the question of dominion, see Webster (1975, esp. Chaps. I and V). 37 Some Considerations […], (1663). 35 Some

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Cavendish was scathing about scientists who thought they could control nature by artificial means (for example using furnaces or other laboratory equipment). For example, she argued that: […] Nature hath given such a Presumptuous Self-love to Man-kind, and filled him with that Credulity of Powerfull Art, that he thinks not onely to learn Natures Waies, but to know her Means and Abilities, and become Lord of Nature, as to rule her, and bring her under his Subjection (Cavendish 1655a, 177).

In her view, mankind could never hope to completely understand or control infinite Nature—of which he was merely a small part (Cavendish 1663, 27, paginated as E2r, 1664, 278–279, 415–416, 433.) Thus there appears to be a clear difference between Cavendish’s position and Boyle’s on the relationship between nature and the scientist who was investigating it. We might even think (given his statements about ‘dominion’ and his activities as a chemist) that Boyle qualifies as one of Cavendish’s hated ‘Lord[s] of Nature’. Before reaching such a conclusion, there are two points that we need to consider: firstly, the importance of the Christian context in relation to dominion and secondly, the tension in the works of many contemporary natural philosophers (including Boyle) between dominion over nature and respect for nature. Let us deal with these in turn. It was a common view amongst seventeenth century natural philosophers that mankind should strive to recover the dominion over nature which Adam and Eve had enjoyed before the Fall. The Bible was clear on this: for example, in Genesis I, 26: ‘And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.’ And again, after instructing man and woman to ‘Be fruitful, and multiply’, God told Adam and Eve to ‘replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth’ (Genesis I, 28). As a result, many natural philosophers saw the reclaiming of pre-lapsarian dominion as part of their Christian duty. The religious matrix in which seventeenth century scientists formed their views often brought an interesting tension to their thoughts on nature. While many wanted to re-establish dominion over nature, they were also mindful of the need to respect nature—which, in their view, had been created by God and bore all the hallmarks of his handiwork. Glanvill put it clearly when he said that God’s glory was ‘written upon the Creatures, the more we study them, the better we understand those Characters, the better we read his Glory, and the more fit we are to celebrate, and proclaim it’ (Glanvill 1676, 5). Respect for divinely created nature is similarly evident in the works of Boyle. For example, in Some Considerations Touching the Usefulnesse of Experimental Naturall Philosophy (1663) Boyle revealed his awe for even the smallest creatures in Nature—tiny beasts in which he could trace God’s glory. Thus: ‘[…] God, in these little Creatures, oftentimes draws traces of Omniscience…I have seen Elephants, and admir’d them less then the structure of a dissected Mole… I have pass’d the Alpes, and have seen as much to admire at in an Ant-hill, and have so much wondred

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[sic] at the Industry of those little Creatures […]’ (Boyle 1999, 3, 223–224). He was enchanted by silk-worms and ‘those little Mites that are bred in mouldy Cheese’ (ibid., § 224, 225). The divinity of natural things was a strong theme running through this work—so much so that he saw the natural world as like a ‘Temple’, citing various biblical and classical authorities to support this (ibid., § 238). Boyle never doubted the mysteries and powers of nature, as we can see from ‘Physica Peregrinans’—a work which was designed to reveal nature in what Michael Hunter has described as all its ‘potency and variety’ (Hunter 2015, 9). This simultaneous desire for dominion over and yet reverence for nature created a tension in Boyle’s thought, as we can see by comparing different parts of his 1663 text Some Considerations Touching the Usefulnesse of Experimental Naturall Philosophy. While he urged mankind to ‘Ransack’ nature to discover her secrets, just a few pages earlier, he had insisted that the natural world should be revered as a source of knowledge about God’s goodness—Nature was, he argued, a ‘School of Virtue […]’ (Boyle 1999, 3, 234). Nature was a sacred teacher—to be honoured and respected—but also a reluctant witness to be pressed into confessing her secrets. Where did Cavendish stand in debates over dominion and reverence? Like Boyle, Cavendish argued that mankind should look to nature as a teacher. For example, Nature was the ‘chief master’ in ‘the School of life’ and ‘every straw, or grain of dust, is a natural tutor, to instruct my sense and reason, and every particular rational creature, is a sufficient School to study in […] (Cavendish 1655a, sig.E2r-v, inserted between pages 26–27; 103). Also like Boyle, she was enchanted by the ingenuity of creatures, arguing that man had much to learn from them; for example, arguing (contra Hobbes) that animals might possess the capacity for reason. Thus Cavendish asked whether any man knows: […] whether Fish do not Know more of the nature of Water, and ebbing and flowing, of the saltness of the Sea? or [sic.] whether Birds do not know more of the nature and degrees of Air, or the cause of Tempests? or [sic] whether Worms do not know more of the nature of Earth, and how Plants are produced? or Bees of the several sorts of juices of Flowers, then Men? And whether they do not make there Aphorismes and Theoremes by their manner of Intelligence? For, though they have not the speech of Man, yet hence doth not follow, that they have no Intelligence at all (Cavendish 1664, 40–41).

Cavendish was particularly impressed by stories which suggested that crocodiles were able to foretell the rising of the river Nile—adapting their nesting behaviour accordingly.38 We can detect a strong sense in Cavendish of the admirable intelligence of animals and the wonders of nature more broadly. However, the tension between dominion and wonder that we find in Boyle is absent from Cavendish and this is a significant difference. Cavendish always wrote of nature with respect and admiration—often comparing nature to a ‘wise and provident Lady’ and a ‘good Housewife’, ordering her parts with skill and justice (Cavendish 1666a, 101). As she developed her ideas about the relationship between Nature and God, Cavendish began to employ the language of servitude, frequently referring to nature as a ‘servant’ of 38 See

Cavendish (1666b, 41).

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God (Cavendish 1666b, 25, 44, 1666a, sig. g1r, sig. p2v, 1668, 241). But—importantly—Cavendish never argued that nature was a servant of mankind; the biblical stress on dominion which Boyle found so compelling is strikingly absent from her works. While there were some important differences between Cavendish and Boyle on mankind’s relationship with the natural world, we should not overlook the similarities: both writers thought of nature as a teacher from whom man could learn much about the natural world and its complex processes. Both were enchanted by the activities of the creatures—large and small. While Boyle’s language seems to some scholars to suggest a desire for masculinist dominion, in my view we should be mindful of the religious context of such views; it may be the case that Boyle’s drive for dominion was more of a sacred project than a masculinist one. More widely, Cavendish and Boyle shared many of the same opinions on the purpose of natural philosophy—it should be useful in a practical as well as spiritual sense and also as a delightful pastime in its own right. In this way, both Cavendish and Boyle made similarly compelling cases for the study of natural philosophy. But how should this study be conducted? This was a contentious question in a seventeenth century context; while some thinkers promoted the doing of experiments, others were less enthusiastic about embracing new-fangled technologies and ideas. Both Cavendish and Boyle made important contributions to these debates, which tell us much about the development of early scientific thinking.

5.4 Methods of Natural Philosophy The search for reliable scientific knowledge engaged the minds of many seventeenth century thinkers. This debate involved important questions about the nature of knowledge itself—not least was true knowledge even achievable, given human flaws and frailties?39 Many scientists wanted to know whether knowledge could be derived from the senses, or whether its origins lay in the mind. Some thinkers, including Hobbes, argued that rational contemplation (‘meditation’) was the best way to secure reliable knowledge, while others—including many fellows of the Royal Society—believed that the conduct of science needed reform (Hobbes 1968, 106). In the view of many Greshamites, contemplative thinking was neither useful nor veridical; it was experimental action, rather than rational thought, which provided the best route to scientific truth. One of the central features of the new science was the idea that experiments (which included a range of activities from observations to trials with the latest instruments) were to have ‘epistemic priority’ over hypotheses and other

39 On the search for true knowledge see Shapiro (1983), Van Leeuwen (1963), Cummins and Burchell

(2007).

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mind-based speculations (Anstey 2014, 107).40 But not everyone was convinced of the benefits of experimental action; Cavendish’s objections to experimentalism (especially experiments derived from microscopes) are well known, with many scholars arguing that her exclusion from the Royal Society (for gender reasons) helps explain her ‘hostility’ to its program.41 It is certainly true that Cavendish was deeply critical of aspects of experimentalism; however, her relationship with the Royal Society was not uniformly hostile, as I have argued elsewhere (Wilkins, 2014). Leaving aside her sympathy with the Royal Society’s desire for plain language in science and the probabilistic approach which she shared with many fellows, what I want to focus on here is the interplay in her thought and in Boyle’s between thinking and doing in science.42 While Boyle’s ‘Love’ for experiments might suggest that he disavowed a contemplative approach to science, is this actually this case? On this important topic in contemporary science, was there any common ground between his views and those of Cavendish? Throughout her critique of experimentalism, Cavendish emphasized that speculative thinking was a vital ingredient in the scientific process; in her view, experimentalists were wrong to prefer their new techniques to well-established contemplative thinking—the ‘Speculative part’ of natural philosophy (Cavendish, 1666a, 7). As a result of this, many scholars see Cavendish as a rationalist (Detlefsen 2007, 172; Smith 2005, 37). Her view that reason should not ‘stoop to Sense’ is evidence of this rationalist approach—as is her declaration that, in the search for scientific truth, ‘Reason shall be my guide.’ (Cavendish, 1666b, 4, 1666a, 91, wrongly paginated as 87.) However, it is important to understand that Cavendish also envisaged a role for sense-based observation in the scientific process. On several occasions, Cavendish argued that natural philosophy should be built on a synthesis of rational contemplation and sense-based induction. For example, she recommended that ‘[…] Pure natural Philosophers, shall by natural sense and reason, trace Natures ways, and observe her actions […].’ (Cavendish 1664, 281). Furthermore: ‘[…] the best study is Rational Contemplation joyned with the observations of regular sense […].’ (Cavendish 1666a, 12).43 In this way, Cavendish offered a methodology in which reason and sense were blended together; an aspect of her thought that can be traced back to 1655 when she argued that reason (as distinct from the process of reasoning) arose as a result of observation. Thus: […] some will say, we should never come to reason but by reasoning; but I say, reason comes by observation of consequences and accidents, and reasoning is vain inbred-imaginations, 40 On

the role of observations in experimenting see Anstey (2014, 105–8); Sargent (1995, 136–7). For the view that distinctions between ‘speculation’ and ‘experiment’ are more problematic than is often thought, see Vanzo and Anstey (2019). 41 On Cavendish’s supposed hostility to the Royal Society, see Keller (1997, 447–471), Wilson (2007, 45–46), Sarasohn (2010, 33, 152, 172, 191). 42 On plain language see Clucas (2011), Wilkins (2014). On probabilism see Clucas (2003), Boyle (2015). 43 On the importance of observations in medicine, see Cavendish (1655b, 104).

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without the experience of the concurrence of outward things, so reason is bred with strickt observing […] (Cavendish 1655a, 20).

Thus Cavendish offered her own version of the aphorism beloved of medieval empiricists: nihil est in intellectu quod non prius fuerit in sensu (there is nothing in the mind which was not first in the senses).44 If Cavendish was more empiricallyinclined than we might at first think, what about Boyle? How did Boyle envisage the relationship between mind-based contemplation and sense-based action?45 Boyle often promoted the benefits of ‘solid’ experimentalism over a more speculative approach. While flawed reasoning might be difficult to detect, experiments were more easily verifiable and consequently of greater value: […] when a Writer acquaints me only with his own Thoughts or Conjectures, without enriching his discourses with any real Experiment or Observation, if he be mistaken in his Ratiocination, I am in some danger of erring with him, and at least am like to lose my time, without receiving any valuable Compensation for that great loss: but if a Writer endeavours, by delivering new and real Observations or Experiments, to credit his Opinions, the Case is much otherwise; for let his Opinions be never so false, his Experiments being true, I am not oblig’d to believe the former, and am left at liberty to benefit my self by the lat[t]er [.] (Boyle 1999, 2, 15).46

This looks clear enough. But it would be wrong to assume that such views necessarily involved an outright rejection of a rationalist approach to natural philosophy. For example, Boyle argued that the ‘absolute suspension of the exercise of Reasoning’ would be ‘exceeding troublesome, if not impossible’ in scientific enquiry. Furthermore, it was sometimes useful for scientists to construct hypotheses, so that they might better test out their experiments and get to truth. Thus he argued: And as in that Rule of Arithmetick which is commonly called Regula falsi, by proceeding upon a conjecturally-supposed Number, as if it were that which we enquire after, we are wont to come to the knowledge of the true number sought for: so in Physiology it is som[e]times conducive to the discovery of truth, to permit the Understanding to make an Hypothesis in order to the Explication of this or that difficulty, that by examining how far the Phaenomena are, or are not, capable of being salv’d by that Hypothesis, the Understanding may even by its own Errors be instructed (ibid., § 14).

Thus speculative hypotheses—originating in the mind—were an important part of the scientific process, albeit in a rather negative way. Boyle developed a more positive attitude towards speculation in an unpublished essay which explored the ways in which the ‘Practicall’ and ‘Theoricall’ parts of natural philosophy could be of use to each other. This work—titled ‘The Mutual Assistance that the Practicall and Theoricall Parts of Naturall Philosophy may afford one another. Propos’d as a great Inducement to hope for considerable matters from Experimental Philosophy’—was originally conceived as part of Some Considerations Touching the Usefulnesse of Experimental Naturall Philosophy (1663).47 Although 44 On

medieval empiricism, see Grant (2002, 142).

45 For Thomas Kuhn’s view that Baconian scientists opposed thought experiments, see Kuhn (1977,

31–65, 44). For a different view see Anstey (2014). Physiological Essays (1669), first published 1661. 47 On the composition of this text, see Hunter and Davis (2000, liv–lvi). 46 Certain

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the precise date of composition is unclear, it may have been written around 1661, shortly after the foundation of the Royal Society when the relationship between practical experimenting and theoretical speculation was the subject of particularly intense debate. Addressing an interlocutor (“Pyrophilus”), Boyle argued that experiments would help ‘the speculative Phylosopher’ bring about practical scientific breakthroughs. Thus: I shall…do what is requisite to commend Experimental Learning to you, if I be so happy as to make it out, that Experiments considered in the Lump, or one with another, may very much assist the speculative Phylosopher, that is sollicitous about the causes and reasons of Naturall things; and that the speculative Phylosopher so assisted, may (on the other side) very much improve the Practical part of Physick. (Boyle 1999, 13, 351).48

This latter addition to the text (in the different font), makes it clear that Boyle envisioned a successful interplay between speculative philosophy and the ‘Practical’ part of scientific enquiry. In his view, the ideal combination of speculative and experimental philosophy was like a ‘happy Marriage’ that would ‘contribute to the production of usefull Experiments’ [.] (ibid., § 351). This mutually successful union looks rather similar to Cavendish’s view that scientific best practice involved ‘Rational Contemplation joyned with the observations of regular sense […]’ (Cavendish 1666a, 12). If anything, Boyle seems to have become increasingly enthusiastic about the value of speculation. In 1690 he argued that ‘Conjectural Knowledge’ about the ‘remote Cœlestial part of the World’ (such as the distant stars) was worthwhile, even though ‘we can make no useful Experiments’ with such knowledge (Boyle 1999, 11, 286). It is worth pointing out that not all seventeenth century scientists were willing to support this kind of role for speculation in science. Indeed, many Greshamites were committed to a rather different path, which involved an explicit rejection of speculative hypothesizing in favour of the compilation of vast heaps of data—the natural histories upon which Baconian science was founded. This is why much of the activity of the early Royal Society was directed towards projects which today sound rather arcane—the history of bread-making, paper manufacture and millinery, for example.49 The pure data-gathering approach to scientific enquiry was summed up by Glanvill who explained his view in a series of letters to Cavendish written over the period 1667–8. Thus: […] all that we can hope for, as yet, is but the History of things as they are, but to say how they are, to raise general Axioms, and to make Hypotheses, must, I think, be the happy priviledge of succeeding Ages; when they shall have gained a larger account of the Phaenomena, which yet are too scant and defective to raise Theories upon […].50 48 The

change in text indicates a new phase of composition and is added as a marginal insertion. “Pyrophilus” was Richard Jones, Boyle’s nephew. See DiMeo (2015, 29). 49 See Birch (1756, 19, 342). 50 Glanvill to Cavendish, 13 Oct 1667, Letters and Poems […], (1676, 124–5).

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In Glanvill’s view, natural philosophers should ‘lay a Foundation in sensible collections’ and only then ‘proceed to general Propositions, and Discourses.’51 Glanvill’s rejection of speculative hypothesizing stands in contrast to Cavendish and Boyle, who were both interested in the interplay between thinking and doing; indeed both Cavendish and Boyle endorsed a sophisticated scientific methodology in which there was room for both mind-based speculation and sense-based observation.

5.5 Conclusion There is a striking sense of optimism in the works of both Cavendish and Boyle about the advantages that natural philosophy would bring in the future. Each wrote positively and enthusiastically about their hopes for scientific advance. Both argued that natural philosophy was useful in a spiritual and a practical sense and both promoted the delights of knowledge about the natural world. It is certainly true that Boyle championed experimentalism while Cavendish nurtured serious objections; however it would be wrong—in my view—not to acknowledge her endorsement of sense-based observation in natural philosophy. It is also important to understand that Boyle envisioned a role for speculative thinking in science in ways that are comparable with Cavendish’s own views. There are further similarities in relation to their attitudes to scientific publication; both Cavendish and Boyle tried to convince their readers that their works were mere trifles while also promoting them to a wider audience. In recognizing these similarities, we can enhance our understanding of Cavendish and Boyle’s natural philosophies and the ways in which their ideas related to contemporary scientific debates.

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Chapter 6

Margaret Cavendish: Science and Women’s Power Through the Blazing World Carlotta Cossutta

Abstract Science fiction was used by Margaret Cavendish to highlight the negative—both present and potential—aspects of her time. In particular, she uses fiction to call into question the relation between power and scientific knowledge and to show that science could be allied to female power only if radically rethought. I will analyse The Blazing World in relation to Cavendish’s scientific theories and explore the theme of sexual difference. Furthermore, The Blazing World shows that, rather than scientific knowledge being objective truth, it has a definite political agenda, and it is the expression of a particular point of view. In this sense, The Blazing World binds to Cavendish’s philosophical reflections, highlighting how her criticism of the mechanistic approach and the experimental scientific method has important political and epistemological consequences, even for the contemporary feminist debate on science and knowledge.

6.1 Women, Science Fiction and Utopia In 1666 Margaret Cavendish published “The Description of a New World, Called the Blazing World” in which a young woman becomes the Empress of a parallel world which she accesses from the North Pole where she has been shipwrecked. The New World is inhabited by creatures intermediate between humans and animals, that live in peace with nature. In this text the dominant theme is confidence in imagination, unlike the more classic utopias based on rationality, combined with science, to create a new and sparkling world, which the author uses to claim a public role for women. Another great science fiction novel starts from the North Pole, perhaps one of the most famous written by a woman: Frankenstein, or the modern Prometheus (1831). This text is the creation of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft—who died in giving birth to her—and of William Godwin, to whom the C. Cossutta (B) Department of Humanities, University of Eastern Piedmont, Via G. Ferraris 116, 13100 Vercelli, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_6

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book is dedicated. This book has become a classic of science fiction due to the ability of Mary Shelley to describe in a very vivid way the risks of the feeling of omnipotence that inhabits science, retaining nuances of understanding and compassion both for Frankenstein, who wants to recreate life because of the trauma of his mother’s death, and for his creature, who claims to have become evil because of society’s contempt.1 It is interesting to note how this story arose from a challenge proposed by Byron in the rainy spring of 1816 to his holiday companions, including Mary: to overcome their boredom with a contest of ghost stories. Mary Shelley lingered for a long time without finding inspiration, and finally found it in the speeches of men who spoke of galvanism and the possibility of reviving dead bodies: it is no coincidence that the first edition of the text, that of 1818, is full of scientific explanations, which would be omitted in the edition of 1831. The reflection on life, then, inspires Mary Shelley to a reflection on science and technology that would be immediately appreciated by the public, whose fears and concerns it captures. To better understand what science fiction is and how I intend to use it in the following pages, I refer to the classic definition of Darko Suvin, which describes science fiction as “the literature of cognitive estrangement” (Suvin 1979, 4). In this sense, the term science fiction can be used to define all those works that propose an alternative world that introduces a novum, a novelty validated by a constitutional logic. For this reason we can speak of science fiction well before the introduction of the term and for works that do not directly call into question technological innovations, but are capable of questioning the status quo and the cognitive assumptions of their present, to present not just another world, but another way of thinking.2 Although science fiction is often considered to be a masculine literary genre, already from these first examples of female novelists it emerges that, since its beginnings, science fiction has been frequented by women, who have often considered it— precisely for the characteristics described by Suvin—”a refuge or a shelter [where they] may safely envision a changed society” (Farley Kessler 1995, 3). The science fiction writers, therefore, have often made clear the links between science and power through the gesture of freedom to imagine another world, alternative to the current one and able to illuminate its negative aspects. In the twentieth century, in particular, many science fiction tales written by women appeared, with different styles and contents, obviously, but united by this ability to grasp the dynamics of power in society, often seeking to deconstruct the distinctions of gender (Bammer 1991; Donawerth and Kolmerten 1994). Following Suvin, then, we can talk about science fiction also in the case of Christine de Pizan; it is true that her City of Ladies (1405) represents a female utopia in which science plays a fundamental role, both through Reason—who is one of the three characters who build the city—and through the numerous scientists who find 1 This

is one of the most characteristic traits of Mary Shelley’s text, which re-elaborates an earlier tradition that tells of men who infuse life into inanimate objects or bodies (think of the reference to Prometheus, who in the Greek myth found in Ovid creates humans from clay, and also of the legend of the Golem). 2 On this topic see also: Parrinder (2000); Spiegel (2008); Freedman (2013).

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their place there. It is significant to note, as does Malcomson (2002), that Margaret Cavendish owned the important Harley manuscript collection of Pizan’s work, which put her directly in contact with the thought of a woman who, two centuries earlier, had imagined another place and another time in which women could be educated differently, through which to criticise convictions of alleged female inferiority. Moreover, Pizan’s text, as we shall see for Cavendish’s text, through the dislocation of the City of Ladies intends to criticise her present and its devices of knowledge-power, to use a Foucaultian terminology. In fact, Pizan also writes the City of Ladies as a criticism and response to Boccaccio’s De mulieribus claris, just as Cavendish will have Bacon as a controversial referent. An example of utopia even closer to Cavendish is Mary Worth’s The Countess of Montgomery’s Urania (1621), a text in which the author takes up the classic image of the Arcadia, a tribute to, and possibly an imitation of, or a continuation of, her uncle Philip Sidney’s The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia (first composed c. 1580, later revised and expanded, and first published in 1590). Urania takes up the more classic theme of the bucolic genre, pastoral and romantic love, but redesigns it to contrast the Puritan image of love as linked to marriage. As Lamb points out, “The Urania opposed the related ideological tide as well. The biological consequence of constancy to a lover was the birth of illegitimate children” (Lamb 2001, 121), a consequence in opposition to an increase in the 1620s in prosecutions for sexual irregularities, and especially premarital intercourse, that reveals a decreased toleration for illegitimate children. Also in this case, therefore, the text has a political function, among others, and the ability to use another place and another time to question the present. During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, utopias and science fiction written by women will multiply, with different contents, styles and objectives, but keeping the idea that the relationship between gender and science and knowledge is central to imagining different worlds and societies with a different organisation. This centrality is also found in the writings of Margaret Cavendish on which I will dwell in the next pages.

6.2 Margaret Cavendish’s Nature and Science Science fiction was used by Margaret Cavendish to highlight the negative—both present and potential—aspects of her time. In particular, she uses fiction to call into question the relation between power and scientific knowledge and to show that science could be allied to female power only if radically rethought. Margaret Lucas was born in 1623 in Colchester, Essex. She did not receive a formal education in disciplines such as mathematics, history, philosophy and the classical languages, but she had access to scholarly libraries and was an avid reader. In 1645 she married William Cavendish when she was in exile in France with the Queen. Through this marriage she was in contact with the Cavendish circle, which included philosophers like Hobbes, Descartes and Gassendi.

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Cavendish lived and wrote in the thick of the mechanistic revolution of the seventeenth century, though many of her views—about thinking matter, the nature of scientific explanation, and the intelligibility of the divine—seem almost contemporary. In her own age, she was regarded alternately as mad, pretentious, a curiosity and a genius. She finally received some much-wanted recognition from her male peers in 1667, when she was offered an extremely rare invitation to participate in a meeting of the Royal Society, though to be sure she was regarded as a spectacle by many in attendance. She died in December 1673 and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Over the course of her short life she produced a number of important works in philosophy. These include Philosophical and Physical Opinions (1655), Orations of Divers Sorts, Philosophical Letters (1664), Observations Upon Experimental Philosophy (1666b), The Description of a New World, Called the Blazing World (1666a). The central tenet of Cavendish’s philosophy is that everything in the universe— including human beings and their minds—is completely material. According to Cavendish, none of the achievements of bodies are to be traced to immaterial agents such as God, immaterial finite minds, or substantial forms, because bodies have the resources to bring about everything that they do on their own. Bodies are ubiquitous, because there is no vacuum, as extensions of space cannot be extensions of nothing but must be extensions of matter. Every body is infinitely divisible. Cavendish takes part in the deconstruction of the early modern understandings of sex difference, influenced by the ancient physiology of Aristotle and Galen, who understood women as being imperfect men. Aristotle, for example, argued that “the female is as it were a deformed male” (1943, 175). The male body was the perfect form, and the female body was a defect from this generic type, and was thus defined as a kind of monster in Nature. Like Aristotle, Galen also argued that “the female has been made less perfect than the male” (1968, 632). Consequently, women were perceived as unable to become physically mature and develop to a fully masculine state. Within this logic, there was in a sense no female body, since females were essentially males that had gone wrong. The conflation between power, gender and body is particularly evident in early modern understandings of reproduction. Discussing generation in Observations, Cavendish complains that Aristotle is “the Idol of the Schools, for his doctrine is generally embraced with such reverence, as if Truth itself had declared it” (1666b, 32). Although Aristotle’s doctrines were increasingly challenged during the early modern period, his conception of physiology none the less remained a pervasive system of thought. In the context of the history of the body, Aristotelian physiology powerfully demonstrates how deeply sexual politics shaped perceptions of reproduction. Aristotle argues that the male is something better and more divine in that it is the principle of movement for generated things, while the female serves as their matter. It is thus significant that Cavendish theorises female matter that constitutes the active principle of movement, for in her view “nature hath a… power of self-moving” (1664, 225). She argues, in contradiction of Aristotelian understandings of bodies, that it is motion and body which cause reproduction because “in generation every producer doth transfer both Matter and Motion, that is, Corporeal Motion into the

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produced; and if there be more producers then one, they all do contribute to the produced” (1664, 420–421). Both parents (or producers) contribute matter and motion. Cavendish’s thesis hence disrupts Aristotelian hierarchies based upon matter and reproduction. Moreover, as Lisa Walters points out, “with her vitalistic view of matter and corporeality, Cavendish challenges these understandings of the womb and reproduction. Because all of matter in its entirety, regardless of sex, is vitalistic and self-moving, it has the power to create: it does not happen only in one place, such as a womb” (2014, 48). Cavendish suggests, thus, that generation is produced by motion and that every body capable of motion has the same status within Nature. Cavendish’s philosophical system resembled the mechanic model in natural philosophy insofar as it explains natural phenomena in terms of matter in motion, and insofar as all things are said to be made of the same basic kind of stuff. However, crucially, the matter in her theory is not the inert, lifeless stuff posited by the mechanists. For Cavendish, matter is a blended and self-moving intermixture of three basic kinds of matter. Its varied motions result in all the diversity of Nature—indeed, in “infinite Varieties”. For Cavendish, to be self-moving is to be alive, which in turn entails being perceptive and knowing. Cavendish also often characterises self-moving matter as free. Freedom, in fact, is the possibility to change position, to move outside the norm. These views have important implications for Cavendish’s theories about gender and nature. Being parts of nature, of course, women, too, have free will. Thus, even if Nature has dictated that the appropriate behaviour for some individual woman is to be, say, quiet and meek, it is up to the individual woman to decide whether to follow that prescription. Some women may choose to follow Nature’s norms; others might choose not to. Women who choose not to follow these norms are acting irregularly, and unnaturally; and, Cavendish suggests, although this may not be a defect from the perspective of Nature as a whole, it is likely to be destructive and dangerous to the society of which the irregularly acting woman is a member. Acting outside the norms of Nature is a possibility produced, apparently as an oxymoron, by Nature itself, but at the same time is a risk, that opens up unexpected outcomes. Although it is true that Cavendish does believe in humours, her theories of temperature, both in her later science and her literary works, often blatantly resist patriarchal constructions of the female body that depend upon the gendering of temperature in humoral theory. For example, Geraldine Wagner explains, regarding the Empress in The Blazing World, that “there is a certain amount of agentic power intimated by the “light of her beauty” and “heat of her youth”, both of which help her to survive the extremity of cold” (2003, 15). Even though Aristotle argued that women were passive and that “Nature does not assign defensive weapons to any female creature”, the Empress remarkably survives and defends herself against the freezing arctic temperature as a result of her own heat and light. The males that have kidnapped the Empress fail to produce the same amounts of heat as a woman and are “all frozen to death” (Cavendish 1666a, 126). Thus Cavendish’s story blatantly challenges Aristotelian and Galenic models of bodies, gender and heat. Cavendish dismantles the gender hierarchy implicit within the meanings of hot and cold in the science of her time, as she perceives cold as being a force as active, burning and strong as heat.

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This subversion of the modern science is clear in The Blazing World, where Cavendish shows the possible negative consequences of the relation of this science to political power. Moreover, for Cavendish, science is a political endeavour, as attested by Philosophical Letters, where she insists that “man thinks he governs, when as it is Nature that doth it… Thus it is not the artificial form that governs men in a Politick Government, but a natural power” (Cavendish 1664, 48). Here she suggests that political interactions between people are more influenced by Nature, or the workings of natural phenomena, than by governing institutions or individuals. I quote her again: “that without Natural Philosophy Men could not tell how to Live… indeed All Arts and Sciences are produced in [one] kind or other from Natural Philosophy, insomuch as it may be said, Man Lives merely by Natural Philosophy, so that Natural Philosophy is the Light that God is pleased to give Man, to Direct him in the Course of his Life” (Cavendish 1655). The critical analysis of scientific theories that Cavendish proposes does not move only in terms of content, but also of method. Cavendish uses the method of mechanistic science against it, to highlight the implicit premises. In fact, as noted by Lisa Sarasohn, Cavendish “used the skeptical methodology of the new science, but also a weapon in her battle for the recognition of female intellectual equality” (1984, 289). Precisely the scientific method that excludes women thus becomes a tool to affirm the possibility of women themselves to think scientifically. Cavendish is profoundly critical of the experimental model and this puts it, as Rebecca Merrens (1996) points out, in the position of what Michel Serres describes as “third man” (1982): a foreign element, which must be excluded from the conversation or from the public debate to ensure consistency and compactness.3 In the case of Cavendish, this position is significantly represented by a woman, who not only proposes a discordant voice, but also an unforeseen identity, and in this sense can be considered, paradoxically, the third man for excellence. As Keller points out: “Cavendish’s commitment to organic materialism gave her the ability to offer a “stranger’s account” of the new science and thereby to display epistemological problems and social pretensions in the claims of the experimentalists” (1997, 450). Cavendish’s criticisms of experimentalism move along the lines of the method, questioning the comprehensiveness of the theory and the very possibility of finding a method that is unrelated to the content. Keller highlights, very strongly, how “Cavendish’s position is most insightful because it sees claims of methodological rigor, value-neutrality, and objectivity, as a result of certainty, but social constructions that are endorsed as much because they advance the needs of their adherents as they are considered to be scientifically effective or true” (1997, 451). The theme therefore becomes that of questioning the neutrality of science by challenging the method that should guarantee it.

3 As

Shapin and Schaffer demonstrate in discussing the Hobbes-Boyle dispute, stable communication may be only (and only tenuously) achieved by discrediting and silencing counter-claims and by working to solidify the authority of the dominant (and yet necessarily provisional) claims asserted. See Shapin and Schaffer (1985).

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This reflection on the method is deeply linked to the content of her natural philosophy because, by replacing God with nature, Cavendish challenges the foundation on which Boyle and others construct nature and natural philosophy. Cavendish, in fact, in the Observations claims that “Nature is a perpetually Self-moving Body, dividing, composing, changing, forming, and transforming parts by Self-corporeal figurative motions, which is her part of an infinite Wisdom to order and govern her Infinite parts; for she has Infinite Sense and Reason” (1666b, 69), and in The Blazing World she re-affirms: “[E]very material part has a material natural soul; for nature is but one infinite self-moving, living, and self knowing body, consisting of the three degrees of inanimate, sensitive and rational matter, so intermixed together, that no part of nature, were it an atom, can be without any of these three degrees; the sensitive is the life, the rational the soul, and the inanimate part, the body of infinite nature” (1666a, 176). This overall view of nature is what allows Cavendish to question the technical tools, such as the microscope, with which the experimentalists’ claim to dissect it and analyse it in small parts. Cavendish, in fact, chooses to lash out against the text of Hooke, Micrographia, in which the advantage proper to the microscope is presented, which would allow us to grasp “the true form” of the objects through “the plainness… Of Observations on material and obvious things” (Hooke 1665, f2). Hooke recognises that the same object may appear different even under the microscope depending on the light, the inclination and the position, and claims to always make different observations before moving on to the theory, supporting the simplicity of his method. As underlined by Keller, however, “under Cavendish’s gaze, then, the engravings offered by Hooke lose their claim on univocal simplicity and become instead more closely aligned with the polyvalence of art. Furthermore, because ‘there may easily mistakes be committed in taking copies from copies,’ the observer cannot claim to be neutral, either; his own designs, intentional or not, are engaged in the production of the pictures. The art of microscope yielded what is called « hermaphroditical » , or mixed figures, as « partly Artificial, and partly Natural»” (1997, 454). Cavendish not only rejects the notion of simplicity, but also the very notion of neutrality, questioning the very idea that the science proposed by Hooke and others can be disinterested. For Cavendish those who use the experimental method oppose the idea of a Nature as a unique substance in order not to lose the pre-eminent place that in their classification they reserve to human beings (and male humans in particular): “Man has a great spleen against self-moving corporeal Nature, although himself is part of her, and the reason is his Ambition; for he would fain be supreme and above all other Creatures, as more towards a divine Nature: he would be a God, if arguments could make him such, at least God-like, as is evident by his fall, which came meerly from an ambitious mind of being like God” (1666b, 209). If Nature is a mechanical nature, in fact, man can easily be master of it, while otherwise he should recognise that he is only a part of it, not unlike the others and not able to control them completely. According to Cavendish, therefore, there are not only purely scientific questions, but also an ideological world view that serves a precise hierarchical social order. In this sense, as Keller notes, Cavendish puts in crisis the

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Baconian distinction between “proud” and “pure” knowledge4 : “Cavendish charges that such a distinction is impossible in the case of the mode philosophers: for them, so-called pure knowledge is proud knowledge, because their ideas about nature result from their ambition to be « supreme and above all other Creatures»” (1997, 456). Cavendish’s critique is not limited to questioning the social order that promotes and reproduces a certain science at the expense of another, but also extends to the very notion of subjectivity and the separation between subject and object. Criticism turns to Bacon and to his idea that through the use of technical tools one can make the divisions between the observer and the world observed clearer and thus obtain neutral outcomes. For Cavendish this is impossible precisely because there is no distinction between observer and Nature, between subject and object. As she highlights in the Observations: “I believe other Creatures have as much knowledge as Man, and Man as much in his kind, as any other particular Creature in its kind; but their knowledge being different, by reason of their different natures and figures, it causes an ignorance of each other’s knowledge; nay, the knowledge of other Creatures, many times gives information to Man … But Man, out of self-love, and conceited pride, because he thinks himself the chief of all Creatures, and that all the World is made for his sake; doth also imagine that all other Creatures are ignorant, dull, stupid, senseless and immaterial; and he onely wise, knowing and understanding” (1666b, 296–98). Like the object of its study, the self for Cavendish is irregular, prone to contradiction, and non-discrete, as will clearly appear in The Blazing World. In her texts, therefore, Cavendish creates an unorthodox science that challenges not only patriarchal ideology, but the idea of the neutrality of science and the distinction between object and subject. As Merrens points out: “In the process of exposing the false premises of masculinist logic, Cavendish defines most scientific inquiry as tragedy: discrete efforts to overpower a « natural form or figure » necessarily fail to achieve dominance and instead produce only disorder. The idealized, questing scientist emerges as a tragically weak and simple Artific[er] who can produce himself as authoritative only by displacing male failings onto women and feminized nature, against whom men must always redouble their brutal attacks” (Merrens 1996, 430). In this sense the link between scientific reflection and that on gender goes beyond the simple claim that women can also think, to transform themselves into a critique of how knowledge is produced, through which tools and in which places, and how it is linked to a particular image of subjectivity.

4 In

this aspect Line Cottegnies notes an affinity between Cavendish and Cyrano de Bergerac: “the affinity between Cyrano and Cavendish concerns their shared defense of relativism, the questioning of the pre-eminence of man in the natural world (one of the major tenets of a theologically informed worldview)” (2016, 116).

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6.2.1 The Blazing World Cavendish continued to express an interest in mixing science and more imaginative genres of literature. Similarly to her first treatise in 1653, in which she intended to publish a scientific treatise along with poems and prose fiction, Cavendish published her Observations together with a science fiction story called The Blazing World. She asserts the connection between her fictional and non-fictional prose in the separate 1668 edition of The Blazing World, claiming to her female readers that “This present Description of a New World; was made as an Appendix to my Observations upon Experimental Philosophy; and, having some Sympathy and Coherence with each other, were joined together as Two Several Worlds, at their Two Poles”. Thus, Cavendish indicates that the fictional The Blazing World is complementary to the nonfictional Observations. This demonstrates her belief that her science benefited from being articulated in a fictional format. Not only did she intend to publish three editions of her scientific treatises next to prose fiction or poetry; she requests in her later treatises that her readers go back and read Poems and Fancies to better understand her ideas. I propose to follow the reading of Keller, who points out: “But to my mind, the Blazing World actually continues the critique of experimental science begun in the Observations, though with some important differences: like the philosophical text, Cavendish’s vision of Paradise, the capital of her utopian society, deconstructs the assumptions and claims about nature, knowledge and the self that implicitly or explicitly pervade the new science project; but the Blazing World also demonstrates—as the Observations does not—Cavendish’s asymmetrical deployment of class and gender as categories of critique” (1996, 459). This use of fiction to highlight and spread scientific and philosophical problems is not new, but runs through all the utopian literature. Cavendish herself, in fact, refers to other texts, as in the preface in which she refers to “the French-man’s world in the moon” as a counter-model to her own work, which suggests at least a degree of familiarity with Cyrano de Bergerac’s Estats et Empires de la lune (1657).5 The resemblance with Cyrano de Bergerac, however, is not only of a stylistic, but also of a substantive type, in particular in the reflection on nature that led Cavendish herself to be accused of atheism. In this sense Claus defined Cavendish as the “first woman libertine philosopher” for “her witty defenses of the “honest liberty of philosophical discourse” (2003, 207). Both Cavendish and Cyrano adopt an anti-dogmatic mode of writing that allows the covert expression of subversive ideas, something that Tullio Gregory (1998), among others, describes as central in libertine writing.6 As Cottegnies points out: “It is remarkable that many of the formal aspects Joan DeJean 5 It

is significant that in the later edition of The Blazing World in 1668, when it was published separately from the Observations, Cavendish omits the allusions to Cyrano. As Cottegnies suggests: “This afterthought points to an awareness of how risqué the connection with Cyrano might have looked. It is likely that Cavendish had come to realise the potentially damning impact of being associated with Cyrano, given his notorious reputation as a libertine and atheist” (2016, 109). 6 For a very good synthesis of the critical debate, see Charles-Daubert (1998), and Cavaillé (2011), as well as Pintard (1983) and Paganini (2008).

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identifies as characteristic of the French Libertine novel can be found in Cavendish’s Blazing World, as well as in Cyrano’s Estats et Empires de la lune. These libertine characteristics include a deliberate blurring of references between reality and fiction, especially with the intrusion of fictional autobiography, narrative fragmentation and open-endedness (in particular through the device of the unfinished narration), the celebration of friendship, parodic citations of other literary texts; the ubiquity of dialogues; and comedic dismissal of metaphysical abstractions in favor of values rooted in material experience” (2016, 110). Cavendish uses all these formal aspects to give voice to her natural and political philosophy: “But fictions are an issue of man’s fancy, framed in his own mind, according as he pleases, without regard, whether the thing he fancies, be really existent without his mind or not; so that reason searches the depth of nature, and enquires after the true causes of natural effects; but fancy creates of its own accord whatsoever it pleases, and delights in its own work. The end of reason, is truth; the end of fancy, is fiction: but mistake me not, when I distinguish fancy from reason; I mean not as if fancy were not made by the rational parts of matter; but by reason I understand a rational search and enquiry into the causes of natural effects; and by fancy a voluntary creation or production of the mind, both being effects, or rather actions of the rational parts of matter” (1666a, 123–24). The story begins with the kidnapping of the protagonist by a merchant. She miraculously escapes, and enters a fantasy world called the Blazing World. The once beleaguered heroine marries the Emperor, who then relinquishes all his power to her. Hence, the protagonist becomes an absolute Empress, obtaining power in every sphere of life, including science, the church, the state and foreign wars. She also explores a diverse range of ancient and contemporary philosophy with the strange native population, some of whom are human/animal or human/insect hybrids, while others are described as spirits. With the power and knowledge she obtains from this kingdom, the Empress completely alters the Blazing World to fit her religious, scientific and political views, and later embarks on imperial, military ambitions abroad. Hence, The Blazing World portrays a female political ruler who wields more absolute power and influence than any monarch England had encountered. Though the text portrays an absolute Empress who models her regime on Hobbesian principles, when examining references in the text to alchemical philosophy and theological debates concerning free will, a complicated political landscape emerges, which does not fit well within the conceptual framework of royalism or absolutism. Although Cavendish is generally assumed to be a loyal supporter of royalist politics, the political world of the Empress is not an uncritical view of monarchy. In particular, in so far as Cavendish engages with Paracelsian views of the imagination, the text provides a more revolutionary understanding of an individual’s relations to power, corporeality and the cosmos. It is important to note the statement of the Empress herself: she suggests that her radical changes to government, religion and culture proceeded purely from her arbitrary whims; she explains that she “somewhat alter[ed] the form of government” merely because it is “the nature of women, being much delighted with change and variety” (Cavendish, 1666a, 201). A ruler who can arbitrarily alter the fabric of society, from state to religion, legislation and learned societies, and who later embarks

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upon an imperialist agenda without redress to common law, would be dissonant with England’s self-perception and national identity. Far from being a utopian fantasy, The Blazing World highlights the potential problems with absolute monarchy. The Empress, who is a foreigner and a woman, not only immediately converts the entire patriarchal society to a foreign religion, but she turns the gender hierarchy upside-down. In this process there appears an engagement with Hobbes’s Leviathan. Although the Blazing World’s original religion was patriarchal, one in which women were forbidden even to enter churches, the Empress on taking power quickly alters the fabric of society, founding a new matriarchal religion, reinforced by technological means, as shown in the temple the Empress built: “the one she lined throughout with Diamonds, both Roof, Walls and Pillars; but the other she resolved to line with the Star-stone; the Fire-stone she placed upon the the [sic] Diamond-lining, by reason Fire has no power on Diamonds; and when she would have that Chappel where the Fire-stone was, appear all in a flame, she had by the means of Artificial-pipes, water conveighed into it, which by turning the cock, did, as out of a Fountain, spring over all the room, and as long as the fire-stone was wet, the Chappel seemed to be all in a flaming fire” (Cavendish 1666a, 163–64). Cavendish imagines a congregation of women convoked and inspired by the prophetic gifts of its female sovereign. Once a woman embodies a Hobbesian position of power, Cavendish turns patriarchy upside-down. The absolute Hobbesian sovereign ironically resembles sectarian women of the revolutionary period who preached, participated in religious activities and attempted to alter the religion and culture of early modern English society. This not only indicates that absolute monarchy can alter the structure of patriarchy, but that a monarch’s arbitrary decisions can cause the entire society and culture to become unrecognisable. If power and knowledge are intrinsically connected, then this would explain why the Empress changes the entire society of the Blazing World, from the religious establishment to scientific inquiry: the entire system needed to be reconfigured to justify her authority, for she “knew well, that belief was a thing not to be forced or pressed upon the people, but to be instilled into their minds by gentle persuasions” (Cavendish 1666a, 164). The knowledge that was initially discovered by scientific societies (which were later dismantled) is appropriated for creating imperialist technologies. Ironically, the outcome of sharing diverse opinions within science communities—an ideal envisioned by the Royal Society—is used to strengthen the Empress’s imperial regime. The Empress’s power is secured through the joint efforts of her scientists as she burns down houses, terrorises nations and forces them to pay tribute to, and recognise as absolute sovereign, the King of the Empress’s former homeland. Though The Blazing World is often described as a utopia, these nations are “enslaved”. It is interesting to note, however, that in this political use of science Cavendish does not lose sight of her principles and her controversy against experimentalism. The Empress, in fact, asks scientists to destroy all the telescopes, which she considers a deceptive instrument: the experimenters, she argues, look through their telescopes only to discover that they cannot at all agree on what they have seen. The optical glasses are determined to be “false Informers”, because they both delude the senses and are insufficient to

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settle any matters of fact. When the Empress therefore commands that the experimenters break their glasses, they protest on the grounds that the instruments “give one man the ability to be thought more wise than another” (1666a, 142): telescopes, in other words, are in The Blazing World just what microscopes are argued to be in the Observations, namely, instruments more useful for social and intellectual distinction than for scientific discovery. Spiller suggests that “both in argument and form, The Blazing World offers one solution to Galileo’s philosophical problem about the limits of observation. When we look at Cavendish looking, in effect, through Galileo’s telescope, we see that she has redefined that which exceeds the natural limitations of human vision as the realm of fiction. As is clear in The Assayer, Galileo ultimately rejects experiment and observation as a source of true knowledge and turns instead to mathematics. Cavendish likewise rejects experiment and observation, but replaces it with an understanding of fiction as experience” (2000, 210). Fiction would therefore be a response to experiment and subjective, contradictory and fleeting experience, a response to verification and neutrality. Consent is also an issue highlighted in The Blazing World. As Cavendish the author (as distinct from the character) interposes into the Epilogue, she claims that if the people whom she created in her world are “willing to be my subjects, they may imagine themselves such, and they are such, I mean, in their minds, fancies or imaginations; but if they cannot endure to be subjects, they may create worlds of their own, and govern themselves as they please” (Cavendish 1666a, 225). This change in perspective shifts the meaning of the text from portraying and advocating an arbitrary, oppressive government into an entirely different politics. Although Cavendish, as author, as creator of The Blazing World, is God-like, this statement not only acknowledges the instability of her own fictional regime, but more radically suggests that power derives not from the author/sovereign, but from below, from the consent of the subjects. At the same time, however, the very idea of the possible multiplication of the worlds shows how, in The Blazing World, power cannot conceive of dissent and must create a uniform society. As Iyengar points out: “enjoying absolute power over her subjects, scientists, and soldiers, and their absolute devotion, the Empress rules by controlling knowledge and its production; the narrator implies that if subjects can be kept ignorant of foreign uprisings or domestic troubles, they will remain at peace” (2002, 661). It seems that female autonomy—the autonomy of the Empress—in Blazing World exists only under conditions of political control and censorship; there is one language, one ruler, one religion, and within that religion, “no diversity of opinions” (Cavendish 1666a, 135) and only one form of worship. An artificial and political uniformity in a world full of diverse being: “the ordinary sort of men … were of several complexions: not white, black, tawny, olive or ash-coloured; but some appeared of an azure, some of a deep purple, some of a grass-green, some of a scarlet, some of an orange-colour, etc. The rest of the inhabitants of that world, were men of several different sorts, shapes, figures, disposition, and humours … some bird-men, some fly-men, some ant-men, some geese-men, some spider-men, some lice-men, some fox-men, some ape-men, some jackdaw-men, some magpiemen, some parrot-men, some satyrs, some giants, and many more, which I cannot all remember” (Cavendish 1666a, 133). As Keller points out: “when forced because of

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her sex to be an outsider to the strongholds of the scientific community, Cavendish was able to discern, pre-sciently perhaps, the constitutive role of gender in knowledge production. But when she is allowed by her fantasy to be an insider, the gender critique vanishes before a non critical engagement with the privileges and pleasures of her class” (1996, 466) and of a social order based upon hierarchies. Cavendish’s exploration of science’s role in utopia, then, involves not a chastisement of the partisan social uses of scientific knowledge, but a forthright demonstration that, contra Bacon, progress does not serve the broadly humanitarian and altruistic goals the new scientists had claimed. The capital city of The Blazing World, called Paradise, is a religious and social utopia, but only, it seems, because its rulers are able to use the native technologies and scientific knowledge to control its inhabitants: science, in other words, creates paradise, but not for all. Moreover, the “soul of the Duchess of Newcastle”, the character in the story, explains that the imagination is arbitrary and voluntarist, since an individual “may make a world full of veins, muscles, and nerves, and all these to move by one jolt or stroke: also he may alter that world as often as he pleases, or change it from a natural world, to an artificial; he may make a world of ideas, a world of atoms, a world of lights, or whatsoever his fancy leads him to” (Cavendish 1666a, 186). The authors/creators are not bound by any of the laws they create. Cavendish’s model of absolute, arbitrary power paradoxically provides a decentralised view of the world, where individuals embody a microcosm of God’s macrocosm, including his creative capacities. Consequently, power originates from individuals rather than from a divinely ordained hierarchical cosmos. Highlighting the revolutionary possibilities of individual political agency, Cavendish situates contingency and necessity into a radically decentralised cosmos: “I am not Covetous, but as Ambitious as ever any of my Sex was, is, or can which makes, that though I cannot be Henry the Fifth, or Charles the Second yet I will endeavour to be Margaret the First, and although I have neither power, time nor occasion to conquer the world as Alexander and Caesar did yet rather then not to be a Mistress of one, since Fortune and the Fates would give me none, I have made a World of my own” (Cavendish 1666a, 7). In the figure of the Empress Cavendish she seems to paint a strong woman who not only has absolute power, but who seems to embody an absolute self, defined by Gallagher as “the paradoxical connection between the roi absolu and the moi absolu” (1988, 25). At the same time, however, in the course of the text we are witnessing a proliferation of different selves, as with the character of the Duchess, who partially questions this image of coherence and compactness. Indeed, Keller maintains that “where the Observations claims the impossibility of an autonomous self, The Blazing World manifests it by multiplying the selves who people its multiple worlds” (1996, 463). And as Leslie suggests: “the inversions and parallels between the Empress and the Duchess are particular, pointed, and repeated. When the Empress’s home world, torn by war and strife, is eventually identified by the acronym ESFI, both allegorical comparison and geographic identification with England, Scotland, France, and Ireland are inevitable, and the world of the Empress comes pointedly back into alignment with the “real” world. In this way, Cavendish’s complexly interlocking worlds both insist upon and resist clear enumeration—the more minutely detailed

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and materially realised they are, the more their temporal, biographical, political, and geographical borders bleed into one another” (2012, 101). In this sense the multiple descriptions of Cavendish keep many contradictions open but they all revolve around the point of linking on one hand uniformity of knowledge to uniformity of the self, and therefore of politics, and on the other hand the dissolution of the self to the impossibility of an absolute knowledge and therefore of an absolute power. In Blazing World, the Lady who becomes the absolute sovereign of Blazing World and a successful military commander might seem to show that Cavendish thought women could adopt the traditionally masculine virtues: “in detailing the Lady’s military costume, Cavendish not only links her heroine to the female kingship of Elizabeth, who donned battle gear to review the English troops at Tilbury in 1588, but she also symbolically evokes the androgynous ‘body politic’ of Elizabethan England and a cultural moment, unlike her own, in which the lines demarcating gender boundaries were at least partially effaced” (Trubowitz 1992, 234). Thus if education were to have the effect of changing a woman’s nature, Cavendish would oppose it; in her view, education should not seek to turn women into men. What would result from such an education, in Cavendish’s view, would be a sort of hybrid person—or, to adopt a word she sometimes uses, a “hermaphrodite”. This would be problematic for Cavendish—not because she thought that hermaphroditical things were inherently problematic, but because she thought that it was unclear how a hermaphroditical being should behave. Cavendish generally uses the term “hermaphrodites” to refer to hybrid products resulting from “art” rather than nature. In Observations upon Experimental Philosophy, Cavendish seems at first glance to be critical of things she calls “hermaphroditical”. For example, as we saw, she condemns “experimental philosophers” for their use of microscopes to try to learn “the truth of an object”, writing that the lenses made by “art”, “represent the figure of an object in no part exactly and truly, but very deformed and misshaped” (Cavendish 1666b, 7–8). She then makes some more general comments about the relationship between art and hermaphroditical products: And it is to be observed, that Art, for the most part, makes hermaphroditical, that is, mixed figures, partly Artificial, and partly Natural: for Art may make some metal, as Pewter, which is between Tin and Lead, as also Brass, and numerous other things of mixed natures; In the like manner may Artificial Glasses present objects, partly Natural, and partly Artificial (Cavendish 166, 7–8). This passage is descriptive, not evaluative; Cavendish does not say that hermaphroditical things are intrinsically inferior to natural ones. Her criticism is aimed at philosophers who think they are observing pure nature when they are in fact observing only altered nature. A close reading of another passage in which she seems critical of art shows that she is criticising the humans who think that the products of art can reveal the secrets of nature. Her criticism is not that artificial things are intrinsically bad, but simply that they do not help us understand the true nature of the world. Cavendish affirms that Nature lays down norms for the appropriate behaviour of her parts, but those principles do not actually determine or force the parts of matter to behave in certain ways. No part is necessitated to follow the norms; as

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Cavendish puts it, “all Creatures may have some Natural Rules; but, every Creature may choose whether they will follow those Rules”. And although Cavendish thinks that the natural world is usually orderly and peaceful, she certainly recognises that things do not always operate in the usual way. Irregularities are present in Nature, or at least there are in Nature things that appear unnatural. Cavendish distinguishes, though, between irregularities present in Nature and irregularities that oppose the natural norms. As Deborah Boyle points out, “for Cavendish, to choose not to follow Nature’s norms is to act irregularly, and thus, in one sense, unnaturally” (Boyle 2012, 520), and what is important is the act of choosing that implies the idea of knowing the norms of Nature and consciously transgressing them.

6.3 Conclusions Rather than such perfection in knowledge, scientific objectivity for Cavendish consists of social constructions that are endorsed as much because they advance the needs of their adherents as because they are deemed to be scientifically effective or true. Cavendish does often satirise scientific claims of value-neutrality; this is particularly evident in The Blazing World. For example, the preface of The Blazing World parodies the concept of an aggressive, masculine science mastering truth in opposition to female fancifulness. Instead of scientific knowledge being objective truth, The Blazing World shows science as having a definite political agenda, one that serves as a conduit for absolute monarchy, conquest, manipulation and imperialism. In conclusion, then, this political outcome of the science shows how to imagine the possibility of a female power over women themselves and in wider society that does not simply copy the male power and its negative consequences, what is necessary is a radical rethink of science itself. In this sense it is interesting to show how the reflections of Margaret Cavendish could be useful for better understanding the contemporary debate around feminism and science, women and technologies. The critical approach of Cavendish, in fact, is similar to that of Donna Haraway, who analyses the contemporary field of scientific knowledge to question both the exclusion of women and the effect that science has on their subjectivity. Haraway proposes a scenario more similar to that in which Piercy’s novel takes place. A frame in which not humours, but genes, foetuses, chromosomes and cells are central to a new form of reductionism that decomposes bodies into small pieces that can be analysed separately and that can be constantly manipulated. Against this form of reproduction is proposed a new materialism7 able to reconcile itself with the biology but without falling into the trap of the bodies’ exploitation. 7 For a general view of these new materialisms: cfr. S. Alaimo, S. Hekman (eds.), Material Feminisms, Indiana University Press, Bloomington-Indianapolis, 2008 and D. Coole, S. Frost (eds.), New Materialisms. Ontology, Agency, and Politics, Duke University Press, Durham-London, 2010. For a first discussion on new materialism: cfr. S. Amhed, “Open Forum Imaginary Prohibitions. Some Preliminary Remarks on the Founding Gestures of the ‘New Materialism’”, in European Journal of Women’s Studies, XV, 1, 2008, pp. 23–39. According to Amhed, these ‘new’ materialisms do not

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The biological sciences seem to have produced a different conception of the body, considering it not only as a public space, exposed to power, but also as always available goods. According to a famous expression used by Sarah, Franklin (2000) in this scenario, it is life itself that is exploited throughout biotechnologies—thanks to the rhetoric of their objectivity. Donna Haraway criticises this presumed objectivity, affirming that “biology is restlessly historical, all the way down. There is no border where evolution ends and history begins, where genes stop and environment takes up, where culture rules and nature submits, or vice versa. Instead there are turtles all the way down” (Haraway 2003, 2). She proposes thus a neologism that could represent this slotting together of biological and cultural processes: she introduces the idea of ‘naturculture’ that represents exactly the entangled bond between nature and culture. As Liana Borghi underlines in her introduction to Haraway’s Modest Witness, “science takes the shapes throughout syntactic, semantic and paradigmatic developments, inner culture, mobilising a narrative with pretension of objectivity as opposed to other tendencies, instead, recognises the partiality and the wide ranging responsibility of the technoscience actors” (Borghi 2000, 18–19), and Haraway situates herself in this field, recognising the partiality and the historicity of the tools and of the scientific paradigms. Moreover, Haraway suggests the importance of tracing a different history, one in which women could recognise themselves, and how fiction could be very useful for this purpose. She argues that “readings may function as technologies for constructing what may count as women’s experience and for mapping connections and separations among women and the social movements which they build and in which they participate in local/global worlds. Fiction may be mobilised to provoke identifications as well as oppositions, divergences, and convergences in maps of consciousness. Fictions may also be read to produce connections without identifications” (Haraway 1991, 23). And Cavendish provides us with a great fiction, with an Empress from whom we could learn even without identification.

References Alaimo, S., & Hekman, S. (Eds.). (2008). Material feminisms. Bloomington-Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Amhed, S. (2008). Open forum imaginary prohibitions. Some preliminary remarks on the founding gestures of the ‘New Materialism’. European Journal of Women’s Studies, XV, 1, 23–39. Aristotle. (1943). Generation of animals (A. L. Peck Trans.). London: William Heinemann. Bammer, A. (1991). Feminism and Utopianism in the 1970s. New York and London: Routledge. Borghi, L. (2000). Introduction. In D. Haraway (Eds.), Testimone_modesta@FemaleMan©_incontra_Oncotopo™. Milano: Feltrinelli. Boyle, D. (2012). Margaret Cavendish on GenderNature, and Freedom. Hypatia, 28, 516–532. Cavaillé, J. P. (2011). Postures libertines: la culture des esprits forts. Paris: Éditions Anacharsis. present a true story inside feminist thought because authors like Donna Haraway, Lynda Birke and Evelyn Fox Keller have always worked with the aim of conciliating biology and feminism.

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Cavendish, M. (1655). Philosophical and physical opinions. London. Cavendish, M. (1664). Philosophical letters: or, modest reflections upon some opinions in natural philosophy, maintained by several famous and learned authors of this age, expressed by way of letters. London. Cavendish, M. (1666a). The Blazing World [1666]. In K. Lilley (Ed.), The Blazing World and Other Writings (vol. 1994, pp. 119–225), London: Penguin Books. (Ead.). Cavendish, M. (1666b), Observations upon Experimental Philosophy, To which is added, the description of a new Blazing World. London: A. Maxwell. Charles-Daubert, F. (1998). Les libertins érudits en France au XVIIe siècle. Paris: P.U.F. Clucas, S., (2003). Variation, irregularity and probabilism: Margaret Cavendish and Natural Philosophy as Rhetoric. In S. Clucas (Ed.), A Princely Brave Woman: Essays on Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle (pp. 199–209). Aldershot: Ashgate. Coole, D., & Frost, S. (Eds.). (2010). New materialisms. Ontology, agency, and politics. DurhamLondon: Duke University Press. Cottegnies, L. (2016). Brilliant heterodoxy: The plurality of worlds in Margaret Cavendish’s Blazing world (1666) and Cyrano de Bergerac’s Estats et empires de la lune (1657). God and Nature in the Thought of Margaret Cavendish (pp. 123–136). London: Routledge. Donawerth, J. L. & Kolmerten, C. A. (1994). Utopian and Science Fiction by Women. World of Difference, New York: Syracuse University Press. Farley Kessler, C. (Ed.). (1995). Daring to dream: Utopian fiction by united states women before 1950. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. Franklin, S. (2000). Global nature and genetic imaginary. In S. Franklin, C. Lury, & J. Stacey (Eds.), Global Nature, Global Culture. London: Sage. Freedman, C. (2013). Critical theory and science fiction. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. Galen. (1968). Galen On the Usefulness of the Parts of the Body: Peri Chreias Mori¯on [romanised form] De Usu Partium, ed. Margaret Tallmadge May, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Gallagher, C. (1988). Embracing the absolute: The politics of the female subject in seventeenthcentury England. Genders, 1, 24–39. Gregory, T. (1998). ’Libertinisme érudit’ in seventeenth-century France and Italy: The critique of ethics and religion. British Journal for the History of Philosophy, 6(3), 323–349. Haraway, D. (1991). Simians, cyborgs, and women: The reinvention of nature. London-New York: Routledge. Haraway, D. (2003) Introduction. A kinship of feminist figurations, In The Haraway Reader. London-New York: Routledge. (Ead). Hooke, R. (1665). Micrographia: Or, some physiological descriptions of minute bodies made by magnifying glasses. London: J. Martyn and J. Allestry. Iyengar, S. (2002). Royalist, romancist, racialist: Rank, gender, and race in the science and fiction of Margaret Cavendish. ELH, 69(3), 649–672. Keller, E. (1997). Producing petty gods: Margaret Cavendish’s critique of experimental science. ELH, 64(2), 447–471. Lamb, M. E. (2001). The biopolitics of romance in Mary Wroth’s “The Countess of Montgomery’s Urania”. English Literary Renaissance, 30(1), 107–130. Leslie, M. (2012). Mind the map: fancy, matter, and world construction in Margaret Cavendish’s “Blazing World”. In Renaissance and Reformation/Renaissance et Réforme (pp. 85–112). Malcolmson, C. (2002). Christine de pizan’s city of ladies in early modern England. In C. Malcolmson & M. Suzuki (Eds.), Debating gender in early modern England. Early modern cultural studies (pp. 1500–1700). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Merrens, R. (1996). A nature of “infinite sense and reason”: Margaret Cavendish’s natural philosophy and the “noise” of a feminized nature. Women’s Studies, 25(5), 421–438. Paganini, G. (2008). Introduzione alle filosofie clandestine. Roma-Bari: Laterza. Parrinder, P. (Ed.). (2000). Learning from other worlds: Estrangement, cognition, and the politics of science fiction and utopia. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

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Pintard, R. (1983). Le libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle, 2000. Paris: Slatkine. Sarasohn, L. T. (1984). A science turned upside down: Feminism and the natural philosophy of Margaret Cavendish. In The Huntington Library Quarterly (pp. 289–307). Shapin, S., & Schaffer, S. (1985). Leviathan and the air-pump: Hobbes, boyle, and the experimental life. Princeton. Oxford: Princeton University Press. Spiegel, S. (2008). Things made strange: On the concept of “Estrangement” in science fiction theory.In Science Fiction Studies (pp. 369–385). Spiller, E. A. (2000). Reading through Galileo’s telescope: Margaret Cavendish and the experience of reading. Renaissance Quarterly, 53(1), 192–221. Suvin, D. (1979). Metamorphoses of science fiction: on the poetics and history of a literary genre. New Haven: Yale University Press. Trubowitz, R. (1992). The Reenchantment of Utopia and the Female Monarchical Self: Margaret Cavendish’s Blazing World. Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature, 11(2), 229–245. Wagner, G. (2003). Romancing Multiplicity: Female Subjectivity and the Body Divisible in Margaret Cavendish’s Blazing World. Early Modern Literary Studies, 9, 1. Walters, L. (2014). Margaret Cavendish. Gender, science and politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 7

A Woman Between Buffon and Sauvage: Mariangela Ardinghelli, the Italian Translator of Hales’ Books Corinna Guerra

Take pleasure now in my work, if you find it worthy of your pleasure. And live happy (Ardinghelli 1776)

Abstract When do books start living? When the author first conceives them, when they are written, when they are published or when they are known by a large public? It is not easy to answer, but the eighteenth century is full of translations of scientific texts, which are published much later than the original one, but they are very interesting for the circulation of knowledge and they can become much more interesting when realized by a woman translator. The seminal work of Stephen Hales, Vegetable Staticks (1727), was translated into Italian by a brilliant young woman whose name was Mariangela Ardinghelli (1730–1825). This book initiated new ideas in chemistry and medicine, but many Italian scholars knew the discoveries of the famous English physiologist from the first and only Italian translation published in Naples (i.e. Southern Italy) in 1756. The contribution of Ardinghelli to the dissemination of this work deserves some reflection, as her translations are quite different from the French translations of Hales’ works published by the famous Buffon and Sauvages. She added her notes to the text and she also made the theory fit her local context, converting, e.g., all English weights, measurements and scientific terms into their Neapolitan equivalents. This essay seeks to understand who this talented woman scholar was, analysing the way in which she constructed her translations and why she chose to dedicate herself to them. This is not an essay about a woman; the Italian eighteenth century was rich in femmes savantes and this phenomenon has already

I presented a shorter version of this essay at the 4th International Congress of the European Society for the History of Science (Barcelona, November 18–20, 2010) (Guerra 2012). C. Guerra (B) Università degli Studi di Bari “Aldo Moro”, Piazza Umberto I 1, 70121 Bari, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_7

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been studied using various approaches. Here, we will analyse what it meant to publish that translation in Naples, at that moment and, above all, to do so as a young woman.

7.1 Introduction If someone in the first half of the twentieth century had been so lucky as to be received by Émile Picard1 (1856–1941) at the Institut de France, in the office he used as secrétaire perpétuel of the Mathematical sciences (elected in 1917), it is certain that he would have been quite surprised. In fact, behind the desk of the famous mathematician he would have seen a portrait of a young lady of the eighteenthcentury2 (Gauja 1934, 59–60). It would have appeared strange to find a young lady with a ribbon in her hair surrounded by the portraits of scholars like Fontenelle, Euler, Vaucanson, Descartes, Newton, Laplace, Lagrange, Watt, Arago, or Poincaré. We may view this as an indication that the mysterious young lady had earned the right to be displayed among them, but, as is well known, women were not admitted among the Parisian academicians. To tell the truth their admission is very recent, the first election of a woman as member of the French Academy of Sciences only took place on May 14, 1979, when the mathematician Yvonne Choquet-Bruhat was elected. The woman who had received this privilege in the office of the secrétaire perpétuel was the Neapolitan natural philosopher Mariangela Ardinghelli3 (1730–1825), and the Abbé Nollet (1700–1770) was responsible for the presence of that portrait in Paris. He was not able to propose her as member of the French Academy of Sciences, so he could only obtain permission to put her portrait in the Academy4 gallery since, probably, an image of a woman was the “maximum they could tolerate among them” (Wertheim 1995). Ardinghelli, in fact, had the merit to have translated into Italian the seminal book by Stephen Hales (1677–1761), that is the Vegetable Staticks. This work, published in England in 1727, transformed chemistry through its idea that air was a chemical element, in the sense that it was capable of forming compounds and not a simple physical medium for reactions. This assumption came from the discovery of air as a constituent of many minerals, vegetables and animal substances, meaning that air could be chemically combined with solid or liquid substances (Guerlac 1951, 401). 1 See

the theorems of Picard, but also his outstanding contribution to the history of science (Sarton 1937). 2 France. Ministère de l’instruction publique (1879–1913). Inventaire général des richesses d’art de la France. Paris: monuments civils. Paris: E. Plon et Cie, t. 1, 14. 3 We find also “Maria Angela” as well as the autograph “Mariangiola”. 4 However, she was sometimes cited in Academy meetings by means of her reports about Mount Vesuvius eruptive phenomena. Archives of the French Academy of Science, Plumitif, November 21st, 1767.

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This new observation gave birth to pneumatic chemistry, a branch of the discipline, which played a key role in the development of ‘modern’ chemistry. Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier (1743–1794), who is generally considered the leader of the group of French scholars who worked for the expansion of the chemical revolution, declared his indebtedness to Hales on many occasions. In fact, Hales’ studies influenced certain concepts within the new chemistry to the extent that Lavoisier wrote in 1774 that the British chemist was for him an inexhaustible source for his reflections.5 As the historiography has broadly demonstrated, there is a direct relationship between the concentration of Lavoisier’s efforts on gaseous experiments and his reading of Hales’ Staticks (Gough 1968, 52–57). Previously, the debate among historians centered exclusively on determining the exact date on which the French ‘father of modern chemistry’ (McKie 1935) first became acquainted with Hales’ book itself as opposed to relying on accounts in articles or Rouelle’s lectures (Guerlac 1956; Rappaport 1960; Roberts 2008). The interesting point in this classical debate is that we know that Lavoisier was not able to read English (Guerlac 1951, 402), so at some time he would have had to consult a French translation of the Staticks. Without this linguistic intermediation, we would probably have lost an essential element in the process that redefined the discipline of chemistry. The importance of the scientific contribution of this British scholar in almost every field of knowledge was so evident, already, to his contemporaries, that many intellectuals cited him, applying his findings to other fields. This also occurred in Naples, where in 1778 the famous Antonio Genovesi (1713–1769) (Zambelli 1971; Rao 2018), addressing the new method of English agriculture, recommended consultation of the Staticks, which for him constituted required reading for all interested in the curiosities of nature. In addition, he wrote that this remarkable book had been translated and published in Naples, some years before6 (Genovesi 1984, 1107). Genovesi is universally viewed as a European thinker and we can be confident of the value of the Neapolitan translation if he considered it worthy of mention in place of the original English one. It should now be very clear how central the work of Stephen Hales was to the development of the discipline of chemistry everywhere, in particular in France, which was then dominated by the chemical revolution. However, the story of the sole Italian translation, which was made in the Kingdom of Naples, appears to have been studied less.

5 “fonds

inépuisable de méditations” (Lavoisier 1774, XXI) (Lavoisier 2005).

6 Ch. XIV of the Elementi di commercio, published as Idea del nuovo metodo di agricoltura inglese,

appendix to Trinci (1764).

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7.2 A Simple Case of Appropriation or Another Example of Femme Savante? Although Guerlac theorized that Lavoisier was led to his crucial discovery regarding the composition of water by his reading of Hales (Guerlac 1951, 394), it should be noted that the Vegetable Staticks dated back to 1727. Buffon, who was “the chief architect of Hales’ reputation in France” (ibid., 398), translated it in 1735, and generally speaking it took more than a quarter of a century for the significance of Hales’ discoveries to be understood (ibid., 440; Maury 1864, 117). This is one of the reasons why it might be useful to obtain a better understanding of the various translations of the Staticks all over Europe, as it represents a key text for understanding the inner structure of materials and the consequent exploitation of this knowledge.7 The crux is that the significance of the observation that had so many consequences for the development of chemistry, namely the presence of air in bodies, was not so immediately evident to readers. In this case, the role of translator is a slightly different from that of simple mediator. In fact, for the celebrated Buffon, the translation of Hales’ book also represented an important moment in his career. After these considerations, it become crucial to pay more attention to that time in the history of Italian chemistry, when this book, which is of such significance in the history of science, was translated, commented and disseminated by a young woman rather than an esteemed male scholar. Of course, in historical analysis the work of translating is always associated with the transferring of knowledge, and this is also true to some extent if we allow ourselves to take into account the active role played by local actors, locations and cultural traditions in this transfer. One of the effects of this was the gradual disappearance of the center/periphery dichotomy the idea of something produced in the center and then transferred to the rest of the world. However, in the case of the publication of the Hales translations into Italian, the situation is more nuanced, as it is it does not simply involve a new sensibility relating to the national identity of scientific ideas and practices, or the fact that the southern Italy had traditionally been considered to be at the periphery of European science. In fact, the Kingdom of Naples presented a unique social and educational context in comparison to other political centers on the Italian peninsula, and this work of translation was performed in a particular period in its scientific history (Gavroglu et al. 2008). From this point of view, reception cannot be longer adequate than appropriation to study this translation work, but dynamics and conditions deserve more attention if we want to transform appropriation in an efficient knowledge-producing process (Lightman 2015). In addition, translations are special objects of inquiry as they often have a separate life from the original book and a different type of audience. Sometimes, a new audience means a new “center” (Schaffer et al. 2009, xiii), which involves 7 See the International One Day Conference The workshop of nature. Production of material knowl-

edge, material production of knowledge (Paris, November 10th, 2016) by Laboratoire d’Excellence HASTEC, the Centre Alexandre Koyré and the Groupe histoire de la chimie (Société chimique de France).

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copious use of the concept, or tool, of “mobility” as demonstrated in The Broken world (2009). This concept promotes a broader and more fruitful interpretation of translations as literary works, and also of the knowledge production process among actors, sites, ideas and practices. As for the assimilation of Hales’ work by other scholars, this ought to be viewed as another form of mobility, since it was discussed among chemists, physicians and natural philosophers, which may be likened to the case of the appropriation of Joan Baptista Van Helmont (1579–1644) (Clericuzio 2010): (the distinctions between these three groups is primarily conceptual, but in practice hard to distinguish). Appropriation reminds us that the process of assimilating ideas of an author by contemporaries or later generations is not a passive activity, for scholars actively adapt and interpret them in new ways not initially envisaged by its original author. (Ducheyne 2008, 122)

Otherwise, translation is frequently seen as a way of constructing authority in the scholarly world, especially in the case of scientific translations made by women (Badinter 2011, 15). It may, on occasion, appear somewhat reductive to refer to women natural philosophers as femmes savantes. In fact, the difference between a male translator and a female one is determined by the question of degrees, or admission to higher education. However, women have been actively involved in chemistry since the beginning of its recorded history, although the cultural framework reduced educational opportunities for women, as well as their fields of research, scientific accomplishments and interaction (Rayner-Canham, M. & Rayner-Canham, G. 1998, xiii). Quite recently, historians have opened up another perspective worthy of reflection in which female scholars were, on the contrary, obligatory amateurs (Glazer 1990). It means that in the centuries in which professionalization was not allowed for women, we can define women involved in the sciences in a way as ‘special amateurs’, rather than being something out of the ordinary. This is not to denigrate the rich and important studies analyzing the femmes savantes, which still retains its heuristic strength, but simply to state that it is also interesting to look at this phenomenon in a different, divergent way. Already Émile de Châtelet in the middle of the eighteenth century8 declared that studying was not the choice of a brave women, but merely a way to find some happiness in their lives, while men had so many other ways to gain such pleasure. Women had a great deal of solitary time to spend, as required by eighteenthcentury science, and many opportunities to learn during private lessons given by their erudite friends and lovers (Badinter 2011, 9).

8 Châtelet, É. Discours sur le bonheur: written between 1744 and 1746, then published posthumous

in 1779 (Châtelet 1992).

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7.3 The Scientific and Editorial Context in Which Ardinghelli’s Translations Were Published We are in the middle of the eighteenth century in Naples, the capital city of the biggest kingdom on the Italian peninsula, and a young woman has just published her translation of a fundamental book for chemistry. This translator, whose name was Mariangela Ardinghelli, did not simply translate a scientific book, or the kind of treatise that was fashionable in Europe in that moment, but a rich text about the physiology of plants, published 30 years before, and full of observations about physics and mathematics which deserved more studies as they had not yet been fully exploited. Of course, the latter is a consideration that comes from our contemporary perspective, but as we will see below, as we analyze the translation, Ardinghelli was aware of the potential of the content of the book, which had not yet been taken into account by scholars; by her act of sharing, she sought to encourage people to go deeper into Hales’ work. She was right insofar as general chemistry was the science most significantly affected by the discoveries of the eighteenth century (Rayner-Canham, M. & RaynerCanham, G. 1998, 13), and Naples was not excluded from the process of rethinking topics in chemistry. Although the southern kingdom lacked institutions for scientific research, such as academies or university laboratories, there was nevertheless a lively debate surrounding chemical subjects.9 In fact, the work of chemists was naturally stimulated by the volcanic landscape, where thermal waters, ancient volcanoes and mineral products remained constantly at their disposal, and as a consequence scholars were able to analyze materials and observe chemical reactions, testing new theories. As early as the seventeenth century, Naples shows significant evidence of interest in the field of chemistry in the Accademia degli Investiganti10 (Torrini 1981). Another criterion for assessing the status of the chemical tradition in the cultural context of Naples is, of course, the number of chemical translations published. As Torrini indicates, it seems surprising that such proliferation of editorial initiatives occurred in the institutional desert that Naples was in the first half of the eighteenth century (Torrini 2017, III). Whereas during that period, medicine was the dominant science in the Neapolitan editorial market, in the second half, Borrelli re-established closer links with the rest of Europe and genuine programs of scientific translation. In his opinion, this resulted from the general objective of cultural renovation, emerging from the same source as the contemporary reforms of the military academy, the university, and the creation of the royal academy of sciences (Borrelli 1998, 748). In particular, chemistry enjoyed considerable editorial success in Naples; all of the well-known books by Macquer, Priestley and Bergman were translated and widely advertised (ibid., 757). Translations involved greater financial outlay on the part of 9 The Royal Academy of Sciences and Belles-Lettres was established on June 22, 1778 and inaugu-

rated on July 5, 1780. In April 1786, a chemical laboratory was set up for the use of the academicians (Guerra 2015). 10 Officially founded in the autumn of 1663.

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the publisher, and so this broad selection suggests the existence of a broader debate and an increased readership (Torrini 1998, 724). The publisher of the first editions of Ardinghelli’s translations of Hales was Giuseppe Raimondi (Naderjah 2006; Raimondi 2006), the far-sighted director of a company active in Naples since the previous century. Interested particularly in the scientific market, in 1755 he courageously printed the Scelta de’ migliori opuscoli tanto di quelli che vanno volanti, quanto di quelli inseriti ritrovansi negli Atti delle principali Accademie d’Europa, concernenti le scienze, e le arti, tradotti in italiana favella commentati, illustrati, accresciuti (Torrini et al. 2002). However, the Staticks of Hales remained one of the most important works for the publishing house (Naderjah 2006, 338), and that suggests a strong link with Ardinghelli’s circle as Raimondi was also the publisher of Father della Torre and of the letter of Raimondo Di Sangro to Nollet (Di Sangro 1753). These are interesting details as Di Sangro had his own publishing house (Naderjah 2006, 346). On the other hand, Gaetano Castellano, the publisher of the third editions of the Ardinghelli translations, was a key figure in the market for scientific books. He not only published the important chemist Macquer but was also involved in a dispute over the Neapolitan publishing rights for Tissot’s medical writings (Rao 1990, 498). In this active publishing world, women were not completely excluded. To cite one example, in 1792 the chemist Vincenzo Comi (1765–1830) (Pannella 1886) published one of the first popular scientific journals in Italy, and among the subscribers we find a number of women.11 In Naples, it was apparently not so shameful for a woman to dedicate herself to science. After all, in Naples in the sixteenth century there had even been a woman publisher (Macchiavelli 2006). This is one of the reasons why it is not always necessary to relate the Neapolitan women scholars back to the phenomenon of femmes savantes in Europe.12 Mariangela Ardinghelli is one of these women in the Kingdom of Naples who dedicated themselves to the sciences through various roles or engagements; in particular, she is among those who specialized in the translation of scientific books. Among these female scholars who flourished in Naples, we have the interesting case of Giuseppa Eleonora Barbapiccola (1702–1740), who translated René Descartes’ Principles of Philosophy in 1722 (Totaro 1999). Her translation starts with a preface in which she directly addresses herself to the reader, who could underestimate the work only because of the gender of the translator, declaring that women are gifted in philosophy. To underline this point of view, the frontispiece shows her portrait looking proudly at the reader. Almost sixty years before Barbapiccola, but in the field of chemistry, Marie Meurdrac (1610–1680) (Tosi 2001) had written: “Minds have no sex” (Meurdrac 1666, Avant-propos) (Guerra 2011).13

11 Commercio

Scientifico d’Europa col Regno delle Due Sicilie (1792). Signore, noi siamo in Italia, è vero; ma tanto separati, che sembra, che il Regno di Napoli sia negli Antipodi”. F. Griselini to A. Genovesi, Venice, July 7, 1764 (Trombetta 1998, 802). 13 For an understanding of the effects of that sentence, see Schiebinger (1989). 12 “Caro

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7.4 The Making of Ardinghelli’s Translations and Comparison with the French Ones In her Preface Mariangela Ardinghelli proudly declared: “You will find even a translation different from his, since his translation is different from the original” (Ardinghelli 1756, A chi legge). Suddenly we are very curious to know the name of the author of the other translation that was so different from the original English book as to oblige a talented 26-year-old woman to do her own translation in Italian. Besides, to affirm publicly that her text was more faithful to the original is an act that highlights, of course, her pride, but on the other hand, it is also a way to defend herself from the critiques that her attempt at an activity that had been achieved already in France by the famous scholar Buffon certainly would have provoked. The history of chemistry is full of cases in which the dissemination of the content of a book depends on the language in which it was written and also on the languages in which it was translated. Sometimes, the translator is also an important link in the circulation of knowledge (Raj 2010), above all when the translator is a young eighteenth-century woman. Ardinghelli knew quite well that her sex did not limit her scientific development. She had no official university degrees, but she had no hesitation in her scientific remarks on the texts she was only supposed to translate, that is, without making personal additions. We must focus on these translations since they are the only known contributions of Ardinghelli to the République des Lettres, they survived so long, and we can still appreciate them as the sole translations into Italian of the two main works of the English physiologist Stephen Hales14 (1677–1761). Furthermore, these translations are crucial for a better knowledge of women scholars, because these translations represent a scientific product of a woman, who shows in it her real independence, whereas in general it has been thought that femmes savantes grew in a context of male scientists, meaning that they were quite often wives or daughters or sisters of scholars (Cavazza 2009). On the contrary, Ardinghelli inserted herself into a scientific group without a family link. In addition, the Italian translator tried to create a direct dialogue with the two colleagues who had translated Hales from English into French. Reading Ardinghelli today, we may be astonished by her absence of fears in correcting her competitors, who were already famous and had prestigious careers in science. To analyse the Italian translations of Hales is, accordingly, an opportunity to outline the personality of this Neapolitan woman scholar and at the same time a way to go deeper into the destiny of scientific books in the eighteenth century. This century represents a crucial moment when Latin was gradually abandoned as the universal scientific language. In this context, translations were objects that could influence the development, assimilation, or rejection of a text (Fransen et al. 2017).

14 S.

Hales was born in Bekesbourne (Kent) and studied at Cambridge. For fifty years, until his death, he was an Anglican pastor in Teddington (Burget 1925; Guerlac 1970).

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The themes involved here are many and diverse: When does a book begin to live? When the author first conceives them, when he writes them, when they are published or when they are known to a large public (Chartier 2015)?15 Stephen Hales was a member of the Royal Society and of the French Academy of Sciences. He is recorded in the history of science mainly for the discovery of the analogy between blood for animals and sap for plants, and for having initiated the new idea that air was not only a physical instrument for reactions but also a chemical capable of combining with other substances. According to his Newtonian way of thinking (Bernardi 1990), he did not focus on the qualitative aspects of gases, so the effects of his discoveries in chemistry would come later as seen in the previous paragraphs. Essentially Hales applied Newtonian physics to problems of physiology and, by experiments with artificial illness, also to problems of pathology, as Sauvages pointed out (Hales 1744, XIII). An order, an epistemological frame, a universal nomenclature was given to the discipline of chemistry only at the end of the eighteenth century, after the so-called chemical revolution (Crosland 1995), by the French scholar Lavoisier. A science, as chemistry was, without firm principles could be changed after every new discovery, as it is evident from contemporary translations. Nowadays a translation is understood to be also an interpretation of the text. Knowing the translator better therefore means knowing the text better. The Italian translator Mariangela Ardinghelli (May 28, 1730–Feb 17, 1825) died at a ripe old age of 95 without leaving any traces of her life apart from her name, which was eternally linked to the translations of the works written by Hales. She published her first translation at the young age of 20. She soon achieved popularity among her contemporaries,16 especially outside of Italy, which allowed her to overcome Clio’s silence. Nowadays we have the opportunity to rediscover her skill as a poet and, above all, her role in the European debate about electricity. Let us focus on her few available biographical data and the possible relations with the cultural environment she came in touch with, which was based on mathematical, Newtonian and experimental theories. Mariangela was born in Naples in 1730 into a family with Tuscan origins. Her mother Caterina Piccillo is described in almost all the biographical notes as very possessive, even though she allowed her to study and be educated by the best tutors of the time.17 15 Books are intended as material and immaterial objects. On books that have been completely lost, see, for example, a recent discovery (Flood 2019). 16 This is the reason why all the foreign travelers who arrived in the Kingdom of Naples wanted to meet her. In their diaries they always spoke about her as the translator of Hales, although they let us think that they were also familiar with her scientific activity in general. For example, De Lalande, the French astronomer, who met Ardinghelli during his travel to Italy in 1765–1766 (Cecere 2013) wrote: “On ne peut parler de physique & de mathématique sans citer avec éloge Mlle. Mariangela Ardinghelli […] est à la tête des femmes illustres qui sont en Italie la gloire de son sexe” (De Lalande 1769, 237). 17 As Father della Torre for physics, Abbott Vito Caravelli for mathematics and Gennaro Rossi for rethorics.

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People who knew her wrote that Ardinghelli appeared melancholic, serious, emotionless and taciturn. She was free from all the faults that could be found in women, especially of her age (Findler 2014, 109). She did not go out much and did not participate in parties or theatrical performances, and up to that time she had not accepted any suitors. She must have had several admirers since her nephew recounts that the Parisian academician Le Roy would have liked to marry her and that a lot of Arcadian poets (Acquaro 1991) wrote many beautiful verses for her. Among these poets we can mention Cleonesio Licio18 (Lancetti 1836), whose real name was Giuseppe Tiberi (Tiberi 1771) or another poet of Arcadia Cinto Cerausio. Cerausio dedicated a song to Mariangela, which was published in Siena in 1751. To date, just a single copy has been found, in which there are some lovely passages like the following: Gentil donzella, al cui saver profondo Troppo angusto confine è, quanto serra In se del nostro Mondo … Ma sovra a’ sensi del pensier sull’ali Voli, e tant’alto sali, Che di seguirti altrui togli l’ardire: vero onor d’Italia … Mercè de’ Tuoi Volumi, e di quell’Opre … Nel cammin’ aspro de’ severi studj Sì t’affatichi, e sudi; Che quando in altri, o ancor non nacque, o appena Spuntato il senno si coltiva, e addestra, Tu d’alte idee già piena, Tu, fuor d’ogn’ uso, fin d’allor maestra (Cerausio 1751). These verses were valued by contemporaries (Storia letteraria d’Italia 1753, 50), but setting aside the poem, this is evidence that Ardinghelli was in the forefront of scientific research in the middle of the eighteenth century. Cinto Cerausio was, in fact, an interesting figure who deserves more studies in the future. His real name was Giuseppe Maria Tonci19 and he was rector of the seminary of Arezzo in Tuscany; his 18 The name of Giuseppe Tiberi (1732–1812) or Tiberii or Tiberj count, vice admiral in Vasto, in the Kingdom of Naples as Cleonesio Licio is listed in the Arcadia Archives, precisely in the Archivio IV, 641, where there are transcripts of the names of the members listed and controlled by Morei (1743–1766). It is possible that his proximity to Ardinghelli inspired his approach linked to natural history for moral issues in his Anacreontiche morali (Efemeridi letterarie 1790) (Cleonesio and Tiberi 1788). 19 Biblioteca Città di Arezzo, Manoscritti, ms. 517, cc. 208r. Sonetto del signor dottor Giuseppe Maria Tonci fra gli arcadi Cinto Cerausio (1748). (Applausi poetici 1748, V). Bertucci thinks that the Arcadian poet Cinto Cerausio was Father Paolo Quintilio Castellucci (Bertucci 2013a, 726), but the members of the Arcadia academy in Naples between 1741 and 1752 did not change their names (Minieri Riccio 1878, 749). It is certain that Castellucci was the source for Mazzucchelli’s

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medical knowledge led to him being asked to examine the uncorrupt body of Saint Teresa Margherita Redi, to solve the dispute over whether or not it was a miraculous event. Even more intriguingly, he was a member, of course, of the Arcadia Academy (Alfonzetti 2017), while also belonging to the colonia fisiocritica (Crescimbeni 1700; Ghirardini 2014). Arcadia colonies were founded in many towns, but this one was born out of the Academy of Fisiocritici (Lisi 2004), which was a scientific society. The creation of a literary community in the midst of a scientific one, would suggest a desire for more research freedom.20 However, this close friendship21 could probably explain the later election of Ardinghelli at the Academy of Fisiocritici of Siena. Her talents were obviously well known, but friendships in the Tuscan milieu would also have been useful to her in obtaining the sole acknowledgment of her scientific work. As seen Tuscan origins were useful, but Ardinghelli’s scientific education was Neapolitan, as it was linked to the Public Library, which was owned by Prince Ferdinando Vincenzo Spinelli of Tarsia (1685–1753) (de Angelis 1753). On the occasion of its opening, on 22 July 1747, Mariangela, who was seventeen at the time, is said to have given a highly praised speech in Latin on electrical force. In the collection of writings for the occasion, we can find an elegy where, personifying Naples to address the King, she presents the Library and the scientific instrumentation kept in it, which was even better than that of the University. The library could provide equipment to those searching for the reasons of things (Ardinghelli 1747, XLI), including, curiously, even the tube allowing Newton,22 the main glory of the English, to see the sunspots and the mountains on the moon (Ardinghelli 1747, XLII). On 30 July, a scientific academy was founded in this library, and the founders of the academy also notified the Paris Academy of Sciences of the fact on 8 December 1747 (Bertucci 2007, 199). Ardinghelli is listed among its members, as a “young lady very cultivated in mathematics whose education is, with no doubt, superior to her age, since she is not yet eighteen” (Trombetta 2002, 88).

biographical note on Mariangela Ardinghelli (Fidlen 2014): Mazzuchelli (1753–1763, 979) and the academician who proposed her name among the fisiocritici (Accademia dei Fisiocritici 1759, 115). Accademia dei Fisiocritici (1691 Marzo 17–1768 Marzo 29). Verbali: Libro dove saranno registrate tutte le deliberationi, et Atti si publici, come privati, et ogn’altra cosa che si farà, e tratterà nella n.ra Accademia Fisico-Medica detta de’ Fisiocritici. Siena. 20 See the lecture by Franco Arato at the Conference Arcadia: nuove prospettive at Università di Verona, October 2nd , 2013. 21 We suppose a close friendship, as in a sonnet published the same year of the poem dedicated to Ardinghelli, Tonci declared to be called Partenio in the Academy of Arezzo: (Tonci 1751, 529). In this case, Partenio might be a clear reference to Parthenope and the territory of the Kingdom of Naples. The Academy of Arezzo is presumably the Academy of Forzati, founded in 1683, today Accademia Aretina di Scienze Lettere e Belle Arti. About the links in the Arcadia Academy between Mount Partenio in the Campania Region and Parthenope as the ancient name of Naples (Tateo 2004). Parthenope was a siren and speaking about Naples and Arcadia the author remembers the difference between a siren and a nymph (ibid., 216). 22 Newton, differently from Galileo, used a refracting telescope, which has a mirror limiting its vibrations.

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In accordance with the academy rules, two monthly meetings were scheduled. However, in 1753, after its founder’s death, the academy was dissolved and before the end of the century the founder’s heirs sold everything. The French scholar and traveler Jérôme De Lalande (1732–1807), who was a lifelong correspondent of Ardinghelli,23 described the sumptuous Spinelli Library as unique, due to the considerable number of books and to its scientific instruments: a sundial, an air pump, a planetarium based on the Copernican system but suitable for other astronomical systems too. The meeting rooms were decorated in gold and with sculptures and portraits. De Lalande adds that even when the library was open three days a week, both in the morning and in the afternoon, its librarian was often alone (De Lalande 1769–1770, 96–97). From the catalogues written for sales, through which the founder’s heirs got rid of the library, we know what kind of scientific instruments were collected, apart from those described by De Lalande. For example, there were: two globes, a Dutch astronomical dial, an electric machine, a magnet, a Lusverg compass, a touchstone, a burning mirror, a cylindrical mirror, a Gregorian lens, some microscopes, water prisms, a black optical chamber. The Swedish professor Jakob Jonas Bjoernstaehl wrote simply that the Spinelli Library was so full of gold that everything one saw dazzled the eyes (Bjoernstaehl 1782–1787, 193). The Spinelli Library was a sort of hybrid between a traditional library and a museum with typical eighteenth-century boxes of marvels from previous times (Trombetta 2002, 69). The Spinelli Library was in fact a library of knowledge. In line with the Age of Reason’s new sensibility, there were more than 700 volumes on scientific subjects. This means that it was not a classical library where more attention was paid to the value of the book as a precious object in itself, but it seems that books were chosen on the basis of their subjects. So, Ardinghelli was perfectly positioned in an important scientific community with a strong experimental background. It was her meeting with Jean Antoine Nollet (Torlais 1995) in 1749 that provided Ardinghelli with her professional contact with European scientists such as Le Roy24 and Jean-Jacques Dortous de Mairan (1678–1771), who went to Naples and with whom she later exchanged letters. Nollet himself relates in his travel journal that during one of their first meetings Mariangela gave him a couple of geometrical problems to be solved by Alexis Claude Clairaut (1713–1765) (Taton 1953). Her correspondence with Hales, whom we can reasonably call “her author”, started after the publication of her Haemastatics translation in 1750 when he sent her all his works in the hope that she would translate them (Lombardi 1830, 72).

23 “I

received a letter by De Lalande”. National Library of Naples, Mariangela Ardinghelli to Domenico Diodati (without date but not before 1778), ms. XX. 71 (56). 24 Le Roy also went to Naples for scientific reasons and he read many mémoires at the Parisian Academy of Science, among them one “sur les vapeurs méphitiques de la grotte du Chien” (Dulieu 1953).

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When they met, Nollet was the Dauphin’s tutor; along with the Marquis de l’Hôpital,25 to whom Ardinghelli dedicated her Haemastatics translation, he tried to persuade her to come to Paris as the tutor to the King’s daughters, but it seems that her mother insisted she remain in Naples (Vitrioli 1930, 280).26 However, after her mother’s death Mariangela got married with Carlo Crispo, a magistrate based in Calabria Region, from where she wrote to her Neapolitan friends to keep herself updated about the capital.

7.5 The Staticks by Ardinghelli Ardinghelli first translated the second Statick of Hales. Actually, in 1750 she published the Italian edition of Haemastatics or, an account of some hydraulic and hydrostatical experiments made on the blood and blood-vessels of animals. Also an account of some experiments on stones in the kidneys and bladder with an Enquiry into the Nature of those anomalous Concretions. To which is added, An Appendix, containing Observations and Experiments relating to several Subjects in the first Volume. The greatest Part of which were read at several Meetings before the Royal Society. With an Index to both Volumes. This book was published in London in 1733. Brigaglia et Nastasi’s hypothesis is that this editorial choice, which was a little unusual, should be linked to that one made, twenty years before by Celestino Galiani (1681–1753) to give emphasis to Newtonianism, when he published the translation of the Philosophical Transactions in the same period that he inaugurated the first chair of experimental physics (Brigaglia & Nastasi 1984; Ferrone 1982). The name of Ardinghelli can be inferred from her signature in the dedication. Though translation is generally considered as a limited territory where you can be the author without assuming responsibility for what is written, Mariangela Ardinghelli does not seem willing to hold back. Indeed, she declares she feels sorry for “Other men (…) who, in my opinion, stupidly don’t approve of the study of science done by women”, and again: A person who is translating a work is generally supposed to appreciate its value; but his esteem isn’t always taken into consideration, if he’s not a learned person, or if his readers are not totally aware of the author’s merits. Therefore, if thee, erudite reader, by chance don’t know about Stefano Hales’ Haemastatics and its great value, for sure you won’t trust my opinion on it, since I’m just translating it and I’m not an authority in the Literary world. For this reason, I’m not going to praise it here, even if it deserves my highest praise. You are 25 Paul François Gallucci de l’Hopital (1697–1776) arrived in Naples on 7 July 1740 as the new ambassador of France and stayed there until 1750, when he moved to Petersburg (Coppini et al. 1980, 394, 483). 26 Nollet then in 1753 dedicated to her the first of his so famous Lettres sur l’elettricité, but around seventy letters, now lost, must have been exchanged between the two scholars. This is also easy to believe since, in some mémoires read at the Academy of Sciences of Paris, Nollet presents news received by his Neapolitan contact, such as the strange case treated by the physician Carlo Curzio. In fact, this medical curiosity was translated and published in France under the supervision of Nollet (Curzio 1755).

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going to see for yourself, if you don’t mind reading it, how ingenious, simple and crucial are the experiments done by this author on living animals and what can be deduced from them (Hales 1750–1752, A chi legge).

Mariangela Ardinghelli is thus the only one able to tell us something about the translation to which she has devoted all her attention. She translated from the French edition of 1744 by François Boissier de Sauvages (1706–1767) (Dulieu 1969; King 1966). Where the French text does not make any sense, she consults the original English to discover that whole lines are missing. Sauvages, translating into French, changes the English units of measurement into French ones, without modifying the correspondent numerical values. She calculates all the equivalences again, and since she realizes most of them are wrong, she feels free to correct them by putting an asterisk. Sometimes she says she has paraphrased instead of translating, because the concepts are too difficult and she thinks they may be misprints. Moreover, she informs the readers that she has added a few notes in italics for her own explanations. Translating Mr. de Sauvages’s notes, I tried to clarify them wherever possible; but I wasn’t always able to do that, because this Editor sometimes is not very clear. He says few things that belong to the text; his main purpose is to restore the ancient system, according to which spontaneous motions of the body derive from the Soul. (Hales 1750–1752, A chi legge)

In fact, in his preface Sauvages stated that every phenomenon observed in the human machine belonged to the force of fluids circulating within it. As the forces of fluids were related to those of solids, if you knew the force of fluids you were able to deduce the force of solids (Hales 1744). In Sauvages’ opinion, this was what Hales had done in his book, performing the experiments independently from any system: Sauvages continued to apply his scientific ideas simply by skipping any reference to Hales’ mechanistic approach. It should be pointed out that Sauvages’ notes consisted mainly of his attempt to apply Hales’ experiments on animals to dead human bodies. The French translator thus chose to apply the content of the book to a field closer to human physiology. Ardinghelli’s notes are embedded within the text, even though they are in italics. Sauvages’ notes, on the other hand, are at the bottom as footnotes, always preceded by the title Annotations as if they are separate from the treatise and so can be skipped. Ardinghelli’s ‘notes’ are integral to and integrated in the text. They are often longer than the paragraphs and show a real intent to liberate the text from its author and the French translator (Findler 1995, 203). In the second volume, published 2 years later, where Ardinghelli translates some of Hales’ writing on kidney stones, there seems to be a willingness on her part to communicate a social message, in this case as a translation of a scientific work. As Ardinghelli points out, her aim is to enable a wider public to benefit from medication for kidney stones, and “in order to make it easier for those who would like to use this medication, I have converted all English weights and measurements into their Neapolitan equivalents.” (Ardinghelli 1752, A chi legge). On page 39 of her translation, we can see she has personally examined Neapolitan water sediments, as Hales has done for the water sediments around London. She reports with a degree of frankness that she has used a candle protected by a stove to

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regulate and keep the heat constant. As far as she knows, no one has done this before. For her it would have been pointless for Neapolitan readers, who were the readers of her translation, to know only about a faraway city such as London.27 She also refers to the disgusting sediments she tasted, which suggests that she actually experimented on herself. It seems that Ardinghelli was used to doing scientific experiments personally: she experimented a lot with the electrical machine (Villani 1915, 43), but this is related to other sides of her scientific activity that have no relation to the translations examined here. Ardinghelli was often not afraid to claim that “this calculation is wrong” (Hales 1750–1752, 72). In spite of this, Hales appears to like her translation very much.28 Hales himself communicates the publication of the Italian translation to Sauvages: I received lately, from Mrs Ardenghelli of Naples, a lady under 20 years of age, a present of a translation into Italian, of my Haemastaticks, which you did me the Honor to translate into French, which Translation she made use of (Hales 1752).

In 1756, Ardinghelli also translated the Vegetable staticks and analyse of air. Or, an account of some statical experiments on the sap in vegetables. Being an essay towards a natural history of vegetation: of use to those who are curious in the culture and improvement of gardening, &c. Also, a specimen of an attempt to analyse the air, by a great variety of chymio-statical experiments, which were read at several Meetings before the Royal Society,29 (Hales 1756) published in London in 1727. This fact, however, was not exactly recognized for another twenty years, when her name appeared on the title page of the 1776 edition. In this text she translates directly from English and, when in doubt, she looks to the French translation. The French translation was published in 1735 by George Louis de Buffon (1707–1788), the famous author of the Histoire naturelle in thirty-six volumes (published from 1749 to 1788)30 (Casini 2006). Contemporaries considered that the translation was already, “usually in great demand, commented on frequently and distributed in three different editions” (Martuscelli 1827, vol. 12, ad vocem). Again, in this text she tests Hales’ calculations. While Buffon also converts units of measurement, he does not put them in the main text, but in the notes. Ardinghelli repeats the experiments, quotes Newton’s Latin passages in the footnotes, and changes all the words for animals and plants into Neapolitan so that everyone can clearly recognize them. 27 The same adaptation to the Neapolitan context was made thirty years later by Maria Vigilante in her translation of Watts (1789) (Watts 1726) published by Raimondi, who also published Ardinghelli. 28 Pier Paolo Celesia, a correspondent of Ferdinando Galiani, a famous Neapolitan intellectual, wanted to visit Hales in Teddington during a stay in England, because Ardinghelli gave him the assignment of finding a way to present a letter to Hales (London, 19 April 1755). Celesia finished his letter by suggesting to Galiani to send to Ardinghelli his congratulations since the physician Hales has called her his sweetheart and has asked him to greet Ardinghelli for him (Rotta 1974, 177). 29 Hales made many experiments on blood pressure, which perhaps is part of his familiarity with the term static (see Santorio Santori, Niccolò Cusano, etc.), and finally, when studying the perspiration of plants, he noticed some bubbles of air coming out from cuts (Guerlac 1970). 30 On the Italian translations of Buffon see Caianello (2013).

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The version by Buffon was both a source of illustrations (see for example the figure number CX) and many notes. Ardinghelli states that the French translator strayed far from the Hales text. She demonstrates this by comparing her translation of experiments with his version, where he skips whole lines (see for example the experiment number XCIII). I imagine Buffon was writing for scholars and did not necessarily feel the need to demonstrate his expertise. Ardinghelli, on the other hand, tried to simplify the text as she wanted to show that she had a clear idea of its contents, which she had also checked by reproducing experiments and making them more accessible through the use of surprising details. It is interesting to note her intuition on p. 246, note (m): air did not only have a physical but also chemical property; no one had thought about air before; why, she asks, has no one noted that air combines with other chemicals? It is sure, that many useful discoveries come by physicians in natural history, if they go on working in these so smart new Hales’ experiments on “air”. But no one I find, who has tried to repeat, or to study on them until today, neither to reflect on the general system, he erects on them [Ardinghelli 1756, 246, n. (m)].

This is exactly what Lavoisier would do some years later and what pneumatic chemistry (Solov’ev 1976, 72) had done before him, which was to bring on the famous chemical revolution (Bret 1995) as described in the first paragraphs of this essay. As already pointed out at the beginning, there is a significant difference between Ardinghelli and the two French translators. While they were both famous scientists, Ardinghelli’s only real scientific acknowledgment came from the Accademia dei Fisiocritici of Siena in 1759 (Trombetta 2002, 89, n. 42). Thanks to this admission, Mariangela Ardinghelli could finally put a title to her long and valued scientific activity in her later publications. However, her later publications were only poetic compositions, such as on the occasion of the wedding of the King and the Queen of Naples (Crisciani 1999, 114). After all these observations, we admit that Ardinghelli’s decision to translate Hales’ works was connected to her intention of arousing greater interest in Newtonian philosophy, and that these translations allowed Mariangela Ardinghelli to show her skills as a mathematician and experimental scientist to a broader audience than that of the Spinelli Library (Logan Berti 2004, 606). The enormous number of footnotes of the Italian translation gives us the impression that the translator was a mathematician; in fact, they are full of numerical formulas. Moreover, when the discourse switches from calculation to general subjects, Newtonian ideas, widely emphasized, dominate all the other topics considered.

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7.6 Conclusion Ardinghelli did not have an academic career since she had no university degrees, but much evidence of her scientific role in Naples can be found in many works by foreign scholars, such as the dedication of the renowned First letter on electricity by Nollet (1753), just to cite one example (Nastasi 1982). Instead of being satisfied by her circle of scholars, she aimed to enlarge the debate on the topics to which she had dedicated her life, perhaps wanting to make public these new ways of approaching physiology. It turns out that her translations of the two Hales’ Staticks are still the sole Italian ones today. We should pay attention to another point: Ardinghelli’s behavior, which, in my opinion, deserves ampler reflection. Mariangela Ardinghelli was totally integrated in a system of scholars, neither by a net of kinship nor by recourse to a religious image of herself. The latter is seen in other cases of Italian femmes savantes where devotion to mathematics was interpreted as a religious practise, a mysticism by means of numbers (Mazzotti 2007). On the contrary, Ardinghelli spent her life looking for her place in the scholarly community. She frequently attended social events where she read her poems, she never stopped her contacts with Neapolitan and French scholars, even when, obliged by her marriage, she lived in isolated small villages in Calabria. Moreover, when she found herself in a village it was also difficult to find a house worthy of the name; she yearned for news about life in Naples,31 just as 20 years before she had yearned for publicity for her translations in the Novelle letterarie of Florence.32 Her practical attitude emerges very clearly in the letters she wrote from Calabria, in which she insistently asked her correspondent about the latest news in Naples and how to find her debtors. The same practicality is revealed when, after the death of her husband, she obtained an annuity of 300 ducati from the king and very soon she asked for a handier monthly fee.33 The same practicality can be seen in the conversion of English units of measurement into the Neapolitan equivalents in her translations. When she was young, she was not afraid to stand as a young lady among the men of the Spinelli Academy (Bertucci 2013b), or to be close to the controversial figure of the Prince of San Severo (Miccinelli et al. 1998, 86–87). She finally married at the age of nearly fifty, when one of the first causes of death for women, childbirth, was much less likely. This essay begins and finishes with a portrait of Ardinghelli. In fact, despite the limited number of published writings with her name, she gained her place in the collection of The illustrious men of the Kingdom of Naples. In volume XII, published

31 National

Library of Naples, Manoscritti, ms. XX. 71 (51) (Lizzano, July 20, 1777); ms. XX. 71 (52); ms. XX. 71 (53); ms. XX. 71 (54); ms. XX. 71 (55); ms. XX. 71 (56). 32 Riccardiana Library of Florence, Naples, May 31st, 1751, cc. 76–77; Naples, April 25, 1759, cc. 78–79; Naples, November 9th, 1756, cc. 80–81. On Giovanni Lami see Borrelli (2006). 33 National Archives of Naples, Ministero delle Finanze, Uffici e pensioni, busta 1754, Juillet 20, 1802. I am grateful to Lorenzo Terzi e Fausto De Mattia.

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in 1827,34 we also find her portrait. Surprisingly, all the portraits in this volume are engraved by the famous Morghen (Toscano 2012), with the mysterious exception of two of them, namely Ardinghelli and Giambattista Marchitelli. In the drawings collection of the library of the Società Napoletana di Storia Patria there is a very similar portrait to the one in the book picture, but unfortunately there are no notes associated with this pencil drawing. On both of the papers the drawing consists of, we read merely two descriptions of Ardinghelli: “Maria Ardinghelli poet” and “Maria Angela botanist”, as two different persons, two different lives, but a single aim to be remembered.

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Tateo, F. (2004). Filologia e immaginazione nell’onomastica sannazariana (pp. 211–222). Il Nome nel testo. Atti del IX Convegno internazionale di Onomasitca e Letteratura. VI.1. Taton, R. (1953). Esquisse d’une bibliographie de l’oeuvre de Clairaut. Revue d’histoire des sciences et de leurs applications, 6, 161–168. Tiberi, G. (1771). Per l’avventurosa nascita del primogenito degli eccellentissimi signori D. Tommaso d’Avalos e D. Maria Francesca Caracciolo (…) Scherzo poetico di Cleonesio Licio p. a. recitato in Arcadia a 9 maggio [without name of publisher, 1771]. Tiberi, G. (1788). Anacreontiche morali di Cleonesio Licio p. a. dirette à suoi figli. Rome: stamperia Pagliarini. Tonci, G. M. (1748). Sonetto del signor dottor Giuseppe Maria Tonci fra gli arcadi Cinto Cerausio. In Applausi poetici nel vestir l’abito religioso di San Benedetto nel venerabile monastero di San Pier Maggiore in Firenze la illustrissima signora M.a Maddalena Violante Guazzesi nobile aretina co i nomi di donna Teresa Geltrude Maria Maddalena Caterina Angiola. Sonnet V. Florence: Andrea Bonducci. Tonci, G. M. (1751). Sonnet IX. In Opere varie di monsignor bali Gregorio Redi aretino divise in quattro tomi. Venice: Gio. Battista Recurti, t. I. Torlais, J. (1955). L’abbé Nollet (1700–1770). Paris: Sipuco. Torrini, M. (1981). L’Accademia degli Investiganti. Napoli 1663–1670. Quaderni storici, 16, 845–848. Torrini, M. (1998). Le traduzioni dei testi scientifici. In A. M. Rao (Ed.), Editoria e cultura a Napoli nel XVIII secolo (pp. 723–735). Naples: Liguori. Torrini, M. (2017). Introduzione. In Guerra, C. Lavoisier e Parthenope. Contributo ad una storia della chimica del regno di Napoli (pp. III–V). Naples: Società Napoletana di Storia Patria & Istituto Italiano per gli Studi Storici. Torrini, M., Borghero, C., Lojacono, E., Marcialis, M.T. (Eds.). (2002). Scelta de’ migliori opuscoli: Discorso accademico del sig. di Maupertuis sul progresso delle scienze, Dissertazione del sig. Renato Des-Cartes sul metodo, Discorso istorico-critico del chiarissimo Vincenzo Viviani sulla vita e ritrovati del sig. Galileo Galilei. Anastatic reprint. Naples: Istituto universitario suor Orsola Benincasa. Toscano, M. (2012). Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani (Vol. 76). Montauti-Morlaiter. Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana. Tosi, L. (2001). Marie Meurdrac: Paracelsian chemist and feminist. Ambix, 48(2), 69–82. Totaro, P. (Ed.). (1999). Donne filosofia e cultura nel Seicento. Rome: Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche. Trinci, C. (1764). L’agricoltore sperimentato, con alcune giunte dell’abate Genovesi. Naples: Stamperia Simoniana. Trombetta, V. (1998). La circolazione dei saperi nella seconda metà del Settecento nei cataloghi dei libri in commercio. In A. M. Rao (Ed.), Editoria e cultura a Napoli nel XVIII secolo (pp. 779–811). Naples: Liguori. Trombetta, V. (2002). Storia e cultura delle biblioteche napoletane: librerie private, istituzioni francesi e borboniche, strutture postunitarie. Naples: Vivarium. Villani, C. (1915). Stelle femminili: dizionario bio-bibliografico. Nuova edizione ampliata, riveduta e corretta. Naples: Societa Editrice Dante Alighieri di Albrighi, Segati & C. Vitrioli, D. (1930). Elogio di Mariangela Ardinghelli. In Opere Scelte, Reggio Calabria: [s.n.]. Messina: Casa Tip. E. Silva. Watts, I. (1726). Knowledge of the heavens and earth made easy or the first principles of geography and astronomy explained. London. Watts, I. (1789). Elementi di geografia ed astronomia. Naples: Gaetano Raimondi. Wertheim, M. (1995). Pythagoras’ trousers. God, physics and gender wars. New York: Times books. Zambelli, P. (1971). La prima autobiografia di Antonio Genovesi. Rivista storica italiana, 83(3), 633–687.

Chapter 8

Female Science, Experimentation, and ‘Common Utility’. Teresa Ciceri, Candida Lena Perpenti, and Alessandro Volta’s Research Alessandra Mita Ferraro Abstract Between the eighteenth and nineteenth century in Como two women, who had been so far excluded from scientific dictionaries, distinguished themselves and attained important achievements in the fields of agronomy, chemistry and botanic. They were Teresa Ciceri (1750–1821) and Candida Medina-Coeli (1764–1846), also known under her husband’s last name, Lena Perpenti. Alessandro Volta played an important role in the life and career of both of them. Teresa Ciceri, who was the dearest “friend and counsellor” of the famous Physicist, shared with him the enlightened faith in science as means to improve the life conditions of their contemporaries as well as boldness in their experimentations. She was first in Lombardy to introduce among her peasants the cultivation of potatoes, and she managed to obtain thread from the stem of lupines. Moved by the same purpose, Lena Perpenti managed to obtain thread from asbestos—which was used during the following decades to sew firefighters’ uniforms—and to create fireproof ink and paper. Being interested as well in botany, she organized a herbarium with local plants, which she classified according to Linnaeus’ system, and she discovered a bellflower that had not been yet described, known nowadays as Campanula Raineri Perpenti. In Como, within a climate scarcely propitious to women’s emancipation, the two scientists were not hindered because their achievements were perceived as a demonstration and a practical consequence of typical female wit. Despite their innovation, they were regarded as aiming to “spin and sew”, a natural complement of traditional domestic abilities. By supporting them, Alessandro Volta himself went beyond gender barriers, showing that barriers to women’s achievements were historical and cultural, not natural in origin.

A. Mita Ferraro (B) Faculty of Humanities, eCampus University, Via Isimbardi, 10, 22060 Novedrate, CO, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_8

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8.1 Introduction In the last decades, women’ scientific emancipation has been the cause of an increasing focus on gender studies. Alongside well-studied pioneers, such as Maria Gaetana Agnesi and Laura Bassi, other female scholars, supported by their family, shared the Enlightenment ideals, and achieved good results in their research towards a ‘common utility’. Among them, in the Larian region, Teresa Ciceri and Candida Lena Perpenti worked in the agronomic, chemical and botanical fields, between the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries. During this period, they obtained important recognition, with Alessandro Volta playing a key role. Nonetheless, they are still excluded from many recent dictionaries of scientists (i.a. Dictionary 1981; New Dictionary 2008; The biographical dictionary 2000; Dizionario biografico degli italiani 1960; Dizionario biografico delle donne italiane 2012). But there are exceptions. Perpenti is mentioned in the online dictionary Scienza a due voci (Passione),1 and both are mentioned in the Dizionario biografico delle donne lombarde (1995, 282b–283b, 729b–730a). However, in this last publication, the references to these two important scientists contain numerous gaps and inaccuracies. Hence, the purpose of this article is to present their work and to include Alessandro Volta in the group of men who believed in the ability of women to perform scientific research (Guerci 1987, 135, 1988, 238).

8.2 Teresa Ciceri (1750–1821), Agronomic Scientist and Practitioner In the Cesareo Dispaccio on 2 December, 1776 (Atti, I, 1783, 8), Empress Maria Theresa founded the Società Patriottica (Patriotic Society) in Milan (Molla Losito 1982; Visconti 2013), to “promote agriculture, art and manufacturing” and to “contribute to a greater prosperity” of the Provinces. Entrusted in the 1780s to Secretary Carlo Amoretti, a naturalist and writer about various topics, this Academy played a great role in increasing agriculture production and in improving manufacturing to foster the economic and social development of the territories.2 In its nineteen years of existence, there were only three women among the Society’s 258 members (i.e. chairmen, Italian and foreign representatives), and the first to be included was Teresa Ciceri, born Castiglioni (1750–1821)3 on 1 February, 1786. Teresa Castiglioni, native of Angera, married the Count of Como, Cesare Liberato Ciceri, at the age of twenty. She then moved to the Lario region, where she 1 For

a general framework about the problematic absence of women scholars in dictionaries of science history, see Cugnoli Pattaro (2006). 2 About its activities, see Collezione degli Atti (1827). 3 Three years later, on 10 June, the Countess Marianna Passano Cocconato of Asti (Atti, II, 1789, XXII) and the Marquess Gerolama Sampieri Lepri of Rome (Atti, III, 1793, XXII) were included among foreign representatives.

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quickly came in contact with the urban context. A letter, addressed to her in 1771 by Alessandro Volta, reveals an acquaintance already underway and that, over the years, would become a deep friendship (Volta 1771, 54–55; Badesi 1996, 9–12).4 She was his dearest “friend and advisor” (Volta 1793, 191; Pancaldi 2005, 35). Moreover, Volta—at that time Regent of the Royal Schools of Como—discovered “the inflammable air from marshes” (the methane) during a boat trip in Lake Maggiore, while on a layover in the Castiglioni House in the autumn of 1776 (Volta 1777a). Thanks to Volta’s correspondence, it is possible to trace a relationship between him and Teresa. This relationship is characterized by a strong sociability (theatre, hunts, meetings in the salons to drink coffee, chocolate and playing chess or cards), and is based on a curiosity about nature and agricultural experiments. During the seventies, their relationship became stronger, when Volta entered the scientific world and found an environment that lacked the vivacity he had hoped for. When Volta moved to Pavia, in 1778, their relationship did not fade either. Their relationship was so strong that Teresa Ciceri played a decisive role in Volta’s affair with Marianna Paris.5 Ciceri shared with the physicist not only curiosity for nature, but also for reality in all its manifestations. So, although not being able to move from Como, since she was absorbed in domestic and family duties (she had 13 deliveries and 12 children), Volta used to tell her, writing letters in a tight and descriptive prose, what he had found during his travels: nature, countries and the people he had met. Among numerous examples, he wrote her, in the autumn of 1777 during his first trip to Switzerland, the following: “Basel is a very large city; the buildings of Como with all ones of its neighbours are there twice. There are eight city gates. […] Women begin to dress 4 The

letters of Volta are quoted according to the year of writing and not the year of publishing in Volta (1949–1955). 5 The love affair with the singer of Rome is very famous among Volta’s biographers. Volta had met Paris for the first time in 1788, but the story finished with an estrangement between them and, then, the physicist married Teresa Pellegrini. Volta discussed with Ciceri about personal details of this story many times. By way of example, see Volta (1792a, 137–140, b, 159–161). To understand Volta’s modern vision, it could be not superficial to highlight that Volta was never attracted by loveliness. Paris, portrayed as a whitefly in the corrupt entertainment business, was not physically so great: “non azardo dire che questa Giovane sia un portento ma […] è ben fornita d’ottime qualità cosa molto rara in simili persone […] abbenché non la sia molto bella, anzi ardisco dire meno del mediocre”, wrote the Countess Salazar della Porta to Volta (1788, 14). And still, when it was clear that the Volta’s family would not accept a singer, he, in a letter to Ciceri, presents a ‘model’ of the future mother of his children. Torn between Teresa Pellegrini and Antonietta Giovio, he wrote: “Per avvenenza, spirito, buona grazia, e saviezza non voglio né preferire, né posporre la P.[ellegrini] alla G.[iovio]. Ma per cognizioni, espertezza, ed abilità somma in fatto di economia domestica convenite ancor voi essere assai più avanzata la P.[ellegrini]: ed io di questo ho bisogno molto stando a Pavia, e ne ha bisogno del resto tutta la nostra casa a Como. La coltura poi di spirito, e l’educazione, dirò così, letteraria, quanto è più compita nella stessa P.[ellegrini]? Or questo ancora fa molto per me, e mi va grandemente a verso, offrendomisi più pascolo nella sua conversazione e compagnia, e potendo con lei discorrere meglio di cose erudite (che sono infine la mia più cara occupazione), di libri francesi, e tedeschi, ch’ella sa leggere, di Geografia, di belle Lettere, di cui non è digiuna, e d’altre opere di Scienze e di gusto” (Volta 1793, 191). For the relationship between Paris and Volta, see Gatti Silo (2000) and Mazzarello (2009).

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elegantly, and young women are not ugly—at least I have seen someone very goodlooking—they are not wearing bodysuit and show a lovely breast (in carna)” (Volta 1777b, 189). Teresa Ciceri trusted in the ideals of Enlightenment, for which science is an instrument for improving the living conditions and the audacity of experimentation. Therefore, in the territories of Camnago, to improve the peasant diet in the late seventies, she started the cultivation of potatoes, i.e. the ‘earthen knobs’ as they called them at that time.6 The Patriotic Society did not know anything about potatoes until 1785, when it received, by the plenipotentiary Kaunitz, the recommendation to obtain and to grow them in moorlands. Vitman, a member of the Society, was then charged with this issue, and so began to draw up the instructions for cultivation. It was precisely while looking for ‘ideas (lumi) for the most convenient way of introducing it to us’ that he discovered that “Ciceri was cultivating these knobs for many years” and that she had already offered them to his colleague Andrea de’ Carli, who “would have experimented them on the moorland of Grovana” [today “Delle Groane”]. De’ Carli and Vitman went to Como to verify it and, upon returning to Milan, they communicated the good results obtained by the agronomist. It was precisely for these achievements that Amoretti, on behalf of the Society, congratulated her, since the matter was “without example” until then. Therefore, it was decided to confer on her the diploma with which she became a national member of the Society (Amoretti 1786). In the same letter in which the diploma was sent, Amoretti asked her to increase the cultivation of potatoes, reserving a prize for the peasants. It was a contribution that, in the 10 years following February 1786, the Society had decided to distribute to those who included potatoes in uncultivated lands. Particularly, to those from the moorland of Grovana, to those from Gallarate, Somma, Valsassina, Monte di Brianza and to those from the mountains “near Lake Como” (Premj 1786; Amoretti 1790). The introduction of potato cultivation had a profound influence in improving the diet of peasants, who began to eat bread mixed with potatoes, corn and turnip.7 In addition, it allows us to appreciate Ciceri’s tenacious character, which was able to shake up the traditionalist agricultural environment.8 In the same period, Ciceri was looking for a new product for the textile industry to support the silk industry. She observed how widespread the lupine plant was in rural 6A

tradition, but without a concrete scientific documentation, attests that the first tubers had been brought by Volta during the return travel from Switzerland in 1777 at the request of Ciceri (Monti 1832, 526–527). 7 It is affirmed by reports of public gatherings in February 1787 and on 25 February 1790 (Visconti 2013, 48). 8 Over the years, Volta promoted—selling the potatoes which Ciceri sent him—the use of tubers on the tables of friends and colleagues from Pavia (Volta 1785a, 321, 1791, 133, 1801, 523–524). The interest for this cultivation in the Larian area is documented in the following years by Vincenzo Dandolo’s and Galeazzo Fumagalli’s studies that used Ciceri’s documentation; the Count Vincenzo Dandolo emphasized in his writings how the potato was indispensable for peasants’ diet, forced by their contracts to a sharecropping system, giving all the wheat to the owner for the rent and to grow corn, sometimes without good results, for the second half of the field (Dandolo 1806).

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areas. The “rubes” (villani)—as she later wrote—used lupines only to graze them, and without a guide were unable ‘to gain the greatest possible advantage’ from the whole plant (Ciceri 1784, 244). Upon realizing this, she started to do experiments to obtain a thread from the plant. In 1782, she achieved the first results, which allowed the formation of a fabric with a thread derived from lupines. Volta always supported her, and asked for continuous updates from afar. He recommended her to Amoretti who, by the end of that year, presented a sample of the fabric to the Patriotic Society. This sample was approved by the Assembly and she received a call to continue her experiments (Volta 1782, 145): “I am very pleased about the progress that you have made with the lupine fibers”—Volta wrote her on 31 May, 1783—“and that this object of rural industry is spreading among the peasants. Your zeal and wit should deserve, apart from public approval, a reward; and I am sure that you will have it” (Volta 1783a, 158). In fact, in the following months, the professor was personally involved in the project. He discussed it with Landriani, Odescalchi and Amoretti and, as he wrote to Landriani a few months later, he ‘quickly’ (in fretta) put together the notes which Ciceri had given him (Volta 1783b, 182). The fact that Volta rewrote his friend’s notes in a well-structured and clear text has been never emphasized. In order to clarify the working process as comprehensible as possible, he preserved some “folk” terms—which were surely in Ciceri’s pages— so as to make clearer the different phases of the working process to the peasant “who must be the sole architect of all manufacturing” (Atti 1789, 244). The simple and precise style was also appreciated by Amoretti, who, by introducing the second volume of the Acts where the text was published, emphasized how the “simplicity and precision” were “of the fair sex more than ours” (Atti 1789, XCIII). By doing so, he ignored, by distraction or kindness towards Ciceri, that the famous scientist had revised the text. The Istruzione pratica sulla maniera di trarre il filo dal gambo dei lupini (Practical instructions to extract a thread from lupines) was probably read by Amoretti on 4 January, 1784, and this is the only text written by a woman in the Atti of Patriotic Society. I suppose that Amoretti particularly appreciated this report insofar as he was very sensitive to female studies. He was, in fact, the nephew of Maria Pellegrina Amoretti who had received in 1777 a degree in Pavia in utroque iure, the third woman to do so.9 The report was welcomed with interest by the Assembly, but it was not considered sufficient for awarding a medal, as Volta had hoped, because its practical application, “the utility”, was judged as unclear, hence her work was judged as merely “a new discovery” (un nuovo ritrovato). “Most of the Members—the Secretary wrote to Volta with some embarrassment and uneasiness—”considered that a small medal to a lady was not an appropriate credit, and that giving her one of greater value was not appropriate for the Society, if she was still engaged in the manufacture of the thread of lupines while the advantages that this work could develop were still unclear” (Volta 1784, 185). 9 Amoretti

was preceded by the Venetian Elena Lucrezia Cornaro, Doctor of Philosophy in Padua in 1678, and by the Bolognese Laura Bassi, Doctor of Philosophy in Bologna in 1732. (Li Vigni 2016, 18).

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Indeed, the Society wanted to find out if Ciceri, as in the case of the introduction of potatoes, would have succeeded in “overcoming the inertia of the rural spirit” (Atti 1789, XCIII). In those years, there are no documents in which the quantity of yarn derived by lupines is specified. However, we can deduce that Ciceri succeeded—at least among her peasants—to introduce such processing, if we consider that, in 1785, she obtained the gold medal from the Society for having “taken advantages with the experiment and the instructions from the filaments of the lupine stem and made it into a cloth thread” (Opuscoli scelti 1785, 48). Also in this case, Volta wrote the minutes of the letter of thanks, which she copied and sent (Volta 1785b, 308). This makes us wonder whether Ciceri was familiar with writing in Italian. Currently, there are only Volta’s letters, in the exchange of letters between them. And the only text with her signature, which now seems to survive, is her will, written on 15 April, 1820, a year before her death (Badesi 2010, 23). Yet in these we can recognize the traits of her free and audacious personality, always projected to usefulness: to provide for her big family who struggled to maintain a standard of living appropriate to a noble status.10 With that practical sense that characterized her life, she sold the medal, which was worth 18 gold coins (zecchini), and with the earnings she purchased—for each of her six daughters—silver pieces of cutlery, to which she stamped her initials: ‘T. C.’.

8.3 Candida Lena Perpenti (1762–1846), New Designer of Asbestos Applications The case of Candida Medina-Coeli, better known by her married name, Lena Perpenti, is different from that of Ciceri’s, but equally interesting. Born in 1762, in Chiavenna, by the Lecco doctor Sebastiano,11 she moved to Pianello Lario in 1789, where her husband Giovanni Bernardo was a notary.12 Her father took care of her first education. Like Ciceri, Lena-Perpenti fulfilled her family duties, but in an environment that was much livelier and more receptive to the news coming from France. The care of her fifteen children did not prevent her from conducting scientific activities. On the contrary, it was a stimulus. So much so, that she gave to her children, and to children

10 Volta wrote about the Ciceri’s family: "Noble house, but poor with 12 children" (Volta 1795, 266). 11 The

date of birth was erroneously dated in 1764 by Maurizio Monti who first gathered the documentation for the scientist profile (Monti 1832, 811) and left an unpublished memory. It was published with some additions by Bonizzoni (1878, 52) and then corrected and expanded by Monti (1908). 12 About his political activities (he was the government commissioner in the department of Adda), and about his notarial activities (he drew up formal documents from 1791 to 1804), see Mazzucchi (1926, 390).

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in the neighbourhoods, the smallpox vaccine, which, in those years, was distributed by Doctor Luigi Sacco.13 In 1796, the political situation had changed. With the arrival of the French, the Patriotic Society ended, and its legacy was collected by the Istituto Nazionale Italiano, which was founded by Napoleon in Bologna, based on the model of the Institut de France.14 Highly promoted by the government, the Istituto was in line with the mercantilist politics, favouring the search of an autarchic production. Volta and Amoretti were among its sixty members. The first meeting took place on May 24, 1803, under Alessandro Volta’s presidency. It is noteworthy that the Elenco generale dei membri e dei soci dell’Accademia dalla fondazione al 31 dicembre 1964 attests that, from the foundation of the Istituto to 1964, only six of 1403 members were women, and that the first was Rita Brunetti, a physicist, in 1938 (Elenco 1965). Even though women were excluded from the Institute until the twentieth century, they have received many awards and Candida Lena Perpenti was the first to get a silver medal in 1806 (Breme 1806). Also in this case, Volta’s support was certainly decisive. Volta, together with his colleagues from the Lario Department Commission competent to assess the ‘inventions, improvements or new applications’, supported her candidature, less than a month before the awarding of the prizes. Perpenti submitted to the Commission various fabric samples (different weights and weft fabrics and lace made with thin asbestos thread) and asbestos paper and an explanatory report. The artifacts were very much appreciated and judged worthy of being awarded. The physicist, in a long and detailed letter to the prefect, ‘welcomes’ the results achieved by Perpenti, which exceeded both ancient and modern results. For this reason, although strictly speaking it was not a new invention, it was given to her ‘the prize for inventor’ in an art judged ‘more than curious’ regardless of the possible ‘economic applications’ (Volta 1806, 54–57). With the full support of Volta and Amoretti, she was defined “new designer” (nuova progettista), as stated in the motivation of the medal, because she was extraordinary “in the spinning of asbestos, making fabric or using silk with a singular finesse superior to others until that moment, and obtaining her results with great speed and ease” (Collezione degli Atti 1824, I, 32). As Volta himself had predicted—in the same letter to the prefect—the “imperfect samples of fireproof paper (paper was browned by fire) produced in 1806 were 13 There are only some oral traces of this practice. First of all, it is remembered by the great-grandson, Lorenzo Mazzucchi, who confirmed the vaccine had been administered to the children of Pianello, Cremia and Musso (Mazzucchi 1926, 385; Scaramellini 1978, 60). 14 The first Institute was established by art. 297 of the Constitution of the Cisalpine Republic of 1797, with the mission to ‘collect the discoveries and to perfect the arts and sciences’. Suppressed in the months of the Restoration it was re-established, after Marengo, by art. 121 of the Constitution of the Italian Republic proclaimed in Lyon on 26 January, 1802. Its members were appointed during the spring of 1803 and on May 24 there was a general assembly. Volta was the first president. In 1810 Napoleon, at the request of the majority of the members, established the headquarters in Milan in the Brera Palace, which had already hosted the Patriotic Society. With the decree of December 25, 1810, the Institute took the name of the Istituto Reale di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti. Four additional locations were added to Milan: Venice, Bologna, Padua and Verona (Pepe 2005, 128–132 and 148–151; Zini 2011, 46).

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successfully perfected. The outcome was the awarding of the gold medal for having obtained a fireproof paper, from the wasted materials of her work, as well as a fireproof ink, by using vitriol and manganese (Giornale italiano 1807, 927–928). She herself attested how developed her interest in asbestos. While visiting the collection of natural history in the museum set up in Como by Giulio Cesare Gattoni, her attention was caught by a charged-with-asbestos spindle that Gattoni claimed to have been found in the ruins of Herculaneum.15 She thought that it should not be difficult to get a thread from a small amount of asbestos in its natural state. Well aware of its potential benefits, she wanted not only to reproduce, but also to improve this ancient material. Valtellina and Valmalenco were—and are—full of this mineral, and she wanted to expand her experiments also on the Ligurian rocks provided by Gattoni. Eventually, she managed to get a thread that, although unequal and inconsistent, allowed her to create a pair of gloves, which she sent to the viceroy Eugenio Napoleone. The latter answered with a letter of admiration and a parure. Continuing the experiments, and using a special comb she designed to obtain thinner threads, she created strips, satin, lace and a piece of cloth. The greatness of the re-discovery is precisely this feature. The ancients had already spun asbestos and called it linum asbestinum, but it was always woven with linen and hemp and it was used to wrap the body of dead people before putting it on the pyre to gather ashes. However, the procedure was not known, and Pliny’s imaginary reconstructions were far from the truth.16 Nobody, before Perpenti, had succeeded in obtaining a thread of an autonomous consistency with which it would have been possible, as then happened, to sew clothes for firemen.17 Always with asbestos and the wasted materials of the working process, and always in the perspective of a “public utility”, she thought about the possibility of creating fire-resistant paper sheets. She worked hard to perfect her project. The first specimens, realized in 1805 in Dervio’s paper mill, were disappointing, because the paper was yellowish and not very resistant (nonetheless, a sonnet by Don Giulio Perpenti, the scientist’s son, was printed on it by Pietro Ostinelli—it was signed with Don Giulio’s Arcadian name, Aminta Lampeo, ASCo, a). The following ones, realized in Ceriani’s paper mill in Ponte in Valtellina, turned out to be ‘very satisfactory’. ‘The paper’, Perpenti wrote, ‘was as consistent as desirable and suitable for printing and writing’. With these papers and ink, she printed by Ostinelli some sonnets written by his son, Giulio, and in 1816 the poem L’eccidio comense vendicato by Castone della Torre di Rezzonico. One of the five printed copies was donated by Perpenti to Volta (Mazzucchi 1926, 385). Other poems were printed on fireproof paper during the visit of Ferdinando I to Como. 15 Giovio

(1804, 239) also mentions the spindle and the cloth sample. the Elder believed erroneously that the "incombustible linen", as he called it, was a plant coming from India and it would acquire its peculiarity after being dried in hotter lands: Plin., Naturalis historia, XIX, 4. 17 Aldini (1828), followed by Vanossi (1831), was the first to build prototypes for asbestos clothes. They, however, failed to mention the discoveries of Perpenti. On the contrary, Tara (1848), son-in-law of Perpenti, made a reference to her. 16 Pliny

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Perpenti continued her studies and continued to gather asbestos, to work it and to distribute it to acquaintances or to those she thought could benefit from the rediscovery. A sample of a strip and a sheet of paper were sent to Pavia to Lucia Nani, daughter of the well-known academic Tommaso Nani, native of Valtellina and one of the closest collaborators of the Minister of Justice (Dezza 1992). As we read in the long letter of reply, dated 29 January 1807, Lucia Nani remained “extasiée”. She verified the complete resistance of the sheet of paper to fire and judged Perpenti “génie inventeur” and “femme qui fait l’admiration de notre siècle”, because her wit and the acuteness of her experiments had far surpassed the discoveries of the ancients. She, as a woman, shared “la gloire de cette découverte” with which Italy, already the cradle of arts, now became the homeland of modern inventors. Finally, Nani urged her to take the final step to reach “immortality”: to be liberal and to make her secret public, because the possible introduction of the manufacture of asbestosderived clothes could have involved a “branche d’exportation” , if inhabitants had been instructed on how to work the mineral (Monti 1908, 171–172). Nani’s words are a clear expression of female emancipation. They probably convinced Perpenti to send her detailed report Sulla filatura dell’amianto, together with her sample of cloth worked with satin, to the Institute of France. The report, clear and written with a strong familiarity in scientific synthesis, was published in Giornale della Società d’incoraggiamento delle scienze e delle arti in Milan in December 1808 (Giornale 1808). With her text, Perpenti gained European notoriety first, then local notoriety. The importance of her studies were highlighted, underlining the possible future applications of her discoveries, such as in 1809 by Ermenegildo Pini from Pavia and in November 1813 from Paris, on behalf of the professors of the French Academy, by Jean-Antoine Chaptal (Monti 1908, 174–175). In the following years, her activity was mentioned in the guide books of the northern side of Lario (Mazzucchi 1926, 388) and, as “docte amie de Volta” , she was mentioned by D’Istria (1863, 264) in her Dizionario, and later by Alphonse Rebière in Dictionnaire des inventions (1839, 26). Chemistry was not the only area of her research. In fact, due to her interest in botany, we have today the herbarium of Flora Lariana—a collection of plants of the region, classified according to the Linnaean system. In 1815, during an excursion to Cortenova in Valsassina, she discovered a not-yet-described campanula. She presented it on September 10, 1816 to the Archduke Ranieri, who was in Bellano at that time and, for this reason, it is classified today as Campanula Raineri Perpenti (ASCo b). The discovery included her personality in the botanical panorama, as evidenced by the correspondences with Giovanni de Brignoli, with Giovanni Biroli and with Domenico Nocca (Lena Perpenti 1819), respectively organizers of the botanical gardens in Verona, Pavia and Turin (Monti 1908, 179–186). All her discoveries made her a popular scientist and, when she died on 12 May 1846, Antonio Piazza inserted some columns in the ‘Gazzetta di Milano’ with the chronology of her discoveries (Piazza 1846, 967–968).

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8.4 Conclusions Between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the work of the two women experimenters, with its undoubted speculative and practical value, represented a unicum in the Como area. If the city had represented a great cultural and economic centre once—we should just consider the sixteenth-century fortune of the museum of Paolo Giovio—, at the end of the modern age it was far from the liveliness that characterized cities like Bologna, Naples, Milan, Florence and Pavia.18 The most brilliant personalities, such as Volta and Castone della Torre di Rezzonico, spent only their holidays there, but they preferred Pavia, Parma and Naples. Only Giambattista Giovio was an exception. Although he was the “cultural soul of the city”, he did not manage to involve the city’s patriciate in a European horizon, nor, remaining in the context of this article, did Giovio consider women in a dimension wider than that of a devoted wife and mother (Mita Ferraro 2018, 106–113). Despite working in a climate that was not very favourable to women’s emancipation, and turned a blind eye to women’s knowledge, Teresa Ciceri and Candida Lena Perpenti were not hindered because their research and results were judged a demonstration and a practical consequence of an all-female talent; although innovative, turned to “spindles and distaffs” (fusi e conocchie), it is a matter of the natural complement to traditional domestic skills (Toschi Traversi 1988, 16; Cavazza 1997). With a closer look, they aroused admiration because they did not fail in their traditional role as mother and wife. They lacked the corrosive charge towards the social schemes. Last, but not least, both of them, as was customary in these situations, had a male figure as mediator.19 Teresa Ciceri without Volta, and Lena Perpenti without her husband and Volta, would never have been considered by the group of scientists who could spread their works. Moreover, the local contemporaries were unable to consider women’s knowledge as a source of prestige for the city. If their experience constitutes a passage from the dimension of women confined in the domestic sphere to the “domestication of politics” (Baker 1984, 62020 ) of the following decades, it also allows us to grasp the cultural and affective horizon of Volta. In a sort of intersection between reason and affection, which defines the history of the relationship between Volta and Ciceri, and of appreciation between Volta and Perpenti, the physicist was able “to illuminate” the relations between genders, thus denouncing the non-natural but historical and cultural aspects of the marginalization to which women fell victim.

18 In Como women remained linked to didactic and religious readings. No female salons were formed in the city, and city editors were not opened to potential women readers (Arcangeli and Levati 2013). 19 As Cavazza (1997, 110) pointed out, the role of mediator was often played by the father, see the best-known cases of Laura Bassi and Gaetana Agnesi. 20 The well-known expression of Baker (1984) means the projection of domestic virtues in the social sphere.

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Part III

Men Philosophers on the Role of Women

Chapter 9

Amorous Attraction and the Role of Women in the Work of Giordano Bruno Simonetta Bassi

Abstract The article analyzes those works from Candelaio to Eroici Furori in which Bruno deals with the subject of women. The originality of his interpretation emerges, separating women from the role of procreation, and revealing the creative power of infinite matter. Thus, the female role embraces a complex dialectic between amorous attraction, in all its many aspects, and the elevation of knowledge, realized by real women that Bruno had met and loved during his life, in the interweaving of philosophy and autobiography that distinguished his thought and his works.

9.1 Source of Living Water There are many female figures in Bruno’s works, beginning with his comedy Candelaio—which is also dedicated to a woman, the Signora Morgana whose identity is much debated; she may have been a fellow Nolan from the author’s circle of youthful friendships (as Barberi Squarotti maintains), or a Frenchwoman (specifically, from Toulouse) loved by the philosopher, who in Processo would boast of having had more women than Solomon.1 Aside from any possible identification, any investigation into the role of women in his comedy should keep in mind his desire to deflate Petrarchan language and reveal various hypocrisies that corrupted late 16thcentury society, not least the pretensions of love (Barberi Squarotti 1997, 31–41). The behavior of the three mad protagonists of Candelaio—love-crazed Bonifacio “who puts his hope in the vanity of magical superstitions, to attain amorous effects” (Bruno 1964, 23), the mad scientist Bartolomeo who trusts in “pulvis Christi” and alchemical practices to transform all into gold, and the foolish pedant Manfurio, rhetorical, bombastic, pompous and a “sheep at pasture” for those who steal his money and 1 Cf. Bartholmèss (2000, II, 66), Berti (1868, 137), Imbriani (1875, 20–22), Spampanato (1909, XXIV–XXIX), Spampanato (1921, 64), Bologna (1986, 681–682), Gareffi (2000, 361–372), Puliafito (2007, 35–62).

S. Bassi (B) Università di Pisa, via P. Paoli 15, 56125 Pisa, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_9

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beat him up—corresponds to that of two women, Vittoria and Lucia, mainstays of the comic intrigue in the commedia. The first, a shrewd prostitute, presents herself “with heavenly looks, fiery sighs, watery thoughts, terrestrial desires and airy fucks,” (ibid., 33) causing Bonifacio to fall madly in love; the second cunningly exploits her position as a servant to plot intrigues, putting together various characters: “an angel, an ambassador […] vendor, schemer, witch […]: seller of hearts and junk dealer buying and selling by weight […] Entangles and disentangles, makes happy and wretched, wounds and heals” (ibid.). Each woman is extraordinary in her own way: Vittoria, the astute and sensible friend of Giovan Bernardo (a painter-philosopher beneath whose guise resides Bruno himself) is well aware of acting in a cruel human comedy; a woman wise in the ways of the world, she recognizes the inconstancy of men, knows that pleasure is ephemeral and aims to profit from the amorous madness of her lover. Nor does she feel guilty about it, because she knows that “wise men live for fools, and fools for the wise. If they all were gentlemen, they would not be wise, and if everyone were mad, they would not be mad. The world is fine as it is” (ibid., 64). She therefore undertakes to dupe Bonifacio the Candelaio, but not just out of greed: above all she seeks shelter from the ups and downs of fortune, her prudence leading her to assess events with a disenchanted eye. Unlike the three male protagonists, who all seem to carry on both deluded and inspired by their fantasies, she gambles carefully at the table of real life, never betting all on a single throw. Lucia, her friend and servant, in turn tirelessly arranges disguises and deceptions “to hatch these eggs this evening […] Messer Bonifacio went to dress up and put on a beard like yours. His wife, in a dress like lady Vittoria, has entered now. Sanguino, dressed as Captain Palma, in a long white beard. Marca, Floro, Barra, Corcovizzo are dressed as officers of the Watch” (ibid., 110–111). Her actions are motivated by personal gain: for example, she “takes a tenth” of the gifts that Bonifacio sends to Signora Vittoria “because in the end, I need to be a participant in the fruits of the madness of this fellow” (ibid., 46). In light of these preliminary observations, perhaps it is not entirely accurate to say that these women spinning the threads of intrigue are “figures having an equal way of conceiving existence and action” compared to the men (Barberi Squarotti 1964, 11); all of them have known disillusion, which saves them from falling victim to the madness that dominates the male world. Yes, they belong to the same existential framework, but unlike Bonifacio, Bartholomew and Manfurio they have no illusion of being able to change reality; on the contrary they adapt, while males live in a world circumscribed by roles and habit: for instance, Bonifacio says he does not want that “in the end women know more than I do” (Bruno 1964, 97, 102); later he explains to Marta that women are made for the pleasure of men. However, all the while he is thinking he can use them, he is miserably taken in. In his comedy Bruno describes the ups and downs of fortune and the mutability of all human situations, and by interweaving the comic and tragic delves into the complicated relationship between man and woman: “consider who is coming and going, what they do and say, how they understand what they can understand; surely, contemplating these actions and human discourses with the sense of Heraclitus or

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Democritus, you’ll have many occasions to laugh or cry” (ibid., 32; cf. Sabbatino 1993, 15–81). The pedantic Manfurio teaches that the Latin term for woman—muliercula— means that she is like a “soft Hercules”: “soft sex, changeable, fragile and inconstant, the opposite of Hercules” (ibid., 45). After having gallantly judged Marta a “thing fit for a cemetery” because a woman over thirty-five “must go in peace, that is, to purgatory to pray to God for the living”, Bonifacio explains that this is according to divine law; “women are made for men and not men for women” (ibid., 102), and when they are no longer useful for procreation “take themselves off to the poor devil because the world does not want them” (ibid.). However, this supposed male superiority is put in check by the “molles Hercules”, ready to take advantage of any opportunity that crops up: a fine example is Carubina, betrothed to Bonifacio; she seeks advice from an old woman who firmly urges “Take him, take him, take him, take him, take him, take him, take him” as soon as she finds out that he is crazy. Although stinginess, advanced age, and possible homosexuality might suggest staying far away from Bonifacio, his madness makes him a good husband: “No matter if he is a “candle-bearer”, never mind that he takes three bites to eat a bean, who cares if you don’t like him much, never mind if he’s too old. Take him, take him, because he’s crazy” (ibid., 162). The women read human behavior better than the men: they know the laws of the heart and of nature, they know at all times how to derive the greatest satisfaction from a world that is hard and ruthless, but not without opportunities for she who can recognize them. It is especially significant that Bruno dedicated his play to a woman, the mysterious Signora Morgana whose identity has so animated the critics. She is called “beautiful, erudite, wise, generous” (ibid., 21) and Giordano, who has already dedicated Gli pensier gai and Il tronco d’acqua viva to Morgana, also offers her Candelaio. The mysterious Morgana takes her place in the interweaving of several works by Bruno: first of all, the comedy, and also two early works, now lost, which were probably collections of love poems. The dedication of Candelaio, cryptic and allusive, opens with two lexical constellations of imagery: one of fire and aridity, referring to the author (“these burning days of summer”, “dusty fog”, “I burn and sparkle”) and the other of water, referring to Morgana (“with divine water […] you irrigated my intellect”, “your aid alone cools my tongue”). To this woman Bruno expresses appreciation and gratitude, emphasized by the persistent repetition of voi (you) (“it is up to you”, “you are giving”, “and you will affix it in your cabinet”, “you cultivator”, “here is the candle that is offered to you”) because in his early years she had been able to cultivate Giordano’s mind, helping refine it and making him more careful about avoiding criticism. Thus, Morgana is the muse who inspires the author, she who protected him in difficult times and in whose safekeeping lies the deeper meaning of Candelaio, conceived as a lantern to cast light on De umbris idearum, the mnemotechnic dialogue of neo-Platonic inspiration published a few months earlier, and provoking great perplexity in many readers (ibid., 21–22). Morgana is thus the keeper of the play’s philosophical meaning, expressed at the end of the dedication: the cycle of ups and downs that governs universal life is ruled by a single principle that is constantly

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renewed, and each of its manifestations is subject to annihilation, within a rhythm of perpetual regeneration (cf. Bruno 1964, 22). Gli pensier gai and Tronco d’acqua viva, the antecedents of Candelaio dedicated to Morgana, were probably collections of love poems, possibly similar to the poems that make up Eroici furori. In this regard it is worth considering that in the prosimetrum published in England appear: (a) a rich lexical constellation referring to the joy of intellectual thought; (b) insistent references to the tronco di acqua viva (trunk of living water); and (c) certain syntagma also present in the dedication that opens the play. Thus, it would seem to highlight a connection between these early works of Bruno and one of his most significant texts (cf. Berti 1868, 63). Let us explore this. The adjective gaio appears only a few times in the vernacular works; in addition to appearing in the comedy, it is found in the Proemiale epistola of Cena (Bruno 2000a, 10), twice in Spaccio, at the beginning of the second part of the first dialogue and the third dialogue (Bruno 2000c, 496, 598), and in the Epistola Dedicatoria of Cabala (Bruno 2000d, 678). However, in Furori there is a particularly significant use of this headword, describing the moth as it flies heedless and trusting towards the flame where it will eventually burn up, revealing its ingenuousness—radically different from the madman who expects to be consumed in the flames of love but “more joyful, more resolved, and more valiant” (Bruno 2000e, 847),2 offers himself up to the conflagration. Thus, the lover succeeds in finding happiness after overcoming all the obstacles and fears presented in the first four dialogues of the first part; for Bruno this is no mystical achievement or divine concession, but a rough and arduous path that in the last dialogue, at the peak of the path of knowledge and love, leads to an explosive joy expressed in the canto of the nine blind men illuminated by the vision of the high and magnificent vicissitude: “Do you imagine I can express the excessive joy of the nine blind men, who were overwhelmed by a two-fold felicity […] How, I ask, would you have me express that happiness and jubilance of voice, that thrill of spirit and body which they themselves were incapable of expressing?” (ibid., 956). She who allows such joy is a nymph, nameless, before whom spontaneously opens the vaso fatale (fatal vase) given by Circe to the nine blind men so that they could “with its wondrous contents change their wicked torment” of wandering in the dense forest of the chaotic and disorderly multiplicity of nature, that ultimately reveals itself as “image of the supreme good on earth” (ibid.). The happiness and gay thoughts finally enjoyed in the last dialogue of Furori are anticipated in the third dialogue of the second part, where the movement of heroic love is compared to two types of infinity: deprivation (“darkness is infinite and ends when light appears)” (ibid., 931) and perfective (“light is infinite whose end would be darkness and privation”) (ibid.).

2 Also appearing in Furori is the lemma refrigerio describing the aid Morgana offers to Bruno (1964,

21): in Furori I,1 Bruno explains that refrigerio consists “in being captivated by that object which gives joy to the heart and can satisfy the intellect.” (Bruno 2000e, 793).

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Human intellect sees the light of the good and beautiful to the best of its ability, while the soul “drinks divine nectar, and from the fount of eternal life as much as its own vessel permits” (ibid.).3 The desires of the intellect and the soul will never be disappointed, because the light and the source are infinite objects, embracing the subject who can immerse himself in them without either capturing the light in its totality nor exhausting the source: “it is evident that the light is beyond the circumference of the soul’s horizon, but the soul will always be able to penetrate it more and more; similarly, nectar is infinite and the source of living water is inexhaustible, so that the soul can become ever more and more intoxicated” (ibid.). The power of the subject and the perfection of the object, that is, the infinite immanent in nature and human thought, though in opposition are both enhanced, because the impulse to seek will always find refreshment in a limitless object: thus it does not result in suffering because you do not get what you want, but happiness because you always find what you are looking for. The hunger of the mind is unlike that of the body, which when satiated loses all gusto, but is always eager to take up a food that proves inexhaustible: “esuriens satiata, satietas esuriens” (ibid., 933). The mind satisfies itself through unceasing movement towards its object, not in the tranquility of attainment; it is not sated and without appetite, and it is not hungry without being satisfied in some way (cf. Ciliberto 2002, 95–109). This process that leads to happiness belongs to this life and derives its way of being from our specific human condition; it does not involve announced or promised happiness, but a condition that Bruno reveals in the soul’s earthly life: this, by the way, radically distinguishes Bruno’s position from that expressed in Plato’s Phaedrus in which the soul rejoices, eats and enjoys the contemplation of truth in the realm of hyperuranion, that is, in the non-place beyond the physical sky (Plato, Phaedrus, 247d; cf. Carannante 2014, 709–713). Therefore, the source of living water, of Biblical origin, flows in a particularly significant place in Furori and is in lexical correspondence with the passage in the dedication to Morgana that mentions Bruno’s two early compositions (Bruno 1964, 21). Both display the same conceptual constellation (irrigate, mind, soul, source, living water offering happiness and eternity). The phrases “fount of eternal life” and “source of living water” used in Furori (Bruno 2000e, 931) refer to several places in Scripture: the first to the parable of the Samaritan narrated by John (4:14), the second to a passage in Numbers about the waters of Meribah (20:1–13) and to Jeremiah (2:13). The three Bible stories belong to contexts in which the interlocutors do not yet know—like the Samaritan—or—as with Israel in the other two cases—refuse to acknowledge the divinity of the Lord and the vitality of His water; in Candelaio, Bruno quoting the Tronco d’acqua viva grafts the reference to salutary water onto the “Tree of Life” in Genesis (3:22), denied to Adam after he ate forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge (cf. Bruno 2000a, 256).

3 For

the reference to the soul that drinks divine nectar cf. Plato, Phaedrus, 247e; for the source of eternal life cf. Io, 4.14.

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It is particularly significant that the link between the Tree of Life (denied to man) and water (coming from God) is established in Revelations in the description of heavenly Jerusalem: a river of living water flows clear, and on one side of the river is a tree of life that continually produces fruit for the healing of nations (Revelations 22:1–2); the link between the trunk and the water thus confirms the covenant between God and man, and puts an end to the curse of Genesis. The dedication to Morgana and the figure of this woman, considered in a subtle but persistent textual plot stretching from Bruno’s early works to the texts published in England, take on a more complex profile. They become the paradigm of a discovery that, albeit expressed in Biblical terms, is at the root of Bruno’s philosophy: “only One is eternal” (Bruno 1964, 22) and from it flow rivers of living waters that refresh and gladden the soul of man. This One, however, is not God, but the world itself, immanent reality. Morgana, whose soul is a source of refreshment, enters then into the constituent nucleus of universal vicissitudes in which “time gives all and takes all away; everything is transformed, nothing is destroyed”, a rippling flow of an unchanging One that will become the subject of the tormented amorous pursuit of Furori, ending with a liberating song of happiness; as Bruno also wrote in Candelaio, “with this philosophy my soul grows, and my intellect is exalted” (ibid.). What emerges from these convoluted cross-references confirms Bruno’s modus scribendi, in which he reuses and rethinks material, gradually overlapping it—as with Cabala, initially written on a piece of cartaccio (scrap paper) used as the cover of Spaccio, later taken up again and published (Bruno 2000d, 676; cf. Ciliberto 1999, 271–286; Meroi 2006). Even at the beginning of his writing career Bruno had probably drafted a canovaccio (dramatic outline)—a sort of sinopite—from which he then derives in sequence the early compositions mentioned in the play, the initial pages of Candelaio and some of those of Furori.4 Among other things, this canovaccio would have contained an image of the woman as a symbol not so much of procreation, but as the immanence of the divine; the beloved opens the way for her lover towards final salvation, which is achieved in this human world and not in some assumed transcendence. The vicissitudes teach that one need not seek bliss outside of life on earth, and the alternation of light and darkness gives us the strength to bear the burden of life. If it is true that in the alternating rhythm of things each separate element dissolves in impersonal universal matter, it is equally true that “if this mutability is true, I who am in the night wait for day, and those who are in the day await the night” (Bruno 1964, 22). In one form or another, everything will find its fulfillment.

4 Among

the lexical correspondences we can observe that the expression “ardo e sfavillo” in Candelaio also appears in the sonnet “Io che porto d’amor l’alto vessillo” of Furori, but there could be more examples: cf. also the sparkling heart in the Cena (Bruno 2000a, 23).

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9.2 As Women Ought to Be Loved The women of Candelaio are accompanied by other significant female figures, from the beautiful Shulamite of De umbris to the aforementioned Circe of Cantus Circaeus, and Eroici Furori where in the last dialogue appear two protagonists, Giulia and Laodomia, although Bruno emphasizes that “according to my country’s custom” for women “it is unbecoming to comment, expound, decipher, or to be so wise and learned” (Bruno 2000e, 768); in fact—adds Bruno—they are unable to follow a rational argument, but can divine and prophesy sometimes “when their bodies are found to have a soul” (ibid.; cf. Canone 2005, 67–91; Canone, 2007). But do not be led too far astray: these statements—a nod to tradition and frankly rather unpleasant— are accompanied by frequent praise for a woman of flesh and blood, Queen Elizabeth, who not only possessed books by Bruno in her library (cf. Sturlese 1987, 49, n. 39; 53, n. 20; 58, n. 19; 65, n. 29), but knew Bruno directly, as is apparent in the Processo (Firpo 1993, 189; cf. Bassi 1996, 48.); also in Furori itself Bruno reflects on women in an unconventional way. But let us proceed in an orderly way. The first place where the Queen is mentioned is the second dialogue of Cena de le ceneri, a passage well-known for its editorial history (cf. Gentile 1985; Aquilecchia 1955; Ciliberto and Tirinnanzi 2002; Tarantino 2004; Harris 2007). Bruno praises Elizabeth calling her “deity of the earth” and to further mark her distance from other women, “singular and very rare lady”.5 Bruno praises the Queen, steady in the midst of so many strong swells and swollen waves, for her wisdom and beauty (Bruno 2000a, 51), but mainly for her political skills in maintaining peace, as we are reminded at the end of the first dialogue of the Causa.6 Here Filoteo, introducing the interlocutors of the dialogue, presents the pedantic Polihimnio enemy of the female sex, although after analyzing his aversion and “lift eyes to the tree of the knowledge of good and evil” shows that “all the virtues, merits and goodness are feminine”; the male gender displays chaos, sleep, lethargy, hatred, fear, rigor, scandal, error, defect, hell; the females offer willingness, vigilance, memory, friendship, surety, kindness, peace, tranquility, truth, perfection, happiness. The clearest example mentioned by Filoteo is the “diva Elizabetta” herself, renowned for her wisdom, culture and political prudence, before which are humbled not only “the Sophonisbas, Faustinas, Semiramises, Didos, Cleopatras, and all the earlier queens”, but also any male (Bruno 2000b, 203). Her kingdom was marked by fortune and success, while in Europe flowed “the wrathful Tiber, the threatening Po, the violent Rhine, the bloody Seine, the turbid Garonne, the frenzied Ebro, the furious Tagus, the tumultuous Meuse, and the inquiet Danube” (ibid., 204): if Europe was devastated by the wars of religion, by the persecution of non-Christians, 5 During

his trial, Bruno is forced to explain the meaning of the term: Elizabeth had in fact been excommunicated (Firpo 1993, 188–189). 6 “There is no one in the kingdom so worthy and so heroic among the nobility, nor anyone so gifted among those who wear the gown, or so wise among the counsellors” (Bruno 2000b, 203). In the eulogies Bruno takes as a model Elizabethan imperial symbolism (cf. Yates 1975; Pirillo 2014).

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and political revolts, Elizabeth “with her splendid vision” (ibid.; cf. Bruno 2000a, 51) has pacified the Ocean which “calmly and gladly” gathers the Thames to its bosom, “flowing on unchecked and fearless, gaily and confidently twisting between its verdant banks” (ibid., 204). It is worth noting that the word “gaily” recurs in Causa regarding the water of the Thames and the Queen, because the rare and dense lexical7 clues shed light on several aspects in the introduction of Furori where one comes across new praise for the Queen, located at a crucial point in the text. The Argomento del Nolano opens with an important clarification that underlines his distance from the work of the Petrarchists: although celebrating the bodily love that leads to union with the infinite, Bruno rejects their poetic praise of feminine beauty (“those eyes, those cheeks, that breast, that whiteness, that vermilion, that speech, those teeth, those lips, that hair, that dress, that robe, that glove, that slipper”) (Bruno 2000e, 756)8 whose allegorical language masks a story that is quite worldly. Traditional poets confuse these aspects by interpreting the surge of love for the divine in the same way as they do erotic desire: the result trivializes and impoverishes both natural love, regarded only as a means of elevation, and the heroic, reduced to a grotesque masking of earthly desires.9 Bruno insists on a distinction between the two aspects: in an extraordinary autobiographical passage he makes it clear that he is not an enemy of procreation, that he loves both being in the world and the act that made it possible. The act of love is not only the desire for personal pleasure but has a deeper social meaning—as “our predecessors were born for us” so are we born for our successors. Alluding to his own condition as a monk, Bruno adds that “for all the kingdoms and beatitudes which might ever be proposed or chosen for me, never was I so wise and good that there could come to me the desire to castrate myself or to become a eunuch.” (ibid., 757). Mocenigo in the court proceedings remembers that Bruno was “very devoted to the flesh”: indeed, according to his testimony he was amazed that the Church “forbade its natural use” (Firpo 1993, 288). It appears that he was very generous with himself; far from “impeding nature’s holy institution” (Bruno 2000e, 757) he stated that “when he went with women he acquired great merit” (Firpo 1993, 288). These speeches must have troubled in no small way his fellow prisoners who recalled Bruno’s words before the judges, as testify Francesco Graziano and Matteo de Silvestris. But in the course of the fourth interrogation, it is Bruno himself, responding to the inquisitor priests, who reiterates that the sin of the flesh “was less of a sin than the others” and in particular “fornication” was such a “light” sin that it could be reclassified as a venial sin (ibid., 181). However, Bruno attempts to mitigate his statements by claiming to have said them only “for levity and being in company”, but—at least in this case—Giovanni 7 The

lemma is used only seven times in the vernacular works, once in each work. Gentile has shed light on the importance of the dedication to Sidney in understanding Bruno’s thinking about women (cf. Bruno 1985, 222, n. 1). 9 Cf. ibid., 759–60. Regarding Bruno and Petrarch cf. Spampanato (1900), Palmer (1973–1974), Clucas (1987), Sabbatino (1993), Ellero (1994). 8 Giovanni

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Mocenigo must have been right: not only did Bruno “love women very much”, but he was also convinced that priests themselves could benefit from frequenting them; indeed, everyone should have their own “because one could do it with them without sin, observing God’s commandment” (ibid., 288; cf. Bruno 2000c, 488). After clarifying his personal position, Bruno continues his discourse on women in a different vein: they must be honored and loved “as women ought to be loved and honored” (Bruno 2000e, 758), that is, as long as they are useful for procreation. Recalling and elaborating on Boniface’s abovementioned remarks, Bruno writes that women should be valued “for so much, and in the measure due for the little they are, at that time and occasion when they show the natural virtue peculiar to them”, that is, the beauty “without which one would esteem them to have been born in this world more vainly than a poisonous fungus” (ibid.). Bruno is aware that his position strongly suggests misogyny, although in reality he is trying to explain, turning to a refrain of Biblical Sapientia—“all things […] have their weights, numbers, orders and measures” (cf. Sap. 11, 20)—that in the infinity of the universe all things have their place and function, “so that it may be ordered and governed with all justice and reason” (Bruno 2000e, 758). In addition, he wants to distinguish and define the prosimetrum by claiming the heroic nature of his madness, which should not be understood to be like that of Petrarch; in light of these considerations he is also convinced that “every honest and chaste woman will rather agree with me and love me the more because of it” (ibid., 762). Bruno does not want to be confused with those poets who, disappointed by ordinary love, because it had been rejected, make it the way to higher love; on the other hand he does not even want his works—and it is significant that he mentions his text as a “poema” (ibid., 759)—to be understood only as a figure of a “latent and occult sense” (ibid.). In Furori, in fact, Bruno attempts to describe a path that unwinds in the natural and physical dimension. In this, all that can be known and possessed is measured by the fact that “cannot be sufficient in itself, good in itself, or beautiful in itself” (ibid., 824) because what is infinitely beautiful and good is the universe alone, the absolute entity whose image is seen in nature. For this reason, Bruno claims his alterity to both Petrarchian tradition and the author of the Song of Songs: if every physical manifestation is ordered, measured and considered, it is limited and satisfies in only a limited way the desire of the intellect and the heart, that aspire to what is found in everything intelligible and desirable. This cannot be represented as anything sensible, because this is the infinite natural universe which, while being without dimension or measure, does not refer to a dimension other than immanent natural unity (ibid., 921). This is the context of the third panegyric for Elizabeth: critical interpretation of the love poem and the use of ancient forms and styles for completely different and original content do not prevent him from recognizing the dignity and nobility of those women “who have been worthily praised and who are praiseworthty” (ibid., 761). Bruno considers them not women but nymphs, divinities “among whom it is permitted to contemplate that unique Diana, whom I do not desire to name in the rank or category of women” (ibid.). It is no coincidence that in the epilogue of Furori it is a nymph who opens the fateful vessel that restores light to the blind, a vessel

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from which the waters flow, granting the enlightened a double joy: “that of having recovered the light formerly lost and that of having newly discovered the other light which alone could show them the image of the supreme good on earth” (ibid., 956). From the hands of this glorious nymph, worthy of respect and reverence, flows the liquid that offers new understanding of the bond that, despite their differences, unifies the universal vicissitudes and the multiplicity of its individual aspects.

9.3 Conclusions For different reasons, Candelaio and Furori both contain a disparity between and an interweaving of aspects of the text and the autobiographical, which constantly breaks out—sometimes unexpectedly—in the plot of the works. Morgana on one hand and Elizabeth-diva-nymph on the other, are important women in Bruno’s life and are at the same time images of a complex relationship that is a source of joy, binding man to the horizons of life. Bruno’s discourse on women is not secondary, but is interwoven with the constitutive themes of his philosophy as seen in the early pages of the fourth De la causa dialogue. Here the pedantic Polihimnio ‘elucidates’ the nature of primary matter according to the Aristotelian model of Physics (Aristoteles, Physica, I, 9, 192a 20–25; cf. Russo 2014), comparing it to a woman: both are desirable, both are assimilated into chaos, hyle and irrationality. The parallel is reinforced by the consideration that the state of matter corresponds to the economic, political and civil status of women, with an explicit reference to their condition of inferiority (cf. Bruno 2000b, 256). Polihimnio explains that the female gender, like matter, is “intractable, frail, capricious, cowardly, feeble, vile, ignoble, base, despicable, slovenly, unworthy deceitful, harmful, abusive, cold, misshapen, barren, vain, confused, senseless, treacherous, lazy, fetid, foul, ungrateful, truncated, mutilated, inconstant, soft, humble, infamous, base, cowardly, abject, slovenly, unworthy, reprobate, sinister, disgraceful, frigid, deformed, vacuous, vain, indiscreet, insane, perfidious, neglected, foul, dirty, ungrateful, truncated, mutilated, imperfect, unfinished, deficient, insolent, amputated, diminished, stale, vermin, tares, plague, sickness, death” (Bruno 2000b, 257), using in his long list some of the same expressions previously uttered for the same purpose by Manfurio in the comedy. Gervasio judges Polihimnio’s long speech against women as proof of his rhetorical ability, fleshing out some of the pedant’s allusions (“but just now an apt rhetorical flourish comes to mind”, “another rhetorical flourish here, called by some complexion”, “Exclamatio”) (ibid., 255–256; cf. Aquilecchia 1993, 139–141). He also adds that it is the habit of humanists when they are “full of those concepts that they cannot hold” to unload them elsewhere, that is, “on poor women” (ibid., 257). This observation is important because it makes explicit the parallel with the opening pages of the Argomento of Furori. In both places we find:

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(a) A beginning that distances itself from important traditions of 16th century culture (the rhetoric tradition in the De la causa, the Petrarchian in the prosimetrum) (b) An argument constructed around the role of women interwoven with the foundations of the nova filosofia: the definition of infinite vital matter in De la causa, the discovery of infinity in nature in Furori. These structural parallelisms are accompanied by several lexical revivals as well as by reference to real women: in the first case one recalls the mushroom used as an example of the non-productivity of man without woman as well as the latter when she is unsuitable for procreation (cf. Bruno 2000b, 258; Bruno 2000e, 758); but the figure of Orpheus (we recall his tragic end at the hands of the Maenads) (ibid., 257; Ovidius, Metamorphoses, XI, 143), and the unfortunate story of Eurydice (ibid., 760; Ovidus, Metamorphoses, X, 8–71) are also mentioned earlier. The praise of actual women—the wife and daughter of the ambassador de la Mauvissière in Causa, Queen Elizabeth in Furori—conclude portions of significant texts that introduce some of Bruno’s most original reflections. And yet, the supposed misogyny found in the pages of Candelaio, Causa, and Furori has been criticized by many commentators, often within a framework of reasoning aimed at dismissing the theme of women, misunderstanding the complexity of the feminine theme not only in Bruno’s works but also in his life.10

References Aquilecchia, G. (1955). Introduzione. In G. Bruno (Ed.), La cena de le ceneri (pp. 13–59). Torino: Einaudi. Aquilecchia, G. (1993). Schede bruniane (1950–1991). Manziana: Vecchiarelli. Barberi Squarotti, G. (1997). Parodia e pensiero: Giordano Bruno. Verona: Greco e Greco. Bartholmèss, C. (2000). In P. R. Blum (Ed.), Jordano Bruno (Vol. 2). Bristol: Thoemmes Press (ed. or. 1846–1847). Bassi, S. (Ed.). (1996). Immagini di Giordano Bruno. 1600–1725. Napoli: Procaccini. Berti, D. (1868). Vita di Giordano Bruno da Nola. Firenze-Torino-Milano: Paravia. Bologna, C. (1986). Tradizione testuale e fortuna dei classici italiani. In A. Asor Rosa (Ed.), Letteratura italiana. VI, Teatro, musica, tradizione dei classici (pp. 445–928). Torino: Einaudi. Bruno, G. (1964). In G. Barberi Squarotti (Ed.), Candelaio. Torino: Einaudi. Bruno, G. (2000a). La Cena de le ceneri. In G. Bruno, M. Ciliberto, & N. Tirinnanzi (Eds.), Dialoghi filosofici italiani (pp. 5–157). Milano: Mondadori. Bruno, G. (2000b). De la causa, principio et uno. In G. Bruno, M. Ciliberto, & N. Tirinnanzi (Eds.), Dialoghi filosofici italiani (pp. 161–296). Milano: Mondadori (transl. Blackwell, R. & de Lucca R. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). Bruno, G. (2000c). Spaccio de la bestia trionfante. In G. Bruno, Ciliberto, M. & Tirinnanzi, N (Eds.), Dialoghi filosofici italiani (pp. 457–460). Milano: Mondadori.

10 Antonio Sarno made an attempt to relate the experience of love narrated in Furori to Bruno’s life: cf. Sarno (1920), which although not wholly persuasive in interpreting the prosimetrum as a concrete experience of passion for a woman, contains some interesting ideas.

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Bruno, G. (2000d). Cabala del cavallo pegaseo. In G. Bruno, M. Ciliberto & N. Tirinnanzi (Eds.), Dialoghi filosofici italiani (pp. 673–750). Milano: Mondadori. Bruno, G. (2000e). De gli eroici furori. In G. Bruno, M. Ciliberto & N. Tirinnanzi (Eds.), Dialoghi filosofici italiani (pp. 753–960). Milano: Mondadori (transl. Memmo Jr., P. E. Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina 1964). Canone, E. (2005). Magia dei contrari. Cinque studi su Giordano Bruno. Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Canone, E. (2007). Scuoprir quel ch’il nostro vase asconde. La lettura bruniana di una rivelazione. Bruniana e Campanelliana, 13(2), 449–462. Carannante, S. (2014). Felicità. In Ciliberto, M. (Ed.), Giordano Bruno. Parole concetti immagini (pp. 709–713). Pisa: Edizioni della Normale. Ciliberto, M., & Tirinnanzi, N. (2002). Il dialogo recitato. Per una nuova edizione del Bruno volgare. Firenze: Olschki. Ciliberto, M. (1999). Umbra profunda. Studi su Giordano Bruno. Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Ciliberto, M. (2002). L’occhio di Atteone. Nuovi studi su Giordano Bruno. Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Clucas, S. (1987). Giordano Bruno’s De gli eroici furori and Elizabethan Poets in the Context of Sixteenth Century Italian Petrarch-Commentaries. Canterbury: University of Kent. Ellero, M. P. (1994). Allegorie, modelli formali e modelli semantici negli Eroici furori di Giordano Bruno. La rassegna della letteratura italiana, 98(3), 38–52. Firpo, L. (1993). In D. Quaglioni (Ed.), Il processo di Giordano Bruno. Roma: Salerno Editrice. Gareffi, A. (2000). L’identità della Signora Morgana. In S. Carandini (Ed.), Teatri barocchi. Tragedie, commedie, pastorali nella drammaturgia europea fra ‘500 e ‘600 (pp. 361–372). Roma: Bulzoni. Gentile, G. (1985, 1st ed. 1907). Introduzione. In G. Bruno & G. Aquilecchia (Eds.), Dialoghi italiani (pp. XXIX–LI). Firenze: Sansoni. Harris, N. (2007). Il “cancellans” da Bruno a Manzoni: fisionomia e fisiologia di una cosmesi libraria. In O. Catanorchi & D. Pirillo (Eds.), Favole, metafore, storie. Seminario su Giordano Bruno. Pisa: Edizioni della Normale. Imbriani, V. (1875). Natanar II. Lettera a Francesco Zambrini sul testo del Candelaio di G. Bruno. Bologna: Tipografia Fava e Garagnani. Meroi, F. (2006). Cabala parva. La filosofia di Giordano Bruno fra tradizione cristiana e pensiero moderno. Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Palmer, P. (1973–1974). Marvell, Petrarchism and De gli eroici furori. English Miscellany, 24, 19-57. Pirillo, D. (2014). Elisabetta. In M. Ciliberto (Ed.), Giordano Bruno. Parole concetti immagini (pp. 602–603). Pisa: Edizioni della Normale. Puliafito, A. L. (2007). Comica pazzia. Vicissitudine e destini umani nel Candelaio di Giordano Bruno. Firenze: Olschki. Russo, I. (2014). Femina. In M. Ciliberto (Ed.), Giordano Bruno. Parole concetti immagini (pp. 713– 714). Pisa: Edizioni della Normale. Sabbatino, P. (1993). Giordano Bruno e la mutazione del Rinascimento. Firenze: Olschki. Sarno, A. (1920). La genesi degli Eroici furori di Giordano Bruno. Giornale critico della filosofia italiana, 1, 158–172. Spampanato, V. (1900). Antipetrarchismo di G. Bruno. Milano: Enrico Trevisini. Spampanato, V. (1909). Introduzione. In G. Bruno (Ed.), Candelaio. Bari: Laterza. Spampanato, V. (1921). Vita di Giordano Bruno, con documenti editi e inediti. Messina: Principato. Sturlese, R. (1987). Bibliografia, censimento e storia delle antiche stampe di Giordano Bruno. Firenze: Olschki.

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Tarantino, E. (2004). Le due versioni del foglio D della Cena de le ceneri. Bruniana e Campanelliana, 10(2), 413–424. Yates, F. A. (1975). Astrea. The Imperial Theme in the Sixteenth Century. London and Boston: Routledge and Kegan.

Chapter 10

Women from Objects to Subjects of Science in Poulain de La Barre Marie-Frédérique Pellegrin

Abstract In his three treatises on women of 1673, 1674, and 1675, François Poulain de la Barre makes it possible to reflect on uses of the mind that would include feminine knowledge. By means of two demonstrative movements which can be put in parallel, we see, on one hand, that the scholar is not necessarily distinct from the vulgar and, on the other, that a new category, alien to this division, appears: women. This category, which is not at all considered in the traditional dichotomy between the literate and the ignorant, requires completely rethinking “scholar” or “learned” as a qualifying adjective, the method of science and its issues. Poulain exemplifies here a feminist use of Descartes’s philosophy. He shows that the new figure of the learned drawn by Cartesianism must include female scholars. He also proposes a new order of the sciences and a peculiar interpretation of the Cartesian cogito. These two evolutions are both necessary to make room for women in the sciences.

10.1 Introduction From the perspective of the work of the mind (which we shall call science or philosophy), the world seems to be divided into two main categories in the modern age: the scholars and the vulgar. In interrogating this too-simple division in his three treatises on women of 1673, 1674, and 1675, François Poulain de la Barre makes it possible to reflect on other uses of the mind. Cartesian and feminist,1 Poulain proposes an

1 The term “feminism” is of course anachronistic in the time of Poulain and some prefer the term “philogyny”. I use it here to indicate a truly militant women’s defense, that is to say having a practical aim, as well educational as social and political.

This paper is a new, revised, and expanded version of a precedent paper published in French (Pellegrin 2013). M.-F. Pellegrin (B) Faculté de Philosophie, Université Lyon III, Lyon, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_10

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original vision of what modern science should be by thinking of its protagonists in a new way. By means of two demonstrative movements which can be put in parallel, we see, on one hand, that the scholar is not necessarily distinct from the vulgar and, on the other, that a new category, alien to this division, appears: women. This category, which is not at all considered in the traditional dichotomy between the literate and the ignorant, requires completely rethinking (1) “scholar” as a qualifying adjective, (2) the method of science (3) and its issues.

10.2 Women According to Ordinary Philosophy Firstly, we must take stock of the individuals of science. They are of different types and may be poets, historians, jurists and philosophers alike. Poulain calls them all scholars. After having done away with the misogynist prejudices diffused by the first three categories, he concentrates on the last, the philosophers, by studying their behaviour and the way in which their judgment is formed. When he is interested in his traditional and school forms, the notion of science has a rather general meaning in Poulain. We see by the diversity of its types of actors that “science” means “knowledge”. Science is all the more defined here as simple knowing that it is related to erudition, memory and not to intelligence. This study is sourced in part from Poulain’s personal experience as a philosophy student at the Sorbonne (ED, 278–279; VB, 243–244) and in part by Cartesian observations on scholars. It can be said that his experience corroborates these observations. Yet fundamentally, Poulain aims at a profound redefinition of science and its uses, to which the description of the common scholar serves only as an auxiliary. Those commonly called scholars are the “vulgaires” (ES, 75; DC, 63), “populaires” (ED, 225; VB, 196) scholars, that is, “scolastiques” (ED, 278–279; VB, 243–244) learned who derive their vision of the world from the precepts of the great ancient philosophers. More specifically, they may be philosophers, directors, casuists or doctors (ED, 237; VB, 207). The description insists less on their intellectual complexion than on their social power. Scholars constitute above all a professional category. They have to be understood as the cogs of coercive institutions on the intellectual and social levels (university, clergy). The apprenticeship of science should not be understood in terms of progress of the mind, but progress through university ranks. It is the diploma that gives the titre (titel) of scholar. It is his own experience, as a student at the Sorbonne, which serves here as a foundation for the statement of Poulain. The school is first and foremost a place where titles are acquired, as Descartes already said at the beginning of the Discours de la méthode. Completion of the “course of study” allows to be “admitted to the ranks of the learned” (Descartes, Discours de la méthode, AT VI, 4; CSM, 111). Poulain describes precisely these mechanisms of an academic recognition disconnected from any search of truth.

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It serves as a sign of recognition and allows for designation by other scholars. The first thing of which the student is informed is the “symbole Académique” (ED, 194; VB, 169).2 This consists of the veneration of the elders and is a symbol because everything here is a matter of initiation to a common creed, that of Christianized Aristotelianism. The second characteristic feature of ordinary scholars is that they like to be part of a group, to be members of the scholarly community. Crowd psychology can only have a negative meaning for a Cartesian like Poulain. It is the opposite of intellectual autonomy. Deployed within an institution, it perpetuates already-accepted opinions and prevents any real scientific progress. In the Discours de la méthode, Descartes presents his school curriculum with irony and distance. This excellent education only brought him doubts about the path to take for the search for the truth. The uselessness of schools run by scholastic masters imbued with authority and false science becomes a recurring theme among Cartesians.3 University produces a confinement that prevents new thoughts. However, this community is more than just a group. It constitutes a true caste that is protective of its intellectual authority.4 Again, the issue is, first and foremost, a question of power. The goal of intellectual authority is social domination. This interpretation seems to be confirmed by the fact that Poulain resorts to a genealogy of science. In seeking its origin, Poulain proceeds like the jusnaturalists when they question the origin of a power or a balance of power. It is therefore in these terms that we must understand science and its protagonists. Science was born of the idleness of the Egyptian priests5 “who had little to do, amused themselves by talking together about those natural phenomena” (ES, 68; DC, 58). By insisting on the idleness of these early scholars, science is given foundations that are at once dangerous and not so glorious, lacking the heroism of the wise man and his mission. Leisure, dear to Aristotle describing the conditions required for the development of thought, here has only a negative meaning. Very quickly, moreover, the curiosity of other men for the observations of these priests develops their self-esteem. This is where scholars discover their powers of influence. The explanation of the origins of science is therefore not offered to glorify science: after a not-so-glorious beginning, it quickly arises as a source of authority and unjust domination. Scholars have always been vain idlers. Here again, the will to retain their power dominates and must be analyzed in institutional terms. They managed to found places of knowledge forbidden to commoners and especially women: “Academies 2 The

translation “scholastic Creed” for “symbole académique” is more of an explanation than a translation. 3 I am thinking in particular of the way Nicolas Malebranche describes the scholars in La recherche de la vérité. See my papers Pellegrin (2009, 2012). 4 “Il ne peut donc y avoir que ceux qui veulent dominer sur les esprits par la créance, qui aient sujet d’appréhender ce retour, dans la crainte que si les sciences devenaient si communes, la gloire ne le devint aussi, et que celle où ils aspirent, ne se diminuât par le partage” (ES, 116; DC, 104). 5 The fact that the first scientists were priests is important. It suggests an implicit parallelism in Poulain’s thought between the oppression of the believers by the priests, the oppression of the women by men, the oppression of the people by the aristocracy. See my paper, Pellegrin (2018).

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were founded to which women were not invited, and in this way they were excluded from the sciences” (ibid.). And it is this very refusal to share their knowledge that must entertain doubt as to their quality as scholars. The best proof of this lies in their description of women, reproducing the “ridiculous absurdities” (ES, 141; DC, 130) of the ancient philosophers and incapable of explaining human beings, their soul and their body,6 so that the fundamental element to distinguish the “true science”7 from the false lies in understanding women. Regarding them as monsters,8 ordinary science loses all intellectual credit. Herein lies the touchstone of reasoning, for it can be said on the question of women that there is “none more important nor more widely discussed nor more complex in all human knowledge” (EH, 297; VB, 265). According to Poulain, it is in fact the theses on women that make it possible to decide on the validity of a particular figure of science. It is, therefore, first of all as objects of science that women are essential to the establishment of a true science. The way in which a scientific discourse speaks of them serves as an index or criterion for judging the real scientificity of the discourse in question. Thus, Poulain refuses any credit to the theory of passions proposed by the doctor and philosopher Cureau de la Chambre, who was very famous and appreciated at his time. For example, he defines women as cold, which is contradicted by the phenomenon of pregnancy which presupposes heat to grow an embryo (EH, 381; VB, 303). Poulain’s first treatise concludes thus with a review of “the great and lofty thoughts which those whom the learned study like oracles have had on the subject of the fair sex” (ES, 144; DC, 133). It aims to demonstrate the inanity of what science has said so far about women and comes to a conclusion on the total inanity of science,9 since genuine knowledge about women makes it possible to solve most of the other questions that science must ask itself. Relying on the analysis of human beings as they are, this knowledge is destined to reconfigure all other knowledge that necessarily flows from it. Conversely, the vulgar philosophers only reproduce the prejudice of 6 “Ce

que c’est que les Philosophes de l’École. (…) Toute leur science est fondée sur les jugements qu’ils ont faits dès le berceau (…). On ne leur apprend point à connaître l’homme par le corps, ni par l’esprit” (ES, 96). “School philosophers. (…) all their knowledge is based on judgements which they made since childhood (…) they are not taught to understand human nature by means of the body or the soul” (DC, 84). 7 This are Poulain’s words. See for example ES, 113; DC, 101. 8 “Comment considériez-vous les femmes en ce temps-là, demanda Eulalie? Faut-il demander cela, répondit Stasimaque. Vous devez bien juger que pendant que j’ai été scolastique, je les ai considérées scolastiquement, c’est-à-dire comme des monstres, et comme étant bien inférieures aux hommes, parce que Aristote et quelques Théologiens que j’avais lus, les considéraient de la sorte” (ED, 281). “What was your view of women during that time?” asked Eulalia. “Do you have to ask?” Stasimachus replied. “You can guess that as long as I was a scholastic I considered them scholastically, namely, as monsters, and as very much inferior to men, because that’s how Aristotle and some of the theologians I had read considered them” (VB, 245). 9 “La science et la sagesse vulgaire n’est que vanité et folie” (ED, 228); “the popular science and wisdom are vanity and folly” (VB, 200). “La science vulgaire est une science de mots” (ED, 236); “Popular science is a science of words” (VB, 206).

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the vulgar in a more obstinate manner. No scientific progress is possible from this point. There is a decisive moment in this demonstration that offers a way out of the stalemate. It involves the passage in the first treatise in which the author carries out a comparison between “the women” and “the learned” (ES, 74–75; DC, 62–63). This comparison is surprising, as the two groups (a whole sex and a socio-intellectual category) do not seem homogeneous or isomorphic. One might think that it in fact involves returning to the initial comparison between the vulgar (here women) and scholars; between ignorance and science, because Poulain insists, moreover, on the fact that women are not educated and that there are no means for them to properly develop intellectually (ES, 133 and sq.; DC, 122 and sq). This comparison reveals, however, that the ignorance of women has nothing to do with that of the vulgar. The feminine spirit is indeed much less subject to prejudice than that of scholars or commoners.10 The learned is confused, his mind is muddled. The woman speaks clearly and with discipline. In reality, the comparison between scholars and women amounts to comparing the natural mind to the educated mind, that is to say, in reality, corrupted by false knowledge. This comparative study demonstrates that women embody good sense,11 a natural quality that fuels the desire for knowledge. Thus, one can assert to the young girl who wishes to educate herself that “in desiring to become learned, you are seeking a natural position” (ED, 200; VB, 174). We see that here, Poulain gives a feminist sense to the famous first sentence of the Discours de la méthode.12 The fact that good sense is equally shared qualifies women for the works of reason. The fact that studies produce intellectual confusion and irresolution isolates women in a positive 10 “Les préjugés qu’elles ont, ne sont pas si forts que ceux des hommes, et les mettent moins en garde contre la vérité qu’on avance” (ES, 74). “One finds that their prejudices are not as strong as those of men and they do not use them as much to obstruct whatever truth one proposes” (DC, 63). “Les femmes qui ont naturellement l’esprit beau, parce qu’elles ont de l’imagination, de la mémoire et du brillant, peuvent avec un peu d’application acquérir les qualités du bon esprit” (ES, 123). “Thus women, who naturally have a noble mind because of their imagination, memory and vivaciousness, can acquire the qualities of a good mind with a little study” (DC, 112). 11 “J’ai trouvé dans celles [les femmes] que la nécessité ou le travail n’avaient point rendu stupides, plus de bon sens, que dans la plupart des ouvrages, qui sont beaucoup estimés parmi les savants vulgaires” (ES, 74–75). “I found more common sense in those whom necessity or work had not made stupid than in most works which are much esteemed by the common learned men” (DC, 63). 12 “Le bon sens est la chose du monde la mieux partagée: car chacun pense en être si bien pourvu, que ceux même qui sont les plus difficiles à contenter en toute autre chose, n’ont point coutume d’en désirer plus qu’ils en ont. En quoi il n’est pas vraissemblable que tous se trompent; mais plutôt cela témoigne que la puissance de bien juger, et distinguer le vrai d’avec le faux, qui est proprement ce qu’on nomme le bon sens ou la raison, est naturellement égale en tous les hommes” (Descartes, Discours de la méthode, AT VI, 1–2). “Good sense is the best distributed thing in the world: for everyone thinks himself so well endowed with it that even those who are the hardest to please in everything else do not usually desire more of it than they possess. In this it is unlikely that everyone is mistaken. It indicates rather that the power of judging well and of distinguishing the true from the false—which is what we properly call ‘good sense’ or ‘reason’—is naturally equal in all men, and consequently that the diversity of our opinions does not arise because some of us are more reasonable than others” (CSM, 111).

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way from the rest of human beings, since they do not go to university. Descartes described this confusion and intellectual frustration related to his studies: From my childhood I have been nourished upon letters, and because I was persuaded that by their means one could acquire a clear and certain knowledge of all that is useful in life, I was extremely eager to learn them. But as soon as I had completed the course of study at the end of which one is normally admitted to the ranks of the learned, I completely changed my opinion. For I found myself beset by so many doubts and errors that I came to think I had gained nothing from my attempts to become educated but increasing recognition of my ignorance. (AT, VI 4; CSM, 112–113).

In fact, by the lack of their education, women retain in a way their original good sense. They do not know this mental dereliction that Descartes has gone through (and Poulain after him), in the face of masters apparently very learned but contradictory to each other and therefore actually unable to advance the sciences. The opposition between scholars and women is based on an astonishing parallel: just as there are two sciences, one true and one false, there are two ignorances, one good and one bad. But this parallel becomes more complex when one realizes that the science of the learned is a form of ignorance (since it is a false science) while the ignorance of the women is intelligent (since it is the foundation of true science). In fact, good sense constitutes prime and pure intelligence, which makes it possible to envisage a problem by pure reasoning without knowing the opinions of philosophers who obscure the reflection. Poulain chooses to mobilize eminently philosophical themes (what is God? What is the soul?) to place scientific reasoning in opposition to feminine reasoning (ES, 74; DC, 62–63). In the answers offered by the latter there is no jargon, no obscurity.13 The fact that scholars themselves oppose good sense14 and deny it the right to contribute to a number of questions arising from it, however, must arouse suspicion. And indeed, the refusal of good sense is the mark of the false scholar. Conversely, the fact of possessing it constitutes real knowledge, because it makes it possible to 13 “Quand je leur ai demandé ce qu’elles pensaient de leur âme; elles ne m’ont pas répondu que c’est une flamme fort subtile, ou la disposition des organes de leur corps, ni qu’elle soit capable de s’étendre ou de se resserrer: elles répondaient au contraire, qu’elles sentaient bien qu’elle est distinguée de leurs corps, et que tout ce qu’elles en pouvaient dire de plus certain, c’est qu’elles ne croyaient pas qu’elle fût rien de semblable à aucune des choses qu’elles apercevaient par les sens; et que si elles avaient étudié, elles sauraient précisément ce que c’est” (ES, 75). “When I asked them what they thought about the soul, they did not reply that it was a very subtle flame or the disposition of the organs of their body, nor that it was capable of stretching or contracting. They replied, on the contrary, that they understood well that it was distinct from the body; that the only thing they could say with certainty about it was that they did not believe that it was in any way similar to anything which they perceive by means of the senses and that, if they had studied, they would know precisely what it was” (DC, 64). 14 “Vous n’ignorez pas combien il y a de gens qui resserrent la juridiction du bon sens” (ED, 273); “You know very well how many people restrict the jurisdiction of common sense” (VB, 238). Concerning the most important principles (coming from good sense) like not recoursing to the first cause but to second causes to explain a fact, Poulain notes that “les savants sont les premiers à pécher contre cette maxime” (ED, 273); “it’s the learned who are the most likely to offend against this maxim” (VB, 238).

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construct a rationale. Thus, through the study of women “who are a little educated” (ES, 75; DC, 63),15 the possibility of scientific progress is sketched out. Not only are there a great number of women who can judge things as if they had been given a better education, without the prejudices or confusions which are so common among the learned, but there are many who have such sound judgement that they speak about the subject-matter of the most advanced sciences as if they had studied them all their lives (ES, 77; DC, 65–66). The discovery of science presupposes not being initiated into what is called science until that point. This reversal sanctions the most ignorant members of the population, women, as a possible driver of science. The example of these simple women who naturally know how to reason about God or the soul shows that good sense is not a mere aptitude. It is a directly active faculty as long as school has not corrupted your mind. This ignorance is in fact a form of intellectual availability that retains only good sense as a faculty that impels reasoning. The feminine mind is moved by the same goad as that of the sages: curiosity.16 A defect traditionally imputed to women and the topos of misogynist writings, curiosity effectively constitutes the essence of true scientific attitude. By placing the judgment of curiosity on intellectual rather than moral grounds, Poulain transforms this supposedly feminine defect into a scientific quality. Since ordinary scholars refuse the reasoning of good sense sharpened by solid curiosity, they cannot produce truths. The category of scholar can thus fall to pieces. But what may appear as a general critique of science is in fact a critique of science’s dominant figure.17 As a driving force of misogyny, it shows that it has not renounced prejudice. This is what is meant by science, which must be profoundly modified.

10.3 The New Science of the Human Being The description of the true scholar is based on general Cartesian characteristics. They are, however, the subject of a reworking that demonstrates a vision of science different from Descartes’. In general, “to be a scholar is to have greater reason” (ES, 224; VB, 196).18 This allows for discernment and accuracy in distinguishing truth 15 By the expression “little educated”, Poulain means women who didn’t become stupid because of hard work. 16 “Je regarde les conversations des femmes comme celles des Philosophes, où il est permis également de s’entretenir des choses dont on n’a point la connaissance” (ES, 138). “I think of the conversations of women like those of philosophers, in which it is also allowed to talk about things of which one is ignorant” (DC, 127). On this new point of view about feminine curiosity, see my paper Pellegrin (2016). 17 “J’estime infiniment d’être savant d’une certaine façon que je conçois” (ED, 163). V. Bosley’s translation is vague here (“as I think it absolutely essential to have an education”). 18 Sciences are like “des semences fécondes qui rendent l’esprit fertile, ou comme des remèdes salutaires qui lui redonnent la santé” (ED, 181). “So you can think of knowledge, either as a second

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from falsehood (ES, 76; DC, 74–75). It is thus possible to attain both truth and virtue, knowing that “virtue consists in knowledge” (ES, 112; DC, 100). In short, science must serve both knowing as well as acting. More precisely, true science is based on method and order. These are the two evidently Cartesian19 foundations necessary for scientific reasoning. The method retains what is clear and obvious as the criteria of truth (ES, 76; DC, 64–65). The adoption of this new method alters the entire scientific edifice: “in order to constitute a body of science, our thoughts should be disposed in a specific arrangement” (ED, 239; VB, 208). This new arrangement consists of recomposing the order of disciplines on one hand, and unifying these disciplines on the other. In fact, “there is properly only one science in the world, which is the science of ourselves” (ES, 104; DC, 91). Science changes its definition at the same time as it unifies itself. This unification consists both in a unification of the object of science (“ourselves”, that is to say the human being) and its method (whose model is Cartesian). It is a “general” or “perfect” science to which all scientific disciplines relate. Poulain’s general science is not in any way based on mathematics as Descartes’ is.20 Rather, it corresponds to a general scientific method that is valid whatever the object studied, as it unfolds according to the Regulae. Poulain also takes from this the need for the unification of science. On the contrary, “it is a mistake of the common philosophy so to emphasise differences between the sciences” (ES, 103; DC, 91). When he proposes an encyclopedia of sciences, Poulain is insisting on the unity of knowledge beyond the diversity of

crop that makes the mind fertile, or as therapeutic medicine that brings it back to health” (VB, 158). There is a confusion here between “fécondes” and “seconds” in the translation. 19 “You are aware that to understand things is to know them with enough certainty and insight to trust them until one arrives at a notion so clear that it would be absurd to doubt it. You are also aware that order is necessary in the search for the true, as in other things in this world, and you will easily judge that the order based on the dependence of our thoughts consists particularly in starting with the simplest and clearest and surest so that we can use them as steps to go on up to those that are less so. As it is easier to assure ourselves that a thing exists rather than to know what or how it is, the first doubts we can raise and the easiest to dispel are those that concern the existence of things, and the reasons that enlighten us about the first doubts should be the first and most general, and should serve as a basis for all the certainty we can hope for” (VB, 177). “Vous n’ignorez pas, poursuivit-il, que savoir les choses, c’est les connaître avec assez de certitude et de lumière pour en pouvoir rendre raison jusqu’à ce qu’on soit venu à une notion si claire qu’il soit absurde de la révoquer en doute. Vous n’ignorez pas non plus que l’ordre est nécessaire dans la recherche du vrai, comme dans le reste des choses du monde, et vous jugerez aisément que cet ordre qui est fondé sur la dépendance de nos pensées, consiste particulièrement à commencer par celles qui sont les plus simples, les plus claires et les plus certaines, afin de nous en servir comme de degré pour monter à celles qui le sont moins. Et étant beaucoup plus aisé de nous assurer qu’une chose est, que de savoir ce qu’elle est, ou de quelle façon elle est, les premiers doutes que nous pouvons former et les plus faciles à lever sont ceux qui regardent l’existence des choses: et les raisons qui nous éclairciront de ces premiers doutes doivent être les premières et les plus générales, et servir ainsi de fondement à toute la certitude que nous pouvons espérer” (ED, 203). 20 The general science (“science générale”) is mentioned by Descartes in the fourth rule of the Règles pour la direction de l’esprit, i.e. in an unpublished work during Poulain’s lifetime.

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disciplines.21 He precisely distinguishes the sciences that we would classify as exact (citing algebra, geometry and optics) (ES, 81; DC, 69) from the practical sciences or sciences about the society. These latter are mainly grammar, morality, jurisprudence and politics. All scientific disciplines must constitute different points of view on the same object: ourselves. Science that does not serve to better understand ourselves is pointless and lacks any intellectual interest. The order of the sciences is essential, as it is in Descartes. Firstly, there is metaphysics, then physics, medicine, the study of passions, logic, mathematics, astronomy, grammar, eloquence, morality, law, politics, geography, secular and ecclesiastical history, theology, canon and civil law (ES, 101–102; DC, 88–89). This order is therefore of a largely Cartesian type and follows the main stages of the edification of science described by means of the image of the tree of philosophy (Descartes, Principes de la philosophie, AT IX-2, 14) in the preface to the Principles of Philosophy. Without doubt, however, Poulain’s definition of science is broader and includes, for example, eloquence, history and law. He also includes mathematics, absent from the Cartesian tree. Despite this apparent and wholly Cartesian primacy of metaphysics, the scientific interest of this architectonic discipline is never explicit or demonstrated, when there is simply no science without it in Descartes. The decline of metaphysics within the edifice of science may surprise those who explicitly align themselves with Cartesian method and order. It is first of all explained by the primacy of the unity of knowledge. Essentially, it is important to emphasize that there is only one science. The attenuation of disciplinary differences must return science to its real function: understanding oneself. It also facilitates women’s access to knowledge. This latter point need not necessitate a complex academic trajectory made up of specialties, often exclusive of one another, which prevented fully understanding oneself.22 In this ancient trajectory, metaphysics could rightly seem to be 21 “The role of the various sciences is to guide in different ways our thoughts and actions vis-a-vis the same objects. Logic, for example, which is the art of thinking, teaches us to guide our minds to understand any object whatsoever. Metaphysics indicates the general ideas we have of all manner of things, and physics indicates all specific ideas, considering things independently of the institutions of men. Theology (the science of religion), jurisprudence, and moral philosophy prescribe the use we should make of them according to divine and human laws. Finally grammar and eloquence give us precepts, the one to declare simply what we think of things and the other to declare the same in a more elaborate way in order to persuade (…) all the sciences can be reduced to thinking” (VB, 209–210). “Les diverses sciences ne sont que pour régler en différentes manières nos pensées et nos actions sur les mêmes objets. La Logique, par exemple, qui est l’art de penser, nous apprend à bien conduire notre esprit pour bien connaître quelque objet que ce soit. La Métaphysique nous marque les notions générales que nous avons sur toute sorte de choses; et la Physique nous en marque toutes les notions particulières, considérant ces choses indépendamment de l’institution des hommes. La Théologie ou la science de la Religion, la Jurisprudence et la Morale nous prescrivent l’usage que nous en devons faire selon les lois divines et humaines. Enfin la Grammaire et l’Éloquence, nous donnent des préceptes, l’une pour déclarer simplement ce que nous pensons des choses, et l’autre pour le déclarer avec ornement, dans le dessein de persuader […] toutes les sciences se réduisent à bien penser” (ED, 240). 22 “The reason why people think it is so difficult to acquire certain kinds of knowledge is that most of those who aspire to doing so are taught a number of things which are completely useless.

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one of the most obscure parts of this academic edifice of science. At the end of the school curriculum, metaphysics seemed hardly accessible to women and served as a barrier for the uninitiated. But it cannot be for this reason that Poulain blurs his founding character in the new science. Cartesian metaphysics is very important in the search for truth and its principles are considered by Descartes as easier to grasp than the mathematical principles themselves. This was, moreover, confirmed by the example mentioned above of those ignorant women capable of speaking of God or of the soul without any philosophical culture. The effacement of metaphysics is rather to be understood by the conception that Poulain makes of this science of oneself which is above all practical. Poulain’s re-reading of the cogito demonstrates a different perspective from Descartes’, that of a directly practical science, even if it means burning the patient steps which assured Descartes of self-knowledge and then served as a starting point for the establishment of the first deductions. For Poulain, “we exist because whatever doubts acts, and whatever acts exists”.23 The affirmation of existence is the affirmation of an acting self. To exist is to act. This heterodox formulation of the cogito is based on the intermediate idea that doubt is a “true action and cannot stem from nothingness” (ED, 204; VB, 177). This very term, “action”, for defining doubt is not Cartesian and this changes the entire meaning of the canonical passage of the metaphysical foundation of knowledge in Descartes. Descartes’ Méditations métaphysiques demonstrate that the human being is defined by thought alone, but the fifth and sixth meditations show that in reality the knowledge of oneself must be a knowledge of the union between thought and body, with all the difficulties that this entails. Now the fifth part of the Discours de la méthode presented this union as what distinguishes a sophisticated automaton from a human being, stating that the versatility of reason renders man capable of an infinite Since the whole of knowledge up to now has been almost nothing but learning the beliefs of our predecessors, and since men have given in too much to custom and the credibility of their teachers, very few have been lucky enough to discover the natural method” (DC, 110). “Ce qui est cause qu’on croit qu’il faut tant de peine pour acquérir quelques connaissances, c’est que l’on fait pour cela apprendre quantité de choses qui sont très inutiles, à la plupart de ceux qui y aspirent. Toute la science n’ayant jusqu’à présent presque consisté qu’à posséder l’histoire des sentiments de ceux qui nous ont précédés, et les hommes s’en étant trop rapportés à la coutume et à la bonne foi de leurs maîtres, très peu ont eu le bonheur de trouver la méthode naturelle” (ES, 121). 23 “I grant you that if we are to be certain of the existence of something, then it is of our own existence, and whatever doubt we have on that score brings with it its own illumination, because since it is a true action which cannot stem from nothingness, it seems that an attentive mind cannot seriously doubt that it exists. However, if someone asked us to justify our belief in our own existence, then in order to reply other than as an ignorant man would, we have to make of ourselves the same demands that others might make of us, and conclude that we exist because whatever doubts acts, and whatever acts exists” (VB, 177). “Je vous avoue que si nous devons être assurés de quelque chose, c’est de l’existence de nous-mêmes. Et le doute que nous en pourrions avoir, emportant avec soi son éclaircissement, parce qu’étant une action véritable qui ne peut appartenir au néant, il semble qu’un esprit attentif ne puisse sérieusement douter s’il existe: néanmoins pour être en état de rendre raison de notre propre existence, autrement que ne ferait un ignorant, si quelqu’un nous la demandait, il faut nous faire à nous-mêmes les mêmes demandes que d’autres nous pourraient faire, et conclure que nous existons, parce que ce qui doute agit, et que ce qui agit existe” (ED, 204).

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number of actions, which is not possible for a machine. We find the vocabulary of acting in this passage that defines the real man: For whereas reason is a universal instrument which can be used in all kinds of situations, these organs need some particular disposition for each particular action; hence it is for all practical purposes impossible for a machine to have enough different organs to make it act in all the contingencies of life in the way in which our reason makes us act. (AT VI, 57; CSM, 140).

Thought makes the body act in many non-mechanical ways. Action is at the heart of the definition of man. The science of the human being is therefore necessarily the science of our actions inasmuch as they all reveal the presence of a reason. Reason in Poulain is really an active reason, an acting reason, a practical reason. The movements of reason can just as much be said actions of the human being. Thus, metaphysics no longer has to be an autonomous science. Finally, by describing doubt then existence as actions, Poulain demonstrates the purpose of all science. Self-knowledge enables one to act in a rational way, and this necessarily has academic and social consequences.

10.4 Female Scholar and Perfect Science This new comprehension of knowledge that consists of promoting a single and perfect science, the science of oneself, implies a new type of scholar in order to develop. The opposite of ordinary scholars, these new scholars are thus recognized at first by the clarity of their arguments.24 They are then characterized by their open-mindedness by refusing to belong to one sect rather than another. In each sect they can find truths and opportunities to reflect (ED, 284; VB, 247). They are distinguished in fact by their “peaceful impartiality” (ED, 285; VB, 248), opposed to the spirit of dispute. What must be recovered from the tyranny of false scholars is nothing less than “freedom of thought” (ED, 219; VB, 191). L’éducation des dames is written in a dialogue form. The main character who represents Poulain himself is called “Stasimachus”, that is to say, as stated by the author in the Avertissement: “the peacemaker, or the enemy of division, quarrels, and pedantry, this last word being understood as a vice of mind rather than of profession” (ED, 159; VB, 143). The pedant likes the argument and therefore he is violent and peremptory. The true scientist loves peace, a state of mind conducive to thought. But Poulain constantly asserts that women are much more peaceful than men. They are enemies of violence and morals and values associated with it. They are thus examples in the sense of models of this new practice of science. The challenge is therefore not only a new figure of science, but also the fundamental freedom of the sage. Thus, we see that the portrait of the true scholar is that 24 “La plus forte preuve qu’un homme est savant c’est lorsqu’il sait faire connaître aux autres ce qu’il sait” (ED, 191). “The most positive proof that a man is learned is when he knows how to make others understand what he knows” (VB, 167).

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of a man persecuted both by the vulgar and the professing erudite who consider him an esprit fort. The term, whose use is essentially pejorative, has a positive meaning here: Poulain dismisses any reference to the freedom of morals (i.e. morality and therefore belief) that usually accompanies his definition. Moreover, no Cartesians designate themselves in this way. The philosopher in Poulain, on the contrary, claims this name, which becomes in a certain sense the appanage of the true scholar. To assume this designation of a strong mind sanctions an absolute break with any ancient form of science. It also shows that freedom of thought is the primary condition of perfect science. Indeed, this means in reality that the fight against false scholars is a struggle against authority as intellectual but also social coercion. Reducing thought to good sense, which above all served to invalidate the false knowledge of those ordinarily called scholars, might lead one to believe that there is no need for instruction to further science. However, this is not the case, despite Poulain’s insistence that good sense is enough to consistently practice fair reasoning, even on difficult subjects.25 This is confirmed by Poulain’s second treatise devoted to the education of ladies “for training the mind in the sciences and moral judgment” (this is the complete title of this treatise). The manifestation of good sense in women’s reasoning qualifies them for science. Good sense is only proof of their intellectual capacity. However, perfect science presupposes a thorough and entirely rational study of oneself, which only complete instruction that goes beyond these first affirmations of good sense can offer. The learned woman is not just a cultivated woman. Whenever women are truly educated, they become learned.26 Hence the necessity of writing a veritable treatise for the education of the mind: On the Education of Ladies. Even if Poulain’s remarks are largely programmatic, they are not completely so, and this point is decisive for his demonstration. The female scholar is not a figure that must be entirely invented and shaped by the education he advocates. First of all, history shows that there have always been female scholars. If the Egyptian priests were the first so-called scholars, the first real scholars, according to Poulain, seem to be female theologians. Very frugal with names in his three treatises, Poulain does cite St. Macrina, St. Catherine and St. Teresa (ED, 175; VB, 154). They possess “highest learning”, which translates to an intellectual but also practical magisterium.27 Moreover, the parallel is only apparent. The female theologians of early Christian times develop knowledge of a different type from that of the pagan priests. This knowledge already pertains to the knowledge of self, since it concerns virtue. In this sense they herald the new science instead of exemplifying the old. 25 See

questions like “What is God?” and “What is the soul?”, as noted above.

26 “Si les Cercles étaient changés en Académies, les entretiens y seraient plus solides, plus agréables,

et plus grands” (ES, 121). “If the informal study circles were transformed into academies, their meetings would be more sustantive, more pleasant and better attended” (DC, 109). 27 Catherine of Siena and Teresa of Avila were both writers and they ruled orders or monasteries. Macrina had a great intellectual influence on her brothers, Basile of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa. She ruled a monastery.

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Thus, there is already a (feminine) history of (true) science. This point is essential. It makes it possible to tone down the seemingly utopian character of the project of feminine instruction advocated by Poulain with his readership. Following this, the number of female scholars grew considerably in his time. Not only are they now numerous, but they are “more worthy of esteem than male scholars”.28 The praise of learned women, which tends to replace that of the honest woman in the philogynist literature of the second half of the seventeenth century (Timmermans 2005, 319 and sq.) is mobilized here. But curiously no list of “illustrious female scholars” is provided, which distinguishes Poulain’s work from the treatises that are contemporaneous with him. It is because this praise is at once necessary, to prove the efficiency of good sense driven by instruction, and in fact only preliminary. It seems to me that what matters to Poulain is less the fact that there are female scholars than finally finding the means of ensuring the diffusion of the knowledge they possess. There have always been female scholars and there always will be. But until then they could not propagate, and their knowledge disappeared with them.29 It is this angle of reflection on the propagation of science that matters. And this problem is more specific to women’s knowledge: their natural qualities have made them participate in true science for a long time, but we know nothing or almost nothing of their contributions in this field. In parallel with their intelligence (which they have in common with the few true male scholars), they bring an additional quality: love. The idea that women have a superior ability to love to men is not new in philogynist literature. But here, this 28 “Combien y a-t-il eu de Dames, et combien y en a-t-il encore, qu’on doit mettre au nombre de savants, si on ne veut pas les mettre au dessus. Le siècle où nous vivons en porte plus que tous les siècles passés: et comme elles ont égalé les hommes, elles sont plus estimables qu’eux, pour des raisons particulières. Il leur a fallu surmonter la mollesse où on élève leur sexe, renoncer aux plaisirs et à l’oisiveté où on les réduit, vaincre certains obstacles publics, qui les éloignent de l’étude, et se mettre au dessus des idées désavantageuses que le vulgaire a des savantes, outre celles qu’il a de leur Sexe en général. Elles ont fait tout cela: et soit que les difficultés aient rendu leur esprit plus vif et plus pénétrant, soit que ces qualités leur soient naturelles, elles se sont rendues à proportion plus habiles que les hommes” (ES, 82). “How many women have there been and how many are there still who should be numbered among the learned, unless of course one wished to rank them even higher? They had to overcome the indolence in which they were reared, renounce the pleasures and laziness to which they had been reduced, overcome a number of public obstacles which kept them from study, and also overcome the unfavourable ideas which common folk have about learned women, apart from those which they have about the female sex in general. They have done their minds more lively an penetrating, or whether these qualities are natural to them, they have become proportionately more clever than men” (DC, 69–70). 29 “La contrainte dans laquelle on les retenait, n’empêcha pas que quelques-unes n’eussent l’entretien ou les écrits des savants: elles égalèrent en peu de temps les plus habiles; et comme on s’était déjà forgé une bienséance importune, les hommes n’osant venir chez elles, ni les autres femmes s’y trouver, de peur qu’on n’en prit ombrage, elles ne firent point de disciples ni de sectateurs, et tout ce qu’elles avaient acquis de lumière mourait inutilement avec elles” (ES, 69). “The constraints within which they were kept did not prevent some of them from having conversations with the learned and reading their works. In a short time they became equal to the most accomplished; since women were already burdened by the demands of propriety men did not dare join them, nor did other women because they were afraid that others might be offended by it. As a result, women did not make any disciples or followers and everything they had learned died with them” (DC, 58).

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general ability to love plays a key intellectual and social role in the advent of a new science. From an intellectual point of view, this love encompasses all forms of sympathy and union (including that of the soul and the body) that make it possible to understand. From a social point of view, women are not possessive of their knowledge. They diffuse it widely, and true knowledge is a source of peace and concord. The topos of women’s civilizing character thus takes on a more specifically intellectual meaning. Feminine knowledge pacifies the whole of society by making public the talents of each and by eliminating, in the long term, the biases introduced by positions of power unduly acquired by false scholars. The female scholar renders entirely void the ancient practices of science, marked by the obscurity of Latin, a language she does not know and instinctively abhors,30 and the length of studies which are not suitable for her most common social role (i.e. early marriage).31 It is indeed her who makes a new conception of science possible. The figure of the female scholar is there to exemplify the new science (in its principles, its method, its goals). And we have seen that the mark of the false scientist is first and foremost the way in which he reflects on women and the difference between the sexes. Women, both as objects and as subjects of science, thus make it possible to distinguish true and false knowledge. But does this mean that all men are condemned to be false scholars? There are real scientists, like Descartes or Poulain himself behind his double Stasimachus. But they are rare. Above all, they derive much of their knowledge from the companionship of women. Stasimachus while conversing with Sophie (that is to say, specifies the Avertissement, “a lady who is so accomplished and so wise that she can be called wisdom itself” (ED, 159; VB, 142) and Descartes while conversing with Elisabeth of Bohemia or Christina of Sweden. The important fact is that they went both to “l’école des dames” and that is where they got their wisdom.32 30 “On observe que celles [les femmes] qui ont un peu vu le monde, ne peuvent souffrir que leurs enfants mêmes parlent Latin en leur présence: elles se défient des autres qui le font” (ES, 76). “One notices that women who have a little experience of the world cannot bear to have even their children speak Latin. They distrust others who speak Latin” (DC, 65). 31 “Toute la science n’ayant jusqu’à présent presque consisté qu’à posséder l’histoire des sentiments de ceux qui nous ont précédés, et les hommes s’en étant trop rapportés à la coutume et à la bonne foi de leurs maîtres, très peu ont eu le bonheur de trouver la méthode naturelle. L’on pourra y travailler, et faire voir qu’on peut rendre les hommes habiles en bien moins de temps, et avec plus de plaisir qu’on ne s’imagine” (ES, 121). “The whole of knowledge up to now has been almost nothing but learning the beliefs of our predecessors, and since men have given in too much to custom and the credibility of their teachers, very few have been lucky enough to discover the natural method. However one could use the natural method and show that people can become competent in much less time and with much more enjoyment than one might think” (DC, 110). 32 “Si nous avons de la politesse; selon Stasimaque, nous vous en sommes redevables, puisque nous l’avons apprise à Ecole des Dames. Au lieu que si vous veniez aux nôtres, je ne sais pas où nous irions après cela; et j’appréhenderais fort que le monde ne devint un pays de barbares et de sauvages. Cela serait à craindre, repartit Stasimaque, si on mettait les Dames à l’étude des sciences, de la manière qu’on les enseigne dans nos Ecoles; mais si elles s’y appliquaient suivant la méthode dont on parle dans la seconde partie du Livre que vous avez nommé, elles y trouveraient leur compte” (ED, 166). “If we are well-mannered, then according to Stasimachus we owe it to women, because we’ve learned our manners at the School for Women. Whereas if you had come

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10.5 Conclusion The instruction of women is the only means to do away with the dominant scholarly caste, because they are resistant to its conception of science for both natural and cultural reasons. By becoming public and common to all, knowledge truly progresses, that is, it makes it possible to know oneself. In this sense, the female scholar is the opposite of the (ordinary) scholar: she is not reclusive, far from the common, but enriches the whole social body with her knowledge. The diffusion of truth will stifle disputes and true science will make much more rapid and, above all, real progress because it benefits everyone. And this is the true aim of science: to find the best individuals to further it. Science has been usurped by a few to the detriment of all. The “effusive” capacity of the feminine mind throws the field wide open, allowing for the exoterism (and not just vulgarisation) of science.

References Descartes, R. (1964–1975). Œuvres completes, ed. by Ch. Adam & P. Tannery. Paris: Vrin. [Abbreviated in this essay AT]. Descartes, R. (1985). The philosophical writings of Descartes (Vol. 1), transl. by J. Cottingham, R. Stoothoff, & D. Murdoch. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. [Abbreviated in this essay CSM]. Pellegrin, M. F. (2009). Le libertinage, maladie des intellectuels chez Malebranche. Libertinage et philosophie au XVII e siècle (pp. 255–265). Publications de l’Université de Saint-Etienne. Pellegrin, M. F. (2012). Lecteurs et auteurs: des malades contagieux? XVIIe siècle, 255(2), 215–225. Pellegrin, M. F. (2013). La science parfaite. Savants et savantes chez Poulain de la Barre. Revue philosophique de la France et de l’étranger, no, 3, 377–392. Pellegrin, M. F. (2016). Female curiosity and male curiosity about women: The views of the cartesian philosophers. In L. Cottignies, S. Parangeau, & J. J. Thompson (Eds.), Women and curiosity in early modern England and France (pp. 160–174). Brill: Leiden-Boston. Pellegrin, M. F. (2018). Rôles de la religion dans le combat féministe du philosophe Poulain de la Barre (1647–1723). Institut d’Histoire de la Réformation. Bulletin annuel (Vol. XXXIX, pp. 47– 70). Université de Genève. Poulain de la Barre, F. (1990). The equality of the sexes, transl. by D. Clarke. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press. [Abbreviated in this essay DC]. Poulain de la Barre, F. (2002). Three cartesian feminist treatises (Introductions and annotations Maistre Welch, M., trans: Bosley, V.). Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. [Abbreviated in this essay VB]. Poulain de la Barre, F. (2011). De l’égalité des deux sexes [abbreviated in this essay ES]; De l’éducation des dames [abbreviated in this essay ED]; De l’excellence des hommes [abbreviated in this essay EH]. Paris: Vrin. Timmermans, L. (2005). L’accès des femmes à la culture sous l’ancien Régime. Paris: Champion.

to our School, goodness knows what would have happened, and I’m afraid that the world would become a country of barbarians and savages. Your fear would be justified, said Stasimachus, if ladies were taught science in the way it’s taught in our Schools, but if they follow the method laid out in the second part of the book you mentioned, they will get along fine” (VB, 146–147).

Chapter 11

From Natural Equality to Sexual Subordination in the Theories of Hobbes and Rawls S. A. Lloyd

Abstract The social contract theories of Thomas Hobbes and John Rawls assume the natural equality of women and their equal normative status with men, yet the political and social arrangements their respective theories justify nevertheless may allow for women’s subordination. The chapter investigates how that surprising outcome is produced in each of their otherwise dramatically different theories. Under Hobbes’s theory, incremental accretions of power that magnify power may make women’s agreement to sub-equal status rational. The commitment of Rawls’s liberal theory to the free exercise of religion precludes prohibiting child-rearing practices that may result in a decrease in women’s status and bargaining power across society. Yet in both theories, practical gender inequality turns out to be a contingent, and potentially remediable, rather than a necessary outcome.

11.1 Introduction The family of philosophical theories known as the social contract tradition, developed in the modern era by Western European and later American philosophers from the Seventeenth Century through the Twentieth Century, holds that political arrangements are justifiable only if free and equal persons, who are rational and concerned to advance their own interests within the bounds of morality, could have agreed to those arrangements. Because social contract theories posit the natural freedom and natural equality of all of the parties to the social contract, such theories would seem ideally suited to preclude the subordination of women. Rational women with equal standing could not be expected to agree to political arrangements that subordinate themselves to men. Nevertheless, most of the important social contract theorists were blinded to the implication of their own commitment to equality by the prejudices of their day: John Locke, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant, and the framers of the United S. A. Lloyd (B) University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5_11

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States Constitution did not count women among the “free and equal persons” whose agreement was required under a justified political arrangement. Locke theorized that the social contract would give full political rights only to men, and only to those men who owned significant property. Kant held that because women are dependent on men for their survival, they can be only “passive” citizens, entitled to protections but not to participate in decision-making along with their active male counterparts. Rousseau insisted that women are naturally subject to men, and are incapable of the abstract reasoning needed for political deliberation. The American framers famously declared that “all men are created equal” intending the exception of non-white men and all women; as with Locke and Kant, women could be passive citizens, but not active citizens. Carole Pateman, the Twentieth Century British political theorist, diagnosed this failing of social contract theories to secure women’s equality in her influential 1988 book, The Sexual Contract (Pateman 1988). Pateman speculated that these contract theorists were tacitly assuming that prior to the social contract establishing political society, men had entered into a sexual contract with each other to ensure their collective domination of women, distributing access to women’s desirable sexual, reproductive, and labor services more or less equally amongst themselves. Pateman imagined that some primeval arrangement in which the fathers of families controlled all their wives and daughters had been replaced by a violent uprising of their sons to gain access to those women, and to redistribute them among themselves. In Pateman’s imagining of the contract story, women never were free or equal. Natural vertical paternal domination over daughters and wives was replaced by a horizontal fraternal contract among sons to distribute access to women among themselves. Pateman hypothesized that this “sexual contract” occurred prior to the social contract, so that the only parties to the social contract were male heads of households. That would explain, she thought, how all the contracting parties could be free and equal and rational while all agreeing to political arrangements that subordinate women. Women were not parties to the contract at all. Perhaps this explanation would make some sense for the social contract theorists I just discussed, because they denied the natural equality of women. However, two towering figures in the social contract tradition, Thomas Hobbes in the Seventeenth Century, and John Rawls in the Twentieth, assumed the natural equality of women and their equal normative status with men. It is striking then that the political and social arrangements their respective theories justify nevertheless may allow for women’s subordination within civil society. How is that possible? What explains the gap in these theories between their assuming women’s theoretical equality and their concluding political arrangements potentially licensing women’s practical inequality? My intended question differs from Pateman’s in two crucial respects.1 First, it does not concern whether, or how, social contract theories reflect implicit presumptions of gender inequality, but rather concerns how it can happen that theories such as 1I

wish to thank two anonymous readers for insightful comments that helped me to state more clearly the focus of my inquiry, and to explain its relation to the questions others have addressed.

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Hobbes’s and Rawls’s that assume the full normative equality of women can nevertheless leave room for practical gender inequality. Second, it asks what explains their surprising twist from assumed equality to operative inequality, rather than asking whether, or how, that movement is justified in contractarian terms. Although social contract theory is a mode of justifying social arrangements, and Hobbes and Rawls are giants in the social contract tradition, my interest in them here is in explaining how in their respective theories natural, moral equality could possibly permit sexual subordination. To anticipate, I shall argue that in both theories, although for different reasons, gender inequality is contingent rather than logically dictated, and a regrettable, potentially remediable, rather than justified, outcome.

11.2 Hobbes I shall argue that the strict logic of Hobbes’s theory makes its licensing of gender inequality contingent (non-necessary), and perhaps even a theoretical anomaly. There is nothing inherently misogynistic in Hobbes’s theory—no element that requires women’s subordination to men—either in the pre-political condition of the state of nature or in the condition of civil society. Women are equals in the state of nature. Natural law does not impose gender inequality by requirements that differentially advantage the sexes. Civil law need not impose gender inequality. The content of civil law may be as the sovereign—Queen or King or Assembly—makes it to be. Revealed religion need not be interpreted by the sovereign to impose gender inequality. Thus, sexism is no formal feature of Hobbes’s system. Of course, that system provides no guarantee against sex-discriminatory regimes because it provides no guarantees at all. Hobbes advocates an absolutist regime, one not limited by enforceable rights against a sovereign’s abridgement or denial of liberties to anyone on any basis whatsoever. Fortunately, something stronger than this can be said in Hobbes’s favor. Hobbes never suggests that proper civil legislation or correct interpretation of Christian religion should include discriminatory norms against women; and the most basic norm of morality, the requirement of reciprocity, condemns affording others fewer rights than one demands for oneself, or ruling in a manner one would resent being ruled. a. Women’s status in the state of nature In Hobbes’s theory, women’s theoretical equality in the pre-political condition he termed the “state of nature” or “natural condition” or “condition of mere nature” is secured by the recognition that what matters is whether one can pose a threat to the life and wellbeing of another. Hobbes acknowledges that any person can overpower any other while that other sleeps, or by joining forces with allies.2 “See how easy 2 Hobbes

writes in Leviathan XIII.1 (Hobbes 1994) “the weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret machination, or by confederacy with others”. References to Leviathan are by chapter and paragraph numbers.

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it is for any individual to kill someone stronger”, Hobbes urges, and recognize that “those who have equal power against each other, are equal; and those who have the greatest power, the power to kill, in fact have equal power.”3 It follows that individuals are ‘equal enough’ in the way that matters most, even though they differ in myriad ways, across dimensions of strength, smarts, and skills. This bottom-line de facto equality reinforces their normative equality. Further, even if men as a class are physically stronger than women as a class, Hobbes writes of the sexes that “the inequality of natural strength is too small to enable the male to acquire dominion over the female without war” (De Cive IX.3, Hobbes 1997). The fact that the degree of natural inequality is small does not imply that no individuals are ever subordinated in the state of nature, for sometimes by war some people are able to conquer others and thereby to extract promises of obedience from them. Still, the degree of natural inequality between the sexes is not so great that we should expect women as a class to find themselves under the dominion of men as a class. The point of Hobbes’s insistence that each can pose a threat to others and correspondingly that each is vulnerable to every other person, is that no one can reasonably expect to be able to impose their will on unwilling others. Because individuals cannot expect to get their own way through domination,4 they must solicit other people’s cooperation on terms acceptable to those others, who consider themselves equals.5 This is the conclusion of Hobbes’s state of nature argument. Hobbes posits the natural liberty of each individual, meaning that no one is born under an obligation of obedience to another. Political obligations are artificial, not natural, relations. This idea is crucial to all contract theories, but receives a particularly clear expression in Hobbes’s theory, which expression also gives us the clearest view of Hobbes’s commitment to the natural equality of the sexes. In the earliest version of his political theory, the Elements of Law, Hobbes writes that he is considering people “in the state of nature, without covenants or subjection to one another, as if they were but even now all at once created male and female” (Elements II.3.2, Hobbes 1969). Hobbes is considering females too as if they were created, not out of men, but all at once with men and, like men, without subjection to any other human. Although his theory imagines a counterfactual condition in which individuals are born free from political obligations, it recognized that in fact children are born under obligations of obedience to their mothers. Hobbes holds that a child owes its life, and hence ought to obey, the person by whom it is preserved, and this is always, initially, the mother. If she elects to carry it to term and keeps it alive once born, she has dominion over it for as long as she continues to preserve it. Hobbes writes, “original Dominion over children therefore is the mother’s, and among men no less 3 De

Cive I.3 I quote from Hobbes (1997). References are to chapter and paragraph numbers. nature, all had the “right every one to reign overall all the rest. But because this right could not be obtained by force” it behooved them “to set up men (with sovereign authority) by common consent” Leviathan XXXI.5. 5 Hobbes identifies as a law of nature “that at the entrance into conditions of peace, no man require to reserve to himself any right which he is not content should be reserved to all the rest” (Leviathan XV.22) since “because men that think themselves equal will not enter into conditions of peace but upon equal terms such equality must be admitted” (XV.21). 4 By

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than other animals, the offspring goes with the womb” (De Cive IX.3, Hobbes 1997). He argues that a child should be understood as tacitly covenanting (or promising) to obey the person who preserves its life, and that the child owes a debt of gratitude to the person to whom it owes its life. Natural law requires both the keeping of that covenant and abstinence from any display of ingratitude. This benefactor’s right to rule, usually held by the mother, is a lasting one: And though the child thus preserved, do in time acquire strength, whereby he might pretend equality with him or her that hath preserved him, yet shall that pretence be thought unreasonable, both because his strength was the gift of him, against whom he pretendeth; and also because it is to be presumed, that he which giveth sustenance to another, whereby to strengthen him, hath received a promise of obedience in consideration thereof. (Elements II.4.3, Hobbes 1969)

This authority over the offspring is also shockingly expansive. Hobbes writes that children “are in most absolute subjection to him or her, that so bringeth them up, or perserveth them”.6 If most children, both boys and girls, are under obligations of obedience to their mothers, the most natural way of conceptualizing a Hobbesian state of nature would actually be as a competition among matriarchal households and between them and individuals released by their mother’s death or voluntary action from their obligation of obedience to her. On Hobbes’s picture, we should probably expect the contracting heads of households in an original contract of submission to a sovereign government to be mostly women. Any change of dominion must pass by contract.7 Hobbes tells, in every version of his political philosophy, of the Amazons, who contracted with their neighbors for intercourse, with the female offspring to remain under their dominion while the male offspring went to their contract partners. Hobbes recognizes contracts of copulation only, as the Amazons had8 ; contracts of cohabitation and society of bed (which he calls “concubinate” contracts) where again children pass according to their parents’ covenant; and marriage contracts, which Hobbes terms covenants of cohabitation for “society of all things.” Hobbes holds that marriage contracts require that one spouse must be authorized to settle all disagreements within the family unit. He observes that although in most societies the civil law governing marriage vests household authority in the husband, “sometimes the government may belong to the wife only, sometimes also the dominion over the children shall be in her only; as in the case of a sovereign queen, there is no reason that her marriage should take from her the dominion over her children.”9 6 Elements II.4.8 (Hobbes 1969) That caregiver “may alienate them, that is, assign his or her domin-

ion, by selling or giving them in adoption to others; or may pawn them for hostages, kill them for rebellion, or sacrifice them for peace, by the law of nature, when he or she, in his or her conscience, think it to be necessary [to secure peace or self-preservation]”. 7 Even dominion by conquest (which Hobbes terms sovereignty by acquisition) requires a covenant whereby the vanquished promises obedience to the victor in exchange for life and corporal liberty. 8 On Amazons, see Leviathan XX.4 (Hobbes 1994), De Cive IX.3, 4, 5 (Hobbes 1997), Elements of Law II.4.5 (Hobbes 1969). 9 Elements of Law, II.4.7 (Hobbes 1969). On sovereign queens, see also Leviathan XX.6 & 7 (Hobbes 1994), De Cive IX.5 (Hobbes 1997).

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What is really interesting about Hobbes’s system is that it makes no difference whether the state of nature is patriarchal, matriarchal, or radically individualistic. Hobbes identifies the ultimate cause of conflict in the state of nature as disagreement in private judgments over right and wrong, good and evil, yours and mine, and everything else (Leviathan XV.40, Hobbes 1994). Its proximate causes may be broadly categorized as competition over resources and positional goods, distrust (“diffidence”) and fear of aggression by others, which in turn prompts preemptive defensive aggression, and “glory”-motivated attempts to extract recognition from others or to gain superiority over them (Leviathan XIII.3–7, Hobbes 1994). Even if the state of nature were matriarchal, the logic of conflict in the state of nature would make that fact irrelevant. Though men were the subjects of their own mothers, they are under no obligation not to attack other people’s mothers; indeed, their mother’s competition with others for resources, or her diffidence, or her pursuit of glory may induce her to require such efforts at conquest. Mothers may incentivize their sons (and daughters) to attack others by offering to allow them dominion over any household they conquer. We have no reason to suppose that a Hobbesian state of nature populated by female heads of household would be any less warlike than one populated by male heads of household.10 In a state of nature, people disagree about what actions count as violations of natural laws. Their idiosyncratic private judgments yield what Hobbes terms irresoluble perpetual contention. There are no effective enforcement mechanisms to ensure that people perform their obligations, even were it possible to agree on what those obligations are. The problem—that the state of nature becomes a state of war—remains the same whether the state of nature society is matriarchal, patriarchal, or radically individualistic, that is, imagined as a condition in which solitary parentless persons are “sprung up like mushrooms” to full maturity, with no ties of obligation or affection at all (De Cive 8.1, Hobbes 1997). The warlike tenor of the state of nature results from people’s action on the “right of nature” to act on their own private judgment in pursuit of their self-preservation. The law of nature directs them reciprocally to divest themselves of a part of that right. It does not take from women their natural equality. Hobbes is emphatic in his insistence that the law of Nature, which is “eternal and immutable” requires the same thing of everyone: “Do not to another, which thou wouldest not have done to thyself ” (Leviathan XV.35, Hobbes 1994). From this it follows that in settling the terms of a contract to establish political society, the law of nature requires that “at the entrance 10 Unless we assume that women are by nature less prideful and less glory-seeking than are men; that might reduce conflict somewhat. I am not aware of any passage in which Hobbes discusses whether women differ from men in this respect. He faults both Adam and Eve for pridefully wishing to take on God’s office of judicature of good and evil, which suggests no gender difference. However, he also deems intellectual discord over political and religious ideas the “fiercest” sort of contention (De Cive 1.5, Hobbes 1997), and it is entirely possible that Hobbes thought women less prone to engage in that sort of contention than are men. The societal venues for glory-based contention Hobbes discusses—parliament, the military, the universities—were in his day, and historically had been, mostly if not exclusively male. Lloyd (2020) contains discussion of other possibly sex-linked or gender-linked differences in Hobbesian people’s affects and dispositions.

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into conditions of peace, no [one] require to reserve to [one]self any right which [one] is not content should be reserved to every one of the rest.”11 This entails that the terms for submission to a civil sovereign should be the same for every individual, regardless of gender. b. Women’s status in the civil condition The natural law directs individuals to submit to a sovereign upon equal terms, but does not dictate the content of the civil laws the sovereign is to legislate. It does suggest areas for legislation—concerning property, distinctions of honor, and indeed reproduction—but is barely schematic in the outline of the needed laws. Hobbes holds that sovereigns have, under the law of nature, a duty to secure the good and the safety of the people, which he specifies as a duty to try to establish the welfare “of the most part” (De Cive XIII.2–4, Hobbes 1997). Women being fully half of the population, women will have to be counted in any calculation of the welfare “of the most part.” This sovereign duty of salus populi entails a duty to try to increase the healthy population, God having declared that he wants humans to multiply. That duty requires sovereigns to issue ordinances concerning copulation that will tend to increase procreation of healthy subjects. According to Hobbes, such ordinances should include laws forbidding “such copulations as are against the use of nature” (homosexual and bestial copulations), presumably because these would discourage productive heterosexual mating; and laws forbidding incest between close relatives, such relations being “so prejudicial as they are to the improvement of mankind” (presumably on grounds of the chance of mental disability in the inbred offspring) (Elements of Law II.9.3, Hobbes 1969). Such restrictions may be unnecessary, but they are not sex-discriminatory. Hobbes never insists upon nor even suggests any sex-discriminatory civil laws among his recommendations to sovereigns. He implies that exemption from ordinary military service might be made for women (and for “men of feminine courage”) from whom “no such hazardous duty is expected” in the usual course of events (Leviathan XXI.16, Hobbes 1994). Yet Hobbes insists that when the very survival of the commonwealth is at stake, every person must do as much as they are able (as “within [their] nature lies”) to protect the commonwealth. Hobbes identifies this as the final law of nature (Leviathan Review and Conclusion.5, Hobbes 1994), and it applies to women as well as to men. c. Women’s status under civil religion Revealed religion would seem to be a fertile possible source of civil constraints on women in a Christian commonwealth, but Hobbes never argues for such an interpretation of Christian religion. He faults Adam and Eve equally for their prideful self-assertion in trying to judge good and evil for themselves (Leviathan XX.17, Hobbes 1994). Crucially, he deems the civil sovereign the authorized interpreter of religious doctrine. Doctrine can be as misanthropic or as philanthropic, as misogynistic or as philogynistic, as egalitarian or as sex-discriminatory as the sovereign 11 Leviathan

XV.22 (Hobbes 1994). In De Cive 3.14 (Hobbes 1997) Hobbes formulates this point “whatever rights each claims for himself, he must also allow to everyone else”.

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sees fit to interpret it. That is left to the conscientious judgment of the queen or king or sovereign assembly that is authorized to interpret the state’s religion, or to whomever it deputizes to carry out that function. Nothing in Hobbes’s theory requires that revealed religion be interpreted by the sovereign to impose gender inequality on subjects. d. A puzzle The fair conclusion then, is that Hobbes’s formal theory neither assumes nor entails the subordination of women. They are equal by nature; the natural law does not demote them; the civil laws and revealed religion need not demote them. Therefore, in order for women in civil society to find themselves systematically subordinated to private men, (and not just like every other subject to their civil sovereign), either (a) they must have agreed as contracting parties to the original contract to sub-equal terms, or (b) the civil sovereign must have deprived them of their equal status as subjects after the contract was instituted, or (c) they must never have been parties to the original contract in the first place. Let us assume, as seems reasonable, that those with sufficient independence to be contracting parties to the original agreement would not find it rational to agree to sub-equal terms. After all, the need for a social contract arises precisely because none can impose his will on the others and so all need to elicit the cooperation of others. As Hobbes puts the point, because those “that think themselves equal will not enter into conditions of peace but upon equal terms, such equality must be admitted” (Leviathan XV.21, Hobbes 1994). Hobbes himself thus rules out possibility (a), if not as an historical impossibility, at least as theoretically unjustified under the requirements of natural law. It is possible that the sovereign deprives women of the equal status they had upon the formation of civil society, as (b) maintains, but it would be highly imprudent for any sovereign to do so. According to Hobbes’s analysis of the necessary conditions for sedition or rebellion, the first condition is citizen discontent, which will certainly be provoked when the sovereign diminishes their standing, prospects or expectations. It is important to political stability that a sovereign not provoke discontent because “as long as a man thinketh himself well, and that the present government standeth not in his way to hinder his proceeding from well to better, it is impossible for him to desire the change thereof”, whereas when discontent combines with one’s sense that the cause is just and that there is a prospect of successfully resisting the government, rebellion is all but inevitable (Elements II.8.1, Hobbes 1969). A sovereign who undertook to deprive women—perhaps half the population—of their pre-political status would not only imprudently invite rebellion, but more importantly, would be acting contrary to the reciprocity and equity requirements of natural law. Sovereign violations of natural law are immoral as well as being imprudent in yet another way: Hobbes insists that God may punish sovereigns for those iniquities with forfeiture of eternal life, for the effort to obey the laws of nature is one of two necessary conditions for salvation (Leviathan XLIII.3, 5, Hobbes 1994). Although

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Hobbes’s absolutist theory admits of no legal constraints on the policies a sovereign can impose, it should condemn the sex-discriminatory behavior described in (b) as both imprudent and iniquitous. That leaves possibility (c), the one Pateman assumes, that women must already have been absorbed as subordinates into the households of men, with their interests only indirectly represented (if represented at all) by the men who make the original contract on equal terms only with one another. Such a possibility would retain the formal equality of the original contractors and of the terms of contract, while provisionally carrying over a practical subordination of women into civil society. It would also neutralize concern about the sovereign’s imprudently introducing a new cause for discontent; on the contrary, were the sovereign to deprive male heads of household of their preexisting privilege, it would create destabilizing discontent among men. Yet because Hobbes has debunked the idea that women could be subordinated to men through forcible conquest, they would have to have elected to subordinate themselves. The obvious question here is why would they do that? Why would women in a state of nature make disadvantageous private contracts that subordinated themselves to men? Why would women, who have dominion over children and who are sufficiently equal that men could not expect to vanquish them without a risky war, agree to become subordinates in male-headed households? e. From theoretical equality to practical inequality To understand how, in Hobbes’s system, anyone comes to be subordinate to another, we need to understand his idea of relations of power.12 Hobbes defines power as one’s present means to obtain some future apparent good. By this definition, power does not depend on the capacity to obtain what really is good, but only what seems to the agent to be good, and it is a forward-looking capability. Power, in Hobbes’s view, is essentially comparative and relative; it doesn’t matter how much power one has in absolute terms unless one has more power than one’s competitors. The reason for this is that their plans may cross ours, and the measure of our power can only be our ability to carry out our plans against their contrary design. Any power is thus only an excess of power. People qua agents seek to achieve their ends, and so quite naturally and reasonably seek as much power as they can get. Those who have more power may be expected to use it to dis-empower those who have less, increasing the power gap. Differences in bargaining power rooted in differences in power will affect the terms of contracts. Hobbes categorizes powers into “natural”—those eminent capabilities one is born with, or which are developed out of innate capacities—and “instrumental”—those acquired via natural powers, or by sheer luck. Original or natural powers include eminent (1) strength, (2) “form”, that is, beauty to attract (3) prudence, (4) arts, that is, skills, (5) eloquence (to persuade others), (6) liberality, (7) nobility, and (8) natural wit (intelligence, mental facility). Hobbes asserts that people in the state of nature are enough alike in strength and natural wit that none can count on securing their ends without war, but that does 12 Hobbes

offers an account of power in chapter X of Leviathan.

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not mean that there are no smaller differences of strength or intelligence among them. People have differences of “natural wit” that make some more strategic, more clever, or more imaginative than others. Prudence, which is the ability to extrapolate well from experience, is, Hobbes argues, developed over time and with experience, and comes pretty much equally to all in the same age cohort, but with older people enjoying greater prudence than younger people. The two basic means of “mastering” others, that is, of gaining allies, Hobbes terms “force” and “wiles”.13 Wiles may be possessed to differing degrees by different people, as can beauty to attract, eloquence to persuade, and liberality to win grateful supporters. None of these natural powers is the possession of one sex rather than the other. There may however, be small differences between the groups in the degree to which the average member possesses the trait, and differences in the degree to which traits are valued, that affect gender differences in power. For instance, if men as a group tend to be somewhat physically stronger than women and so better at acquiring resources or forcibly taking goods from others, women may value strength and liberality (that is, generosity in using the goods they have acquired) in men more than men value those traits in women. Men may be marginally better able to provide than are women; and women, especially those with dependent children, may value the ability to provide more highly than men do. If so, possession of strength and liberality would confer greater power on men than on women. Any such small differences in natural powers may then be magnified by resulting differences in what Hobbes terms “instrumental” powers. Instrumental are those powers acquired either by natural powers or by luck that enable one to acquire more powers. These include eminent (9) wealth, (10) reputation, (11) friends, (12) good luck, (13) any qualities that make one widely loved or feared, and (14) success. Hobbes’s account of instrumental powers makes it possible to see how even a tiny average sex-based difference in a natural power might snowball—gather mass as does a snowball rolling down a snowy slope—into a substantial difference in power between men and women. Even slightly greater natural strength may enable men better to procure goods, hence wealth and reputation of success, enabling them to gain friends, in turn enlarging their powers in a way that makes them admired and feared, and so on in an ever-enlarging body of power gathering further powers. Moreover, because power is necessarily comparative, and people must desire power in order to secure their ends, those who have power are only rational to use it to increase their power differential. So although powerful men could simply share their advantages with women, they will find it rational to ask for dominion over women and their children in exchange for sharing their resources. And women who need resources and protection for their children may find it rational to decide to forego dominion over themselves and their children in exchange for an increase in their chance of protecting their families.

13 Leviathan XIII.4 (Hobbes 1994). Wiles in pretending to be in contact with divinities are important

means by which religious leaders gather followings in the state of nature. See Leviathan chapter XII (Hobbes 1994).

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Hobbes does not assume that men gain power over women by forcible conquest. On the contrary, his account of natural equality suggests the failure of any such effort. But his account of natural and instrumental powers provides a theoretical opening to explain how in spite of normative equality, tiny gender differences might compound so as to explain some women’s voluntary subordination to some men. A story like this could explain how the parties to the social contract come to be male heads of household, concerned to maintain their state of nature sovereignty over those households within the civil law. If the generality of men had entered civil society in this way—with subordinate women in tow—it would surely be imprudent for a sovereign to release those women from their prior obligations. That might invite the sort of “discontent” that Hobbes identifies as one of three necessary conditions for rebellion.14 It is crucial to remember though, that for Hobbes, all such prior contracts could be undone with a wave of the sovereign’s hand, if it so wished. Sovereigns have complete authority to make civil law, and Hobbes does not dictate the content of what sovereigns may legislate. Indeed, Hobbes could not do so, without seeming to limit sovereign power. No enforceable state of nature agreements are carried over into political society, for if they were, the sovereign’s authority would not be absolute. So if a sovereign desired to write positive laws that empowered women, or disempowered men, Hobbes’s theory poses no barrier to doing so. State of nature agreements that subordinate women may be an insoluble problem for social contract theories like Locke’s that require sovereigns to honor pre-political entitlements, but they cannot be any problem at all for Hobbes’s theory. We conclude that Hobbes’s political theory in no way necessitates the subordination of women. Hobbes stipulates women’s normative and natural equality in a state of nature; and his account of natural maternal dominion over children suggests that a state of nature might easily have involved contention among matriarchal families rather than atomic individuals. Natural law does not deprive women of their equal status; neither civil law nor the sovereign’s interpretation of divine positive law requires subordinating women. Nevertheless, Hobbes’s theory of sovereignty contingently allows for women’s subordination in civil society by sovereign fiat, while his theory of power explains how women might willingly have forgone their equal political status even prior to entrance into a commonwealth. This account explains how, in Hobbes’s theory, gender inequality might possibly emerge from a framework of normative and natural equality, without justifying that inequality.

14 Could women’s small superiority in a natural power snowball into a large power advantage for women? In principle, yes, if they have such superiorities and if those are significant enough to override men’s slight group advantage in natural bodily strength. To make plausible an alternative Hobbesian history to the one conjectured, we would need to determine whether there are genderlinked differences that favor women in the natural powers of wit, eloquence, nobility, skills, liberality, prudence, or ”form” ( to attract romantic partners or friends), consider how these might attract further instrumental powers, and compare the result with the expected position of men.

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11.3 Rawls Let us now consider John Rawls, whose theory provides the other bookend in the Twentieth Century to the modern social contract tradition begun by Hobbes in the Seventeenth. Rawls declared that his intention was to improve on the social contract tradition by generalizing and carrying it to a higher level of abstraction (Rawls 1971, Preface). Doing so was needed in order to prevent bargaining advantages resulting from preexisting social arrangements from rendering an unfair social contract. Rawls thought it to be a defect of Locke’s theory that the social contract reflected the diminished bargaining power of those who had no property in a state of nature by depriving them of voting rights as well. The legitimacy of a property system is one of the very things to be decided by, rather than imported into, a social contract. For Rawls’s purpose of identifying principles of justice, it was also important to abstract from bargaining advantages gained by unfair means such as force and fraud, and even to abstract from contingent bargaining advantages that undermine the equality of the contractors, like differences in the natural and instrumental powers Hobbes discusses. This is because social contract justifications operate by unfolding the implications of our normative conception of citizens as free and equal persons. To this end, Rawls famously introduced into social contract theory a brilliant innovation. The “original position” he substitutes for the “state of nature” of earlier social contract theories situates all parties to the contract symmetrically, and deprives the contractors of any knowledge of either the specific demographics and social features of the society for which principles are being chosen, or of the specific identity of the citizen whose interests they represent, that could enable them to select arrangements biased in favor of their client or biased against others. The original position includes a “veil of ignorance” that deprives the contracting parties of any knowledge of the sex, economic class, race, native endowments, conception of the good and comprehensive doctrine (moral, religious, or philosophical) of the person whose interests they represent in selecting principles of justice to order society’s basic structure.15 This ingenious device makes it impossible for principles of justice ordering the society to reflect preexisting biases, including gender biases, thereby modeling our normative commitment to citizens’ equality. Not knowing the particulars of the citizen they represent, the parties must be concerned about the impact of proposed principles of justice on every social position or demographic. Rawls stipulates that the parties are to select arrangements that will best ensure that the citizen they represent will have sufficient means to pursue the kind of life that citizen values, and to exercise their moral powers to form, revise and pursue a 15 The object of the social contract in Rawls’s theory is principles of justice to order the system of basic political, economic and social institutions appropriate for a modern industrial democratic and pluralistic society that aims to realize the ideals of citizens as free and equal and of society as a system of social cooperation on fair terms for mutual benefit. The object of the social contract is thus importantly different from the object of Hobbes’s contract, which is to settle on a principle of political obligation adequate to ensure a perpetually stable commonwealth, or from Locke’s object of determining conditions for the justifiability of rebellion against and replacement of a crown that is abusing prerogative within a mixed constitution.

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conception of the good, and to have and act from a sense of justice. They are to choose the arrangement that secures for their citizen an adequate package of rights, liberties, opportunities, income and wealth (Rawls calls these “primary goods”). Because the parties do not know the identity of their representee, and cannot calculate the likelihood that he or she will belong to any particular group, the parties will choose, Rawls argues, an arrangement that affords the largest possible package of equal basic rights and liberties, fair opportunity, and a share of income and wealth that maximally benefits those whose share is smaller. Rawls always contended that this particular conception of justice, “justice as fairness”, was correct or most justified. In Political Liberalism, Rawls conceded that he had previously argued for it using appeals to some controversial moral and philosophical doctrines that reasonable persons also committed to the basic liberal political values of freedom and equality might reasonably reject. Because pluralism of reasonable comprehensive doctrines will persist in liberal societies, the right kind of stability for just social arrangements will require that people with differing comprehensive doctrines each be able to endorse the political principles that support those arrangements on the basis of principled reasons stemming from their respective comprehensive doctrines, in what Rawls termed an ‘overlapping consensus’. Nevertheless, what makes an overlapping consensus a realistic possibility is the fact that citizens of liberal democracies share political ideals of freedom and equality. Far from representing a rejection of social contract justification, Rawls saw his argument in Political Liberalism as continuous with it. That argument is addressed more narrowly than A Theory of Justice, to our fellow citizens who share our political commitments; but it maintains the contractarian focus on the consent or endorsement of society’s members in light of their equality and independence. In the words of one expositor, “The idea of an overlapping consensus reformulates but sustains for Rawls the kind of social agreement that underlies the social contract doctrine.”16 Although I emphasized at the beginning that their membership in the social contract tradition per se was not what is of interest in our investigation of the theories of Hobbes or Rawls, I have just stressed the continuity of Rawls’s contractarian approach because it would be a mistake to exclude consideration of Political Liberalism when addressing our question. All iterations of Rawls’s political philosophy begin from a normative assumption that all citizens, female and male, are equals.17 Our question asks how from a normative assumption of equality it is possible to arrive at a basic structure that satisfies Rawls’s principles of justice yet allows for women’s subordinate position. Our proposed explanation draws on Rawls’s Political Liberalism as well as his A Theory of Justice. a. From formal equality to sexual subordination How then, can gender inequality arise in Rawls’s system? One possibility is that inequality could arise as the cumulative result of choices made by individual women. 16 Freeman

(2007, 370). For an excellent discussion of the relationship of Rawls’s contractarian project in A Theory of Justice and Political Liberalism, see especially 324–331 and 370–371. 17 In Rawls (2001, I.7.3), Rawls characterizes the assumed equality in terms of the capacity to participate in a fair system of social cooperation.

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Suppose that for most people, income depends on participating in a labor market. If women choose to perform unpaid home labor such as rearing children or keeping house rather than to engage in paid employment; if they drop in and out of the workforce or work only part-time; or if they choose to work in poorly paid “helping professions” like teaching and nursing, women as a group may end up with an inferior share of the society’s income and wealth. If many individual women elect not to run for office or seek high status careers, women as a class may enjoy less political power and less social status than men do. In such circumstances, not only may women enjoy an objectively inferior social and economic position, but the perception that they do may affect the terms of their marital and domestic arrangements. Rawls insists that choices such as these, when and only when they spring from the individual woman’s conception of the good or comprehensive doctrine, must be respected as falling under their equal basic liberties. In contrast, similar choices that reflect social discrimination that discourages women’s entry into the labor market, or pays working women less than it does men for the same jobs, rationally compelling unpaid labor rather than wage labor, would reflect an injustice in need of correction. Carole Pateman saw this possibility of contracting into a subordinate position as part of a general paradox in contract thinking, namely that contracts presuppose freedom, but freedom includes the freedom to make disadvantageous agreements— to sell oneself into servitude, to sell one’s organs, one’s sexual services, or to engage in marriage contracts that diminish one’s freedom as well as status. However, Rawls is not vulnerable to Pateman’s criticism of contract because in his system, contracts are not sacrosanct, nor are free-market exchanges. Citizens may not buy or sell items that would undermine the equal rights and liberties, items such as offices, votes, or persons, or that would undermine the fair value of the equal political liberties. And market-contracts must be limited, or undone, by such measures as wage laws and redistributive taxation when that is necessary to satisfy Rawls’s difference principle. It is not liberty of contract that opens the way for sexual subordination in Rawls’s system, for there is no general liberty of contract in that system. The American feminist theorist Susan Moller Okin thought this possibility of gender inequality resulting from women’s choices arises in Rawls’s theory because Rawls simply does not carry his own principles far enough. He applies his principles of justice in the public sphere, but because he does not apply them inside families, gendered divisions of labor and gendered upbringings of children create women who make choices that systematically disadvantage themselves. Girls do not internalize their equality and so grow up to be women who settle for sub-equal shares of wealth, political power, and social status. Okin is very clear in her support for Rawls’s contractarian methodology. In Justice, Gender, and the Family (Okin 1989) she writes that the feminist potential of Rawls’s method of thinking and his conclusions is considerable… if we take seriously both the notion that those behind the veil of ignorance do not know what sex they are and the requirement that the family and the gender system are to be subjected to scrutiny, constructive feminist criticism of these institutions follows. (Okin 1989, 108–109)

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Were we to enforce Rawls’s principles of justice within families, there would be no reason in principle why Rawlsian contractarianism could not secure genuine equality for women. In Okin’s estimation, Rawls’s principles, applied within the family, will eliminate gendered differentiation of interests by requiring that boys and girls be raised just alike, by parents whose roles are undifferentiated. Okin insists that “only when men participate equally in what have been principally women’s realms of meeting the daily material and psychological needs of those close to them, and when women participate equally in what have been principally men’s realms of larger scale production, government, and intellectual and artistic life, will members of both sexes be able to develop a more complete human personality than has hitherto been possible.” Thus a “fully human theory of justice” requires that “the social factors influencing the differences presently found between the sexes… would have to be replaced by genderless institutions and customs” (Okin 1989, 107). Although Okin saw this potential in Rawls’s theory, Rawls cannot accept Okin’s suggested strategy of homogenizing citizens’ forms of life, nor can he agree that family life should be fully ordered by political principles. He makes clear in his 1993 book, Political Liberalism (Rawls 1993) that he believes a defensible political theory must not depend on controversial moral, religious, or philosophical views, including comprehensive feminist doctrines like Okin’s. He regards a pluralism of reasonable comprehensive doctrines as a permanent fact of free societies. There is no reason to assume that in the just society well-ordered by Rawls’s principles of justice everyone would share the very same moral, religious, or philosophical view (or what Rawls terms “comprehensive doctrine”) or the very same conception of what a good and worthwhile life is. To achieve such uniformity would require the oppressive use of state force to indoctrinate everyone in a single view, and to stamp out, kill or expel all dissidents, measures the principles of justice forbid. It follows from the permanent fact of pluralism that a just political regime, in order to be capable of receiving the support of an overlapping consensus of the reasonable comprehensive doctrines likely to flourish in any free society, cannot impose any particular comprehensive doctrine’s ideal of family organization and child-rearing practices. To illustrate, certain religious doctrines, for example those practiced by Orthodox Jews, or Quakers, or some Muslim sects, dictate rigid gender roles as part of their understanding of God’s demands. Girls may be assigned responsibility for domestic labor including child-rearing, while boys are educated to succeed in wagework and to participate in civic life. These gender roles may be assigned by religious views that nevertheless count as reasonable by Rawls’s standard of reasonable: Their proponents do not seek to use state power to require citizens’ conformity with them because they recognize the burdens of judgment, and are committed as a matter of principle to offering public reasons when advocating the deployment of state power.18 Rawls’s principles of justice will impose some constraints on families as well as churches and other associations because the members of those associations do of course have the status of equal citizens in the broader society; but they will not 18 On

what makes a comprehensive doctrine reasonable, see Rawls (2001, Sects. 57.4 and 54.5).

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dictate how associations must operate internally, mandating equality of opportunity or distribution of goods within them according to the difference principle. Churches may deny women certain offices—say the priesthood—and they may expel heretics or apostates although they may not kill them, for those people are protected as citizens. Likewise, families are not permitted to neglect or abuse children even if their religion approves such actions, because children are protected as citizens. But families may differentially educate boys and girls according to the requirements of their religion, so long as all their children receive the minimum education needed for any citizen to understand and exercise their basic rights as a citizen. That core module of education is imposed by the state on all children. This mitigates, but does not entirely eliminate, the damage families may do to the equality of the females raised in them if those females internalize sexist attitudes that limit their ambitions or induce them to accept subordinate roles. Rawls rejected Okin’s proposal, writing we wouldn’t want political principles of justice… to apply directly to the internal life of the family… parents must follow some conception of justice with regard to their children, but, within certain limits, this is not for political principles to prescribe. Some want a society in which division of labor by gender is reduced to a minimum. But for political liberalism, this cannot mean that such division is forbidden. One cannot propose that equal division of labor in the family be simply mandated, or its absence in some way penalized at law for those who do not adopt it. This is ruled out because the division of labor in question is connected with basic liberties, including the freedom of religion. (Rawls 1999, 598–600.)

That is, citizens may affirm protected comprehensive moral or religious views that sanction unequal division of family labor, and so, as Rawls concedes, “considerable gendered division of labor may persist” even in a just society. We may be more reconciled to Rawls’s view once we recognize how very many conceptions of family justice, and not just religious ones, may apportion domestic resources and burdens unequally. Of course, as Rawls insists, in order to acquire the moral power to have and act from a sense of justice, children must be raised in households that model some or other conception of justice. But consider three cases in which a secular conception of family justice permits a gendered division of labor.19 Imagine a married couple of egalitarian welfarists, where she finds work less burdensome than he does, so that their unequal division of labor equalizes welfare. Or a couple whose unequal division of domestic labor reflects their agreement that because she insisted on having a huge house over his preference for a small apartment, it is fair that she do more work for its upkeep than he. Or a couple who divide their labor temporally to achieve a common goal, with her doing most during the childrearing years and him doing most in later years. If the children of these couples are apprised of their reasons—reflecting their conceptions of domestic justice—for unequally apportioning labor to the mother and the father, those children need not be disabled from developing the sense of justice they need in order to participate in social cooperation on fair terms.

19 I

discuss these three cases and their implications in greater detail in Lloyd (1995, 1338–1344).

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However, in these cases, the gendered aspect of the division of labor is accidental or incidental, whereas in the case of a religious comprehensive doctrine it may be intended and principled. Still, Rawls insists, as long as that gendered division of labor flows from a permissible comprehensive doctrine, we may not permissibly legally prohibit it. In practice then, Rawls’s just well-ordered society still allows that parents may, on religious grounds given by their reasonable doctrines, permissibly indoctrinate their children into gendered roles that end up negatively impacting the ambitions, positions, and earning power of their girls when they become adult women. Depending upon how widespread such religious views happen to be in society, the cumulative result of choices in families may be a society in which women enjoy far less political power, economic power, and opportunity than do men. Rawls found the possibility of such a result regrettable. While his theory cannot rule out that possible result, neither does his theory require it; and nothing in Rawls’s theory precludes public efforts to counteract familial efforts to indoctrinate gendered roles.20

11.4 Conclusion What lessons can we learn from this study of the two most egalitarian social contract theories? Theories that, although stipulating normative and natural equality in principle, still allow for sexual subordination in practice? It would perhaps be comforting to think that in the case both of Hobbes’s theory and of Rawls’s, practical sexual subordination results from a misapplication or distortion of the formally egalitarian theory. Alas, these outcomes are not the result of error in applying the theory. In the case of Hobbes’s theory, small natural differentials in power might compound through social magnifiers to such a degree that women’s bargaining power is systematically degraded to the point that they will find it rational to agree to arrangements assigning them a subordinate status; and in any event, sexual inequality may permissibly be introduced by sovereign fiat. In the case of Rawls’s theory, the commitment of liberal societies to free exercise of religion, including tolerance of religions that assign rigid gender roles, precludes interfering with the child-rearing practices of families even when those have the cumulative result of decreasing the status and bargaining power of women across the whole society. Understanding why even these two most egalitarian of all social contract theories may fail to secure sexual equality forces us to focus on features of our own societies that hold women down, despite our creeds of equality for all. Incremental accretions of powers that magnify power, as well as freedom to inculcate our own gender prejudices in the next generation, explain how it is possible that despite our principled commitment to sexual equality, our practice disappoints. We are so accustomed to these features of our society that they have become invisible to many of us. But observing the same phenomena at the distance of philosophical theory invites us to 20 I believe that Rawls’s theory contains the resources needed to address practical gender inequality, and pursue this question in Lloyd (1998).

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focus attention on them, and enables us to make a more critical assessment of our own practice.

References Freeman, S. (2007). Rawls. London: Routledge. Hobbes, T. (1969). The elements of law, ed. by F. Tönnies. London: Frank Cass and Co. Ltd. Hobbes, T. (1994). Leviathan, ed. by E. Curley. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. Hobbes, T. (1997). On the Citizen, ed. by R. Tuck & M. Silverthorne. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Lloyd, S. A. (1995). Situating a feminist criticism of John Rawls’s Political Liberalism. Loyola Law Review, 28(4), 1319-44. Lloyd, S. A. (1998). Toward a liberal theory of sexual equality. Journal of Contemporary Legal Issues, 9, 203–223. Lloyd, S. A. (2020). By Force or Wiles: Women in the Hobbesian Hunt for Allies and Authority. Hobbes Studies, 33(1), 5-28. Okin, S. M. (1989). Justice, gender and the family. New York: Basic Books. Pateman, C. (1988). The sexual contract. Cambridge: Polity Press and Stanford: Stanford University Press. Rawls, J. (1971). A theory of justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rawls, J. (1993). Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press. Rawls, J. (1999). The idea of public reason revisited. In S. Freeman (Ed.), John Rawls collected papers. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rawls, J. (2001). Justice as fairness: A restatement. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press.

Index

A Abbey, R., 12 Abella of Salerno, vii Abercromby, David, 88 Achilles, 73 Acquaro Graziosi, M.T., 132 Adam, 63, 95, 167, 199 Agnesi, M.G., 148, 156 Agrippa of Nettsheim, C., 68 Alaimo, S., 119 Alberti, Leon Battista, 7–10 Albizzi-Tagliamochi, B., 72 Aldini, G., 154 Alfonzetti, B., 133 Allen, P., 9 Alonso Alonso, M., 64 Amhed, S., 119 Amoretti, C., 148, 150 Amoretti, M.P., 151 Anaximander, 64 Anderson, P., 5, 7, 19 Andreini, I., 72 Animato, C., 139 Anna, Queen of Poland, 57 Anstey, P., 82, 89, 94, 98, 99 Apollo, 71 Aquilecchia, G., 169, 172 Aquinas, Thomas of, 11 Arago, F., 124 Aragona, Bona Sforza, 57 Aragona, Eleonora of, vi Aragona, Tullia d’, 5, 6, 25–40, 72 Arato, F., 133 Arcangeli, L., 156 Ardinghelli, M., 123, 124, 128–140 Ariosto, L., 14, 72

Aristotle, 5, 11, 16, 58–62, 64, 70, 73, 108, 109, 179, 180 Armellini, G., 65 Aurelius, M., 60 Avicenna, 63, 64

B Bacon, F., 107, 112, 117 Badesi, L., 149, 152 Badinter, É., 127 Baker, P., 156 Baldassarri, G., 133 Baldini, E., 66 Bammer, A., 106 Banateanu, 4 Baratto, A.F., 4 Barbapiccola, G.E., 129 Barbarisi, G., 148 Barbaro, F., 11 Barberi Squarotti, G., 163, 164 Bardi di Vernio, G., 73 Barre, Poulain de la, 177 Bartholmèss, C., 163 Basil of Caesarea, 188 Bassi, L., 148, 151, 156 Bassi, S., 169 Báthory, S., 57, 63 Bellincioni, M., 5 Bembo, P., 13, 33, 71 Bensaude-Vincent, B., 125 Benson, P., 6 Bergalli, L., 66 Bergman, H., 128 Bernardino da Siena, 11 Bernardi, W., 131

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 S. Ebbersmeyer and G. Paganini (eds.), Women, Philosophy and Science, Women in the History of Philosophy and Sciences 4, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44548-5

211

212 Berti, D., 163, 166 Bertucci, P., 132, 133, 139, 140 Berzeviczy, M., 63, 65 Bettoli, G., 75 Betussi, 74 Bianchi, L., 60 Biraghi, C., 66, 68 Birch, T., 82, 92, 100 Birke, L., 120 Biroli, G., 155 Bjoernstaehl, J.J., 134 Blondel, C., 125 Blundell, M., 4 Boas, M., 90 Boccaccio, G., 6, 12, 74, 107 Bogucka, M., 61 Boissier de Sauvages, F., 136 Bologna, C., 63, 72, 151, 153, 156, 163 Bolzoni, L., 72 Bonis, G., 57 Bonizzoni, G., 152 Borghero, C., 129 Borghese, S., 76 Borghi, L., 120 Borrelli, A., 128, 139 Borzelli, A., 66 Bosley, V., 183 Bowerbank, S., 85, 86 Boyle, D., 119 Boyle, R., 81–83, 85–87, 89–91, 94, 96, 99, 100 Bray, A., 5 Breme, A., 153 Bret, P., 138 Brigaglia, A., 135 Broad, J., vii Brucker, J., vii Bronzini, C., 67, 68 Brunetti, R., 153 Bruni, L., 10 Bruno, G., 63, 163–173 Buffon, G.L., 123, 126, 130, 137, 138 Burckhardt, K., 68 Burget, G.E., 130 Byron, G.G., 106

C Caine, B., 4 Caianello, S., 137 Calabrese, R., 65 Calaresu, M., 139 Campanella, T., 62, 72

Index Campiglia, M., 56 Canone, E., 169 Cantarutti, G., 137 Capra, F., v Carandini, S., 163 Carannante, S., 167 Caravelli, V., 131 Carinci, E., 57, 64 Carli de’, A., 150 Carneiro, A., 126 Caroti, S., 60 Casaubon, I., 92 Casaubon, M., 92, 93 Casini, P., 137 Castellano, G., 129 Castellucci, P.Q., 132 Castiglione, 6, 15 Castiglioni, T.. See Ciceri, T., 148 Catherine, St., 188 Cavaillé, J.P., 113 Cavazza, M., 130, 156 Cavendish, M., 69, 77, 81–88, 90–101, 105, 107, 109, 110, 114–119 Cavendish, W., 77, 85, 107 Cecere, I., 131 Celesia, P.P., 137 Cerausio, C., 132 Cereta, L., 20 Ceriani, G., 154 Ceron, A., 4 Cesi, F., 74, 76 Chaptal, J.A., 155 Charles-Daubert, F., 113, 117 Charles I, King of France, 6, 84 Charles II, 84 Charleton, W., 88 Chartier, R., 131 Châtelet, E. du, 127 Chemello, A., 13, 59 Chioccarelli, B., 66, 67 Choquet-Bruhat, Y., 124 Christina of Sweden, 190 Ciardi, M., 125 Ciceri, C.L., 148 Ciceri, T., 147–151, 156 Cicero, 5, 8, 14–16 Ciliberto, M., 167, 168 Circe, 166, 169 Clairaut, A.C., 134 Clarke, E., 11 Classen, A., 5 Cleonesio, L., 132 Cleopatra, 169

Index Clericuzio, A., 127 Clucas, S., 98, 170 Colonna, Marcantonio, 66 Colonna, V., 67, 71 Comi, V., 129 Contarino, R., 9 Conway, A., 41, 43, 44, 46, 48 Coole, D., 119 Coontz, S., 11 Cooper, M., 11 Coppini, R.P., 135 Cornaro, E.L., 151 Corso, R., 67 Cortese, I., 55 Cossutta, C, 105 Costa, M., 71 Costa-Zalessow, vi Cottegnies, L., 112, 113 Coudert, A., 41, 43 Cox, V., 6, 13, 15, 71, 72 Craig, W., 4 Crawford, P., 86 Crescimbeni, G.M., 133 Crisciani, C., 138 Crispo, C., 135 Crosland, M.P., 131 Cudworth, D., viii Cugnoli Pattaro, S., 148 Cummins, J., 97 Curtis-Wendlandt, L., 26, 29, 30, 32, 33, 35, 36, 39, 40 Curzio, C., 135 Cusano, N., 137 Cyrano de Bergerac, H.S., 112, 113

D Dandolo, V., 150 D’Avray, D., 11 D’Istria, Dora, 155 Danti, T., 55 Davies, 11 De Angelis, G., 133 Dean, T., 11 Dear, P., 82 De Brignoli, G., 155 De Kobylin, Andre Glaber, 61 De la Chambre, C., 180 De Lalande, J., 131, 134 Del Bianco, L., 135 Delbourgo, J., 126 Della Casa, G., 67, 71 Della Torre di Rezzonico, C., 154, 156

213 Della Torre, father, 129, 131 De Maddalena, A., 148 De Mattia, F., 139 Democritus, 165 De Pizan, C., 6, 33, 106 Derrida, J., 4, 5 Desan, S., 12 Déscartes, R., 129 De Silvestris, M., 170 De Silvestro, C., 129 Deslauriers, M., 17 Deti, G.B., 74 Detlefsen, K., 98 Devincenzo, G., 17 Devere, H., 4 Dezza, E., 155 Diana, 171 Dido, 169 Digeser, P., 4 Di Meo, M., 100 Diodati, D., 134 Diodorus Siculus, 59 Diogo, M.P., 126 Diotima, 30, 33, 69 Di Sangro, R., 129 Dolce, L., 60, 74 Donawerth, J.L, 106 Dortous de Mairan, J.J., 134 Dryden, J., 92 Dubois-Nayt, A., 6 Du Châtelet, G. É., 127 Ducheyne, S., 127 Dudith, A., 57 Dulieu, L., 134, 136

E Edwards, R., 11 Eleonora of Toledo, 72 Elisabeth of Bohemia, 190 Elisabeth, Queen of England, 169 Equicola, M., v Elissa, 71 Ellero, M.P., 170 Este, Anna d’, vii Este, Beatrice d’, vi Erasmus, D., 11 Erculiani, C., 55–66, 77 Erizzo, S., 57 Ernst, G., 62 Euler, L., 124

214 F Faderman, L., 5 Fahy, C., 72 Farley Kessler, C., 106 Favaro, A., 76 Fedele, C., vi, vii Ferdinando I, 133, 154 Ferrari, S., 137 Ferrone, V., 135 Ficino, M., 26, 33, 43, 48–50 Filarete, P., 59 Filiriaco, O., 59 Findler, P., 132, 136 Firpo, L., 169, 170 Fisch, H., 90 Fitzmaurice, J., 85, 86 Flood, A., 131 Fontenelle, B., 124 Fonte, M., 3, 6, 7, 12–16, 19, 55, 56, 58, 62, 63, 72 Forèsti of Bergamo, G.FV.., v Forteguerri, L., 55 Fox Keller, E., 120 Fraisse, J.C., 4 Franco, V., vi Franklin, S., 120 Frank, M.L., 129 Fransen, S., 130 Frazer, E., 12 Freccero, C., 9 Frede, D., 49 Freedman, C., 106 Freeman, S., 205 Frescobaldi, F., 55 Frigo, D., 15 Frost, S., 119 Fumagalli, G., 150 Furey, C., 11 Furlan, F., 8

G Galen, 58, 63, 108 Galiani, C., 135 Galiani, F., 137 Galilei, G., 55, 74–77 Gallagher, C., 117 Gallucci de l’Hopital, P.F., 135 Gambara, V., 67, 71, 72 Garber, D., 82 Gareffi, A., 163 Garnero, G., 63 Garrioch, D., 12

Index Garzya, A., 129 Gassendi, P., 107 Gatti Silo, G., 149 Gattoni, G.C., 154 Gauja, P., 124 Gavroglu, K., 126 Gay, S., 84 Genovesi, A., 125, 129 Gentile, G., 169, 170, 173 Ghirardini, C., 133 Gibson, J., 27, 28, 32, 37 Giolito de Ferrari, G., 25 Giovannozzi, D., 26, 33 Giovio, A., 149 Giovio, G., 154, 156 Giovio, P., 156 Glanvill, J., 90, 92, 95, 100, 101 Glantzi, E.A., ix Glazer, N., 127 Godwin, W., 105 Goggio, B., v Gondola, M., 55, 57, 61 Gordon-Roth, J., 42 Gorgias, 70 Gottsched, L.A.V., vii Gough, J.B., 125 Gournay, M., 17 Gozze, N.V. di, 57, 61, 63 Grant, D., 85 Grant, E., 99 Graziano, F., 170 Green, K., vii Gregory of Nyssa, 188 Gregory, T., 113 Griselini, F., 129 Gubar, S., 68 Guerci, L., 148 Guerlac, H., 124–126, 130, 137 Guerra, C., 58 Guevara, A. de., 60 Guidiccioni, 71 Gunduli´c, M., 61 Guyon, J., viii

H Hackett, H., 86 Hagengruber, R., 39 Hairston, J., 25 Hales, S., 123–131, 134–139 Haraway, D., 119, 120 Harris, N., 169 Harrison, P., 90

Index Haseldine, J., 4 Hekman, S., 119 Henrietta Maria of France, 6 Henry, J., 82, 117 Heumann, Ch. A., vii Hobbes, Th., 42, 83, 85, 96, 97, 107, 110, 115, 193–205, 209 Homer, 73, 74 Hooke, R., 82, 85, 111 Hunter, M., 82–85, 88–90, 92, 94, 96, 99 Hutchison, K., 82 Hutson, L., 5 Hutton, S., 41–43, 83, 89 Hyatte, R., 4, 6

I Imbriani, V., 163 Isabella, Queen of Castile, vi Iyengar, S., 116

J Jagiellon, A., 57 Janszowski, Jan, 57 Jones, A.R., 70 Jones, R., 85, 100 Jordan, C., 6, 9

K Kant, E., 193, 194 Kaunitz von, W.A., 150 Keller, E., 89, 98, 110, 111, 113, 116, 117 Kelso, R., 31, 37, 38 Kemp, T., 11 Kendrix, N., 12 Kent, D., 4, 6 Killigrew, A., 84 Killigrew, E., 84 Killigrew, M., 84 Killigrew of Arwennack, J., 84 Killigrew, P., 84 Killigrew, R., 84 Killigrew, Th., 84 King, L.S., 136 Knorr von Rosenroth, Ch., 43 Kolmerten, C.A., 106 Kuhn, T., 99

L La Boétie, E., 12, 16–18 Laërtius, D., 8, 14, 17

215 Lagrange, J.L., 124 Lamb M.E., 107 Lami, G., 139 Lancetti, V., 132 Landriani, M., 151 Langer, U., 4, 17 Laplace, 124 Lascano, M., 41 Laura, Madonna, 31 Lavoisier, A.L., 125, 126, 131, 138 Leibniz, G.W., 43 Lena Perpenti, C., 147, 148, 152, 153, 155, 156 Leone, Ebreo, 33 Le Roy, C., 134 Le Roy, J.B., 132 Leslie, M., 117 Leushuis, R., 11, 26 Levati, S., 156 Levine, J., 92 Lirosi, A, 66 Lisi, M., 133 Li Vigni, I., 151 Lloyd, S.A., 198, 208, 209 Lochman, D., 5 Locke, J., 193, 194, 203, 204 Logan Berti, G., 138 Lojacono, E., 129 Lombardi, A., 134 Losse, d.N., 17 Lucas, M., 107 Lucretius, 10 Lury, C., 120

M Macchiavelli, G., 129 MacFaul, T., 5 Macquer, 128, 129 Macrina, St., 188 Maggi, V., 72 Malatesta, Battista, vii Malebranche, N., 179 Manfredi, M., 66, 67 Marchitelli, G., 140 Marcialis, M.T., 129 Maria Theresa of Austria, 148 Mariangela, L., 55, 56, 68, 70–72 Marsh, D., 8, 93 Martel, J., 4 Martin, C., 61 Martuscelli, D., 137 Maschietto, vii

216 Mastrorosa, I.G., 9, 10 Maupertuis, P.L.M., 145 Maury, A., 126 Mazzarello, P., 149 Mazzotti, M., 139 Mazzucchi, L., 152–155 Mazzuchelli, G., 133 McCarthy, C., 11 McCue Gill, A., 10, 20 McGuire, J., 82 McKie, D., 125 Medina-Coeli, C. see Lena Perpenti, C. Menochio, G., 64, 65 Menochio, J., 64 Meroi, F., 168 Merrens, R., 110, 112 Meurdrac, M., 129 Meyer, G., 85 Miccinelli, C., 139 Mill, John Stuart, 12 Mills, L.J., 16 Minieri Riccio, C., 132 Mintz, S., 82 Mita Ferraro, A., 156 Mocenigo, G., 170, 171 Molla Losito, V., 148 Molza, T., 69, 72 Montagnana, 64 Montaigne, M., 3, 4, 6–8, 12, 16–19 Montefeltro, Battista da, v Monti, M., 150, 152 Monti, S., 155 More, H., 42, 43, 84, 85 Morei, 132 Morghen, R., 140 Musaeus, 67 Muzio, 29 Muzio Iustinapolitano, 27

N Naderjah, E., 129 Najemy, J., 9, 10 Nani, L., 155 Nani, T., 155 Napoleone, E., 154 Nardi, B., 63 Nastasi, P., 135 Navarre, M. de, 6 Newman, W., 82 Newton, I., 124, 133, 137 Nieri, R., 135 Nocca, D., 155

Index Nogarola, I., vi, vii Nollet, J.A., 134, 135, 139

O Odescalchi, M., 151 Okin, S.M., 206–208 Oldenburg, H., 88 Origen, 43 Orpheus, 173 Orsini, F., 66 Ostinelli, P., 154 Ottonelli, Giovanni Domenico, 70 Ovid, 14

P Paganini, G., 113 Pallitto, E.A., 26 Palmer, P., 170 Papanelopoulou, F., 126 Pancaldi, G., 149 Pangle, S.L., 4, 17 Panizza, L., 15 Pannella, G., 129 Parrinder, P., 106 Paolo of Tarso, 70 Passano Cocconato, M., 148 Passione, R., 148 Pateman, C., 194, 201, 206 Patiniotis, M., 126 Patrizi, F., 69, 73 Pellegrini, T., 149 Pellegrin, M.-F., 177 Pepys, S., 69, 83 Perpenti, C.L., 147, 148, 152, 153, 155, 156 Perpenti, G., 154 Piazza, A., 155 Picard, É., 124 Piccillo, C., 131 Piccolomini, A., 56, 59, 60, 65, 77 Piéjus, M.F., 60 Pini, E., 155 Pintard, R., 113 Pirillo, D., 169 Pisana, C., 5 Pizan, C. de, 6, 33, 106 Plastina, S., 6, 17, 64 Plato, 10, 26, 32, 41–43, 46–50, 57, 61, 167 Pliny the Elder, 154 Plotinus, 41–43, 46–48 Plutarch, 14, 61, 70 Poincaré, J.H., 124

Index Porta della, S Pomponazzi, P., 59, 63, 65 Pontormo, J., 5 Pepe, L., 153 Perna M.L., 125 Perrone Compagni, V., 63 Petrarch, F., 93 Pogliano, C., 129 Pope, Paul V., 76 Ptolomy Poulain de La Barre, F., 177 Priestley, J., 128 Proba, 74 Pulcini, E., 12 Puliafito, A.L., 163 Pyrophilus, 100 Pythagoras, 61

R Rabil, A., 6 Raimondi, G., 129 Raj, K., 130 Ranieri, Archduke, 155 Rao, A.M., 125, 129 Rappaport, R., 125 Rawls, J., 193–195, 204–209 Ray, M.K., 66, 77 Rayner-Canham, G., 127, 128 Rayner-Canham, M., 127, 128 Rebière, A., 155 Redi, T.M., 133 Rees, E., 85 Richardson, B., 15 Rieger, M.S., vii Roberts, L., 125 Robin, D., 20 Robortello, F., 57 Roca-Rosell, A., 123 Roccati, viii Rogers, J., 89 Rossi, G., 131 Rossi, G.V., 68, 71 Ross, S., 6 Rotelli, E., 148 Rotta, S., 137 Rouelle, G.F., 125 Rousseau, J.J., 12, 193, 194 Rummel, E., 11 Russell, R., 25, 26, 28, 30 Russiliano, T, 65 Russo, I., 172

217 S Sabbatino, P., 165, 170 Sabina, 27 Sacco, L., 153 Sampieri Lepri, G., 148 Santori, S., 137 Sarasohn, L.T., 86, 89, 91, 98, 110 Sargent, R-M., 98 Sarno, A., 173 Sarrocchi, M., 55, 56, 66–69, 71–77 Sarton, G., 124 Sauvages see Boissier de Sauvages, 123 Scanderbeg, C., 67, 68, 75 Scaramellini, G., 153 Schaffer, S., 85, 110, 126 Schiebinger, L., 129 Schwartz, D., 11 Scott-Baumann, E., 69 Sedley, D., 46 Semiramis, 169 Sère, B., 11 Serres, M., 110 Shanley, M.L., 12 Shannon, L., 5 Shapin, S., 85, 110 Shapiro, B., 97 Sharrock, R., 88 Shorter, E., 11 Siculus, Diodorus, 59 Sidney, P., 107, 170 Siegfried, B.R., 91 Sigismund I, 57 Sigonio, Carlo, 57 Simili, R, 148 Simões, A., 126 Sirleto, G., 66 Sirrocchia, 71 Smarr, J.L., 28, 29 Smith, H., 85, 98 Socrates, 30, 36, 47, 49 Solov’ev, J.I., 138 Sophonisba, 169 Spampanato, V., 163, 170 Speroni, S., 29, 33, 58, 59 Spiegel, S., 106 Spiller, E.A., 116 Spinelli, F.V., 133, 134, 138, 139 Spinoza, 42 Sprat, T., 88 Stacey, J., 120 Stampa, G., vi Starobinski, J., 12 Stefan I, King of Poland, 57

218 Stern-Gillet, S., 4 Stone, L., 11 Strozzi, 74 Sturlese, R., 169 Suvin, D., 106

T Tallmadge May, M., 108 Tanucci, B., 135 Tara, A., 154 Tarantino, E., 169 Tasso, T., 72, 73 Tateo, F., 133 Taton, R., 134 Teia, E., 74 Teresa, St., 188 Terracina, L., 72 Terzi, L., 139 Thomas, E., 41 Tiberi, G., 132 Tiberius Timmermans, L., 189 Tirinnanzi, N., 169 Tissot, 129 Todd, J., 11 Todd, M., 11 Tonci, G.M., 132, 133 Torlais, J., 134 Tomasi, F., 133 Torrini, M., 128, 129 Toscano, M., 140 Toschi Traversi, L., 156 Tosi, L., 129 Totaro, Pina, 129 Traversari, Ambrogio, 8 Trinci, C., 125 Trombetta, V., 129, 133, 134, 138 Trotula de Ruggiero, vii Trouille, M.S., 12 Trubowitz, R., 118

V Valerio, L., 67, 74–76 Valerius Maximus, 14 Valla, L., 74 Van Helmont, F.M., 43 Van Helmont, J.B., 127 Van Leeuwen, H., 97 Vanossi, A., 154

Index Van Tiggelen, B., 127 Vanzo, A., 98 Varchi, B., 27–32, 34, 36, 59 Vaucanson, 124 Velasquez, E., 4 Verdile, N., 66 Vernon, M., 4 Vicinus, M., 5 Vigilante, M., 137 Villani, C., 137 Virgil, 73, 74 Visconti, A., 148, 150 Vitman, F., 150 Vitrioli, D., 135 Volta, A., 147–154, 156

W Wagner, G., 109 Walker, 43 Walters, L., 109 Watts, I., 137 Wayne, V., 11 Webster, C., 94 Wertheim, M., 124 Whitaker, K., 81, 84, 85 White, G., 84 Whitney, C., 84 Wilkins, E., 83, 98 Wilson, C., 82, 98 Wollstonecraft, M., 12, 15, 105 Wollstonecraft Shelley, M., 105 Worth, M., 107

X Xenophon, 9

Y Yates, F.A., 169

Z Zambelli, P., 125 Zamoyski, 58 Zegura, E.C., 6 Zemon Davies, N., 70 Zini, M., 153 Zucconelli, I., 58 Zuzori, F., 61