The Art of Philosophy: Visual Thinking in Europe from the Late Renaissance to the Early Enlightenment 9781400885121

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations
Introduction
1. Apin’s Cabinet of Printed Curiosities
2. Thinking through Plural Images of Logic
3. The Visible Order of Student Lecture Notebooks
4. Visual Thinking in Logic Notebooks and Alba amicorum
5. The Generation of Art as the Generation of Philosophy
Appendix 1. Catalogue of Surviving Impressions of Philosophical Plural Images
Appendix 2. Transcriptions of the Texts Inscribed onto Philosophical Plural Images
Notes
Bibliography
Index
Illustration Credits

Citation preview

The Art of Philosophy

ii



The Art of Philosophy

visual thinking in europe from the late renaissance



to the early enlightenment





Susanna Berger

Princeton University Press

Princeton and Oxford

Copyright © 2017 by Princeton

Classification: LCC BH39 .B47

University Press

2017 | DDC 190—dc23 LC record

Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540 In the United Kingdom: Princeton

available at https://lccn.loc .gov/2016013422 British Library Cataloging-­in-­ Publication Data is available

University Press, 6 Oxford Street,

This publication is made possible

Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TR

in part from the Barr Ferree

press.princeton.edu Jacket illustrations: (front) Rembrandt, A Scholar in His Study (“Faust”), c. 1652. Etching,

Foundation Fund for Publications, Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University Designed by Leslie Fitch

drypoint, and burin, printed on

This book has been composed in

paper, 8.3 × 6.3 in. (21 × 16 cm).

Adobe Minion Pro and Scala Sans

BM, London. © The Trustees of the British Museum; (back) Dürer and Pirckheimer, detail showing “Ratio,” in the Triumphal Chariot, c. 1518. Woodcut printed on paper. Albertina, Vienna [DG1934/577] All Rights Reserved Frontispiece: Detail of Chéron and Gaultier, Typus, 1622. Engraving on paper, 29.1 × 18.5 in. (74 × 47 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­ Publication Data Names: Berger, Susanna, 1984-­ author. Title: The art of philosophy : visual thinking in Europe from the late Renaissance to the early enlightenment / Susanna Berger. Description: Princeton : Princeton University Press, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016013422 | isbn 9780691172279 (hardcover : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Art and Philosophy—Europe. | Aesthetics, Modern—17th century. | Aesthetics, Modern—18th century. | Visual communication in art—Europe—History. | Art, Renaissance. | Art, Modern—18th century.

Printed on acid-­free paper. ∞ Printed in China 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For my parents, with love

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments Abbreviations Introduction

xi xiv

1



1

Apin’s Cabinet of Printed Curiosities

41



2

Thinking through Plural Images of Logic

75



3

The Visible Order of Student Lecture Notebooks

115



4

Visual Thinking in Logic Notebooks and Alba amicorum

147



5

The Generation of Art as the Generation of Philosophy

173

Appendix 1

Catalogue of Surviving Impressions of Philosophical Plural Images

211

Appendix 2

Transcriptions of the Texts Inscribed onto Philosophical Plural Images

217

Notes

273

Bibliography

293

Index

303

Illustration Credits

316

Without an image thinking is impossible. —­A ristotle, On Memory

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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det ail o f figure 5

first became interested in the relationship between visual representation and philosophy as an undergraduate, when I studied Hans Holbein the Younger’s sketches for Erasmus’s The Praise of Folly in a seminar taught by Christia Mercer, whom it gives me great pleasure to thank for being such an inspiring teacher. To Jean Michel Massing, my enormously generous PhD supervisor at the University of Cambridge, I owe perhaps the greatest debt; I am grateful to him for his continual encouragement, humor, and extraordinary erudition. During my doctoral studies, I learned a great deal from conversations with Giles Bergel, Paul Binski, Ann Blair, Lina Bolzoni, Laurence Brockliss, Charles Burnett, Victoria Camblin, Stephen J. Campbell, Mary Carruthers, Christophe Erismann, Mordechai Feingold, Roger Gaskell, the late Servus Gieben, Sara Matthews-­Grieco, Hanneke Grootenboer, Anne Higonnet, Howard Hotson, Deborah Howard, Malcolm Jones, Sachiko Kusukawa, Matthew Leigh, Peter Mack, Ian Maclean, John Marenbon, Véronique Meyer, Pierre Moracchini, Shin Nomoto, Zac Rose, Alison Saunders, Alessandro Scafi, Benjamin Seidler, Fanny Singer, Paul Taylor, and Susan Weiss. I am also deeply grateful to Jacob Schmutz and Noël Sugimura for their involvement in this project and their serious and thoughtful advice. Thanks are due to Elizabeth McGrath and Berthold Kress for valuable suggestions on my dissertation. I thank Joshua S. Walden, who read multiple early draft chapters and supported this project from its earliest stages with great wisdom and generosity. Research for this study was conducted with the assistance of a Euretta J. Kellett Fellowship from Columbia University and a Lander Ph.D. Studentship in the History of Art from Pembroke College, Cambridge. I am grateful to these institutions, as well as to the Burlington Magazine Foundation, the Renaissance Society of America, the Huntington Library, the College Art Association, and St Anne’s College, University of Oxford for their financial support. A Samuel H. Kress Predoctoral Fellowship at the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, also offered invaluable assistance. During my year in residence at the center, I had many helpful conversations about this research, and I am particularly grateful to Oskar Bätschmann,

xi

Jonathan Bober, Elizabeth Cropper, Anne Dunlop, Christine Göttler, Marius Hauknes, Estelle Lingo, Stuart Lingo, Peter Lukehart, Mark Salber Phillips, Claire Richter Sherman, and James Grantham Turner for their constructive criticism. My PhD examiners Jill Kraye and Alexander Marr deserve special mention for reading my dissertation so closely and for giving me such insightful advice on how to expand and revise it. Both read and commented on draft chapters of the present work as well, and I am extremely thankful for their useful responses at pivotal junctures. In transforming the dissertation into a book, I have drawn on the helpful suggestions of many scholars. During my time at the Princeton Society of Fellows, this research took new form. I am immensely grateful to Susan Stewart and Mary Harper for creating and supporting an ideal interdisciplinary community in which to test and develop new ideas and research questions. I learned a tremendous amount from all the postdoctoral and faculty fellows. I thank Larissa Brewer-­Garcia, Scott Burnham, Andrew Hamilton, Christophe Litwin, Mira Siegelberg, and especially Jonny Thakkar for incisive comments and friendship. Joel B. Lande was an essential interlocutor as well and read multiple drafts of chapters in the manuscript; I am deeply grateful for his vital feedback. I was fortunate to be associated with the Princeton Department of Art & Archaeology, and thank Rachael DeLue and Michael Koortbojian in particular for helping me to reexamine and rearticulate my thoughts. One of the high points of my time at Princeton was a conference that I co-­organized with Roger Ariew, Daniel Garber, Anthony Grafton, and Jenny Rampling: “Teaching Philosophy in the Seventeenth Century: Text and Image.” My heartfelt thanks go out to each of them, as well as to our speakers and audience members for the many productive conversations and friendships that grew out of the event. I am also grateful to Peter Parshall and Quentin Skinner for their support and for offering rigorous, kind, and helpful suggestions on chapter 5. For advice given to me while preparing this book, I thank Leonard Barkan, Daniela Bleichmar, Michael Cole, Bradin Cormack, Stephen Ferguson, David Freedberg, Molly Greene, Wendy Heller, Sukaina Hirji, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Russ Leo, Noel Malcolm, Alison McQueen, Julie Mellby, Benjamin Morison, Steven Nadler, Alexander Nehamas, Dominik Perler, Eileen A. Reeves, Louise Rice, Volker Schröder, Nigel Smith, and Sophie Smith. Daniel Garber and an anonymous reviewer, in reading for the Press, made copious and judicious suggestions, and it gives me great pleasure to thank them for their helpful recommendations. I thank Anthony Ossa-Richardson, who read multiple chapters, for his learned and generous comments, as well as for encouragement. All Latin translations were done with the brilliant assistance of David Butterfield and Mali Skotheim. Any remaining mistakes are of course my own. A few sections of this book have been previously published in Art Bulletin, Word & Image, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Intellectual History Review, and Tributes to Jean Michel Massing: Towards a Global Art History. I thank the editors and publishers for permission to reuse these materials. All previously published parts of the text have been revised and substantially augmented here. I owe special thanks to Michelle Komie and Ben Pokross of Princeton University Press for their enthusiastic support of the project. I also extend my gratitude to the Barr Ferree Foundation Publication Fund, Princeton University,

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and the Lyon Fund for junior faculty research, University of Southern California, for their support. I am grateful to librarians and curators at the following institutions for their assistance: the Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, the Graham Robertson Study Room of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, the Rare Books Department of the Cambridge University Library, the Warburg Institute Library and Photographic Collection, the Houghton Library of Harvard University, the Huntington Library in San Marino, California, the Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg, the British Museum, the British Library, the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale University, the Bodleian Library of Oxford University, the National Gallery of Art Library, the Bibliothèque nationale de France, the Archives Nationales de France, the Bibliothèque Mazarine, the Bibliothèque Sainte-­Geneviève, the Bibliothèque Franciscaine des Capucins, the Marquand and Firestone Libraries of Princeton University, the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna, the Stadtbibliothek in Ulm, the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich, the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung in Munich, the Biblioteca Nacional de España in Madrid, the Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel, the Grafische Sammlung der Albertina in Vienna, the Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek in Weimar, the Biblioteca Angelica, the Vatican Library, the Universiteitsbibliotheek KU Leuven, the National Library of the Netherlands, the Archiv des Bistums in Augsburg, the Zentralinstitut für Kunstgeschichte in Munich, and the Museo Francescano dell’Istituto Storico dei Cappuccini in Rome. Many friends have provided advice and assistance in a broad range of ways, and I thank in particular Rebecca Berlow, Clara Botstein, Isabel Buchanan, Johanna Da Silva Rosa, Laetitia Drusch, Avery McNeil, Andrzej Rapaczynski, and Tommy Wide. I thank my siblings, Kasey and Matthew, for their love, kindness, and encouragement. And finally, it gives me great pleasure to dedicate this book to my parents. I thank them for their unconditional love and support, as well as for always putting books in my hands, taking me to museums, and encouraging me to see and to think.

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a c k n ow l e dgm e n ts

ABBREVIATIONS

BM

British Museum

BnF

Bibliothèque nationale de France

BRB

Bibliothèque royale de Belgique

HAB Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel KU

xiv

Katholieke Universiteit Leuven

The Art of Philosophy

plate 1

Meurisse and Gaultier, Descriptio, 1614. Engraving printed on paper, 22.4 × 14.4 in. (57 × 36.5 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

Introduction

I

det ail of fig ure 10

n 1619 Martin Meurisse (1584–­1644), a Franciscan professor of philosophy at the Grand Couvent des Cordeliers in Paris, became embroiled in a debate with the Protestant pastor François Oyseau (1545–­1625) about the significance of the rituals of the mass.1 In the course of this dialogue, Oyseau repeatedly criticized Meurisse’s use of engraved allegories for the teaching of philosophy. When Meurisse attacked Oyseau as a poor logician, Oyseau replied that the friar was not competent to judge his knowledge of logic because he was “a logician only in picturing and copperplate engraving.”2 Oyseau then asked, “Are these [faulty conclusions] the consequences of the logic of copperplate engraving?”3 He was alluding to a series of illustrated thesis prints, or pedagogical broadsides incorporating both texts and images, that Meurisse had designed for his philosophy students to use at oral examinations called disputations.4 He condemned Meurisse’s use of “frivolous allegories” (ses Allegories frivolles) in philosophical explications, stating that “arguments founded on allegories are not demonstrations from which one can draw consequences and necessary conclusions.”5 In disparaging these broadsides, Oyseau reached beyond the topic of religious ritual, seemingly aiming to demean the friar by suggesting that his experience of engaging in academic logic was inadequate because it relied on visual materials. Oyseau’s derogatory remarks draw our attention to the vital and controversial role of “visual thinking” in the early modern era.6 Through the study of late sixteenth-­to early eighteenth-­century visual representations of philosophy, this book shows that not only were philosophical definitions understood as contained “in” images, but, more important, their creation and reworking enabled teachers and their students to think through spatial constructs and visual commentaries as a way of articulating ideas. With the increased production of paper across Europe and with the refinement of printing technologies,7 it became increasingly common for philosophers and pedagogues to create, to study, and to disseminate drawings and prints, in order to grasp ideas and to transmit them to colleagues and students. Artists, in turn, drew inspiration from the writings and methods of philosophers in their works and collaborated with scholars or worked independently to

1

represent theoretical subjects. I am particularly interested in the interpretive role visual representation played in both conveying and challenging the ideas of Aristotle and his scholastic commentators. I focus on shifts in early modern accounts of perception, cognition, and the soul’s relationship to the body. I also devote attention to the enduring influence of Aristotle’s logic throughout this period. The central thesis of this study is that in early modern Europe the viewing and creation of imagery functioned as important instruments of philosophical thought and teaching. Visual representations acted as essential tools for the generation of knowledge. Philosophers understood the viewing and making of visual representations as cognitive processes, and images often articulated ideas that could not quite be communicated in verbal language. Vision developed into the model of intelligibility, while drawings, prints, and the processes of looking at and designing visual representations became dominant metaphors for understanding human perception and characterizing the manner in which an observer gains and retains knowledge about the world. At the same time, the intense engagement with visual representations was accompanied by lingering doubts about their role in the creation and transmission of philosophical theories; the nature of these doubts, too, is my subject. In recent years, the disciplines of art history and visual studies have grown increasingly preoccupied with the question of how artists utilize the mechanisms of image making and the pictorial space to think.8 Studies of the role of the image in early modern thought have often focused on theological and spiritual questions.9 Work on the “cerebral picturing” of Leonardo da Vinci (1492–­1519) has been crucial for its delineation of the interconnections among the acts of drawing, thinking, and knowing in secular contexts.10 Scholars writing on Nicolas Poussin (1594–­1665) have also studied the repeated references to the thoughts of his images.11 This book aims to broaden our understanding of visual thought in the early modern era by discussing its operation in previously unexplored, philosophical arenas. The issue of the relationship between image making and thinking has remained a matter of acute importance through the twentieth century and to the present day.12 Here I am thinking in particular of the debate on visual thinking in contemporary philosophy and the related developments in contemporary art that pre­ sent art practice as a form of visual thinking.13 This study of early modern visual modes of thinking through philosophical ideas introduces precedents to more recent practices of visual thinking. There are two particularly important mechanisms by which the making and study of imagery function as a mode of philosophical thought at this time. First, artists and philosophers use the space of the page to map theoretical relationships. Consequently, I argue that in creating and viewing these diagrams, students and teachers were thinking through the mechanism of spatial constructs. Second, in examining figurative images, I contend that these representations function through the mechanism of visual commentary. Both spatial constructs and visual commentaries are part of a common project of philosophical thinking through visual representation. What is a “visual commentary”? In his Dictionnaire universel of 1690 Antoine Furetière (1619–­1688) offers the following account of commentary:

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An interpretation, gloss, addition that one makes to an obscure or difficult author to render it more intelligible, to supplement to that which he has not explained well, or which he assumed was known.14 The Académie française dictionary of 1694 defines a commentary as “an explanation, clarification, observations, and remarks on some author to explain and illustrate his work.”15 It is in these senses that I am employing the notion of visual exegesis.16 I am interested in uncovering the interpretations, explanations, and observations that visual commentaries provide on philosophy. I believe that in the switch from the discursive to the visual, there inevitably is some sort of shift or interpretation of meaning. I refer to these early modern philosophical pictures as “visual commentaries” in order to emphasize that they are not solely illustrating already-­extant concepts; rather, they are offering new and enriching “additions” to philosophical ideas.

Visual Order Historians of the early modern era have argued that Europeans experienced an “information explosion” between 1550 and 1750, related to a set of factors that included the rising production of printed books, travel and the discovery of new lands, the retrieval of ancient texts, and a passionate interest in gathering information.17 Over the last two to three decades, a new area of cultural history has developed that focuses on institutions of knowledge and seeks to understand how information has been organized and managed in the past.18 Scholars have studied a range of collections and learning aids including reference books, cabinets of curiosities, botanical gardens, archives, and encyclopedias that were employed during the early modern period and earlier to manage an overabundance of information.19 This book introduces visual counterparts to the textual strategies of selection, encapsulation, and recombination employed by Aristotelian and anti-­Aristotelian scholars and students in this period.20 Many early modern philosophical images were the products of a particular moment in European history, when a method of transmitting knowledge aimed at optimizing efficiency through the clear presentation of information began to flourish. Although these visual representations helped to organize and transmit ever-­expanding fields of knowledge, it is necessary to emphasize that they are not reductive in character. One of the aims of my study is to demonstrate that these images, rather than merely simplifying preexisting philosophical concepts, enrich theoretical knowledge by bringing it into visual form both in combination with words and independently of texts.

The Documents The documents that are the subject of this study include prints and drawings from student lecture notebooks, alba amicorum (friendship albums), printed books, and broadsides. Most of the works that I discuss were produced in Paris, though I also pre­­sent materials created in Rome, London, Leuven, Leiden, Halle, Speyer, Braunschweig, Mexico, and elsewhere, and I introduce scholars and artists who visited many of these

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places. As prints and drawings were frequently exchanged across and beyond the European continent, I have found it fruitful to write a transnational study of philosophical visual representations. The thesis prints produced between 1614 and 1618 by Meurisse in collaboration with the engraver Léonard Gaultier (1560/61–­1635) are among the most important early modern images of philosophy, and in the chapters that follow I show how their inventive iconography inspired new visualizations of thought in a range of drawn and printed sources.21 These broadsides are annotated with quotations from the writings of classical and scholastic philosophers; they depict natural entities, landscapes, and architectural structures adorned with figures, animals, and objects. The first, a summary of logic entitled Artificiosa totius logices descriptio (Artful description of logic in its entirety), hereafter Descriptio, appeared in 1614 (see plate 1).22 The following year, Meurisse and Gaultier produced the Clara totius physiologiae synopsis (Clear synopsis of physics in its entirety), hereafter Synopsis, which visualizes Aristotelian natural philosophy (fig. 1).23 Their third philosophical broadside, the Laurus metaphysica (Laurel of metaphysics) of 1616, represents metaphysics; their fourth, Tableau industrieux de toute la philosophie morale (Artful table of moral philosophy in its entirety), hereafter Tableau, which appeared in 1618, depicts moral philosophy (figs. 2 and 3).24 In addition, this study devotes considerable attention to a fifth thesis print, entitled Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas (Scheme of the necessity of logic for grasping the other branches of knowledge), hereafter Typus, that—­as I show in chapter 2—­was inspired by the Descriptio (see plate 2).25 Gaultier also engraved this broadside, which appeared in 1622 and was designed by the Carmelite philosophy professor Jean Chéron (1596–­1673). Jean Messager (1572–­1649) published the thesis prints of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier.26 Appendix 1 provides precise measurements of these and other philosophical broadsides, which are all impressive in scale; in fact, many consist of two large sheets of paper that have been glued together. I have included a photograph of the Typus, which measures 29.1 × 18.5 in. (74 × 47 cm), juxtaposed with a hand, measuring 7 × 4.3 in. (18 × 11 cm), to convey the monumental dimensions of these prints (fig. 4). Producing these extravagant engravings required a tremendous amount of work and close collaboration among Meurisse/Chéron, Gaultier, anonymous engravers of lettering, Messager, and patrons.27 The effort and significant cost expended to create these and other philosophical images attest to how highly prints were valued in the study and transmission of philosophy.28 The broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier had a relatively small-­scale but international impact on the teaching of philosophy throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The Descriptio, Laurus metaphysica, and Tableau were reproduced and translated into English by Richard Dey, a graduate of the University of Cambridge, in mid-­seventeenth-­century London, while a copy of Meurisse’s Synopsis was displayed at the anatomy theater of the University of Leiden by Ottho van Heurne (1577–­1652), professor of medicine.29 Meurisse’s acclaim as a designer of illustrated broadsides was also reported by the Hungarian traveler Márton Szepsi Csombor (1594–­1623) in his Europica varietas (1620), written, despite the Latin title, in his native language. In May

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1618 Csombor arrived in France and soon reached Paris, where he immediately searched for Meurisse: “I was anxious above all else to become acquainted with the celebrated, renowned, and highly intelligent friar, who with great mastery put the entire philosophy course on a[n engraver’s] plate.”30 Even though these philosophical visualizations had an international reputation in the early modern period, the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier have been largely forgotten, and although there is great interest among intellectual historians today in challenges to Aristotelian orthodoxies during the so-called scientific revolution, no major study has focused on the visual documents integral to this epistemic shift. Some intellectual historians have claimed that visual representation was rarely used in Aristotelian scholastic philosophy education and thought,31 aligning the rise of image making in pedagogy and scholarship with the emergence of the new philosophies in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In recent years, a newly emerging and rich body of scholarship has started to explore the frescoes, oil paintings, prints, and drawings relating to the works of anti-­Aristotelian philosophers such as Galileo Galilei (1564–­1642) and Thomas Hobbes (1588–­1679).32 In this book I argue that these studies consider only part of a larger story, and that artworks and the production of visual materials were, in fact, vital in the early modern intellectual movements that embraced and developed Aristotelian thought, as evidenced by the multiplicity of visual representations found among pedagogical and scholarly materials from the period. It is appropriate that not only the “new” philosophers but also Aristotelian scholastic thinkers made use of pedagogical images, since Aristotle himself employed visual representations when giving his lectures. He mentions a diagram exhibiting contrary vices and virtues in the Nicomachean Ethics (2.7, 1107a32–­33). Tables are included in the Eudemian Ethics (2.3, 1220b36–­1221a) and in On Interpretation (13, 22a22–­31). His biology lectures imply that he made use of anatomical diagrams; and from his other writings it is clear that he employed maps and star charts.33 He also speaks of the manifold uses of drawing in the Politics (8.3, 1337b23) and even suggests that it might be included among the standard fields of education: reading, writing, gymnastic exercises, and music. Furthermore, he argues that our primary mode of apprehending the world is through our senses. In On the Soul he states, “No one can learn or understand anything in the absence of sense.”34 And he holds that no thought is possible without a mental image, or what he refers to as a phantasma; in his treatise On Memory he likens the phantasma to a painting or wax impression.35 He asserts that mental images are indispensable to the formation and arrangement of ideas: “When the mind is actively aware of anything it is necessarily aware of it with an image.”36 Phantasmata, Aristotle argues, play an important role in furnishing us with the raw materials that are necessary for us eventually to grasp the universals that are the starting point for genuine knowledge. It is therefore fitting that not only the anti-­ Aristotelian avant-­garde but also the traditional university-­based scholastics made ample use of visual materials.

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figure 1

Meurisse and Gaultier, Synopsis, 1615. Engraving printed on paper, 25.5 × 18.5 in. (64.8 × 47 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA4].

figure 2

Meurisse and Gaultier, Laurus metaphysica, 1616. Engraving printed on paper, 21.9 × 15.8 in. (55.8 × 40.2 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA4].

figure 3

Meurisse and Gaultier, Tableau, 1618. Engraving printed on paper, 22.2 × 15.7 in. (56.4 × 40 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA5]. This impression is flanked by two sheets of paper with Latin translations of the text in the engraving. The Latin sheets are not reproduced here.

hierarchy of media

opposite  figure 4

Chéron and Gaultier, Typus juxtaposed with hand to show scale. Engraving on paper, 29.1 × 18.5 in. (74 × 47 cm). Author’s hand, 7 × 4.3 in. (18 × 11 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

13

One of the primary reasons that the engravings of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier have been neglected is that their specialized subject matter is not the sort that art historians generally tend to be interested in. Additionally, it is likely that historians of art have ignored these works, along with some of the other early modern philosophical visual representations that I introduce in this study, because, as prints, many of these images are not in the most elevated of media.37 The Roman painter and writer Giovanni Battista Passeri (1610/16–­1679) remarked that Pietro Testa (1612–­1650) would have been significantly more celebrated had his etching Il Liceo della Pittura (c. 1638) been a painting (fig. 5).38 This work visualizes a program of study for painters that resembled the curricula of university courses on Aristotelian scholastic philosophy. Indeed, those same philosophy curricula also appear in large-­format philosophical broadsides, as in the illustrated thesis prints of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier. Il Liceo della Pittura testifies to the close connections among the teaching and practice of art and philosophy in this period. In the seventeenth century French engravers and etchers hovered between the realm of the lowly craftsmen and that of the respected fine artists. This fluctuation can be explained in part by the relative novelty of their profession: it was only with the influx of Flemish engravers in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries that a class of intaglio engravers developed in France. Initially, printmakers were not admitted into the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture, though some of the academy’s painters also created etchings. The printmaker and writer on art Abraham Bosse (1602/4–­1676)—­an important figure in chapter 5—­was, however, granted an honorary membership. He lectured on perspective at the academy from its founding in 1648 until May 1661, when he was expelled after a quarrel with Charles Le Brun (1619–­1690). Three years later, in June 1664, printmakers were permitted to become academicians. François Chauveau (1613–­1676) and Gilles Rousselet (1610–­1686) were the first engravers to enter the academy in April 1663; that August they were joined by Grégoire Huret (1606–­1670) and Pierre Louis van Schuppen (1627–­1702). The art of printing by intaglio was officially elevated to the status of a fine art by the Edict of Saint-­Jean-­de-­Luz of May 1660. The decree states that because this medium “depends on the imagination of its authors and cannot be subjected to other laws than those of their genius . . . it has nothing in common with the trades and manufactures.”39 The king goes on to argue, “To reduce this art to a guild would be to subordinate its nobility to the discretion of individuals insufficiently acquainted with it.”40 In France, in the seventeenth century, engraving came to be valued as a liberal art, yet it did not attain the level of prestige associated with painting, sculpture, and architecture. These circumstances help explain why these prints have received such scant attention from art historians today. Early modern philosophical prints and drawings often display a high level of technical sophistication; they were created by noted artists, including Albrecht Dürer (1471–­ 1528), Jacques Callot (1592–­1635), Jacob van der Heyden (1573–­1645), and Rembrandt (1606–­1669). The importance of acknowledging the skill of the artists involved in the creation of philosophical visual representations in this period becomes apparent if one examines a pirated edition of the Descriptio held by the Graphic Art Collection of

i n t rodu c t i on

above  figure 5

Testa, Il Liceo della Pittura, c. 1638. Etching printed on paper, 18.5 × 28.5 in. (47 × 72.5 cm). BM, London.

above left  figure 6

Meurisse and Gaultier, detail of Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. above right  figure 7

Anonymous engraver and Meurisse, detail of Descriptio. Engraving printed on paper. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

14

Princeton University.41 Neither the engraver’s nor the publisher’s name is identified in this copy, which appears, because of its lower quality, not to have been executed by Gaultier. The images on the original BRB’s impression of the Descriptio show greater artistic skill than those in the Princeton University copy (compare, for example, the illustrations of men wearing loincloths, figs. 6 and 7). The Descriptio would not have been so effective if Meurisse had collaborated with a less talented engraver. Michel de Marolles (1600–­1681), abbé de Villeloin, whose print collection formed the basis of the Cabinet des Estampes of the BnF, describes the diversity of Gaultier’s artistic output in his 1674 publication Le livre des peintres et des graveurs, recalling the positive reaction inspired by his and Meurisse’s thesis prints:

i n t rodu c t i on

Léonard Gaultier’s somewhat hard style

Nevertheless has its beauty, especially in his portraits; In his book’s frontispieces, enriched by fine lines, In the thesis prints of Meurisse, he pleased by means of their form. He rendered Psyche, the Kings and the Prophets; In their little frames, his illustrations so beautiful.42 De Marolles’s reference to the thesis prints reveals that well after both designer and engraver had died, their prints were still regarded as among the engraver’s most important artistic achievements.

Allegory This study focuses on works that are at once delightful for their technical sophistication and functional, rooted in very specific scholarly and pedagogical contexts. Their beauty and artistry also tends to serve a purpose: they give pleasure in order to inspire students and scholars to engage with philosophical ideas and questions. Many of these images, like the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier, are allegories. Cicero and Quintilian define allegory as an extended or sustained metaphor.43 Cicero writes, “When there have been more metaphors in a continuous stream, another kind of speech clearly arises: and the Greeks call this ‘allegory.’ ”44 To make sense of this confusing definition, we might turn to some standard accounts of metaphor. In the Poetics Aristotle describes this figure of speech as consisting “in giving the thing a name that belongs to something else.”45 Elsewhere he characterizes metaphor as a simile with “like” or “as” suppressed (Rhetoric, 3.4, 1406b20–­1406b23). Homer’s “rosy-­fingered dawn,” for instance, could be transformed into the simile “dawn is like rosy fingers.” An allegory, like a metaphor, leads us to comprehend one (or several) thing(s), typically abstract notions or qualities, in terms of another (or others). In the early modern period it was common to apply this notion to visual representations as well as textual ones.46 For example, the image of a blindfolded woman holding scales and a sword is an allegory of justice, because this image consists of several metaphors. Justice is (like) a blindfolded woman, because she is impartial; she holds scales, because she weighs two sides of a legal dispute; and she has a sword, because she punishes. In short, allegory compounds several metaphors. A visual allegory is a concrete image or set of images standing for an abstract meaning, which by its nature cannot be perfectly visualized. Does this mean that allegorical visual representations can only lead us into error in philosophical discourse, as Oyseau proclaimed? Or is this precisely why they are so enriching? Before the eighteenth century, across all forms of art this genre was considered to be one of the most effective modes of representation, because of its capacity to transmit notions of central importance to large audiences.47 It was valued precisely because of its utility. Counter-­Reformation propaganda was one of the most important forces that gave allegory its vitality. Speaking in very general terms, with the demise of a commonly accepted set of fundamental beliefs and myths and the associated rise of scientific

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empiricism, allegory and functional art were condemned as relics of a medieval world. Denis Diderot (1713–­1784), in his Salon of 1767, for instance, vehemently criticizes allegory as an outdated mode of representation: I’ll never change my mind, I’ll never cease to regard allegory as the expedient of a weak, sterile mind, one that’s incapable of turning reality to account and so calls allegory to the rescue; the result being a jumble of real and imaginary beings that offends me, and compositions suitable for Gothic times rather than our own.48 Despite these pronouncements, his Encyclopédie greets readers with an elaborate allegorical frontispiece.49 In Truth and Method (1960) Hans-­Georg Gadamer remarks on the demise of allegory and functional art: “From the moment art freed itself from all dogmatic bonds and could be defined as the unconscious production of genius, allegory inevitably became aesthetically suspect.”50 This suspicion is manifest to a certain extent in the Lectures on Fine Art of the 1820s, in which Hegel (1770–­1831) describes “cold and frosty allegories . . . in which we cannot believe,” because they are lacking in “concrete individuality.”51 Eighteenth-­and nineteenth-­century attacks on allegorical art promoted the notion that art should meet sensory, as opposed to didactic, criteria. There was a renewed interest in the rehabilitation of allegory in the early twentieth century among thinkers like Walter Benjamin (1892–­1940) and Erwin Panofsky (1892– 1968). In his attempt to restore the original power to this aesthetic category, Benjamin writes, “Allegory . . . is not a playful illustrative technique, but a form of expression, just as speech is expression, and indeed, just as writing is.”52 In appreciating artworks produced before the 1800s, we would do well to be aware of the ways in which our understandings of the criteria that art should satisfy have shifted over time. Allegory must be taken seriously if we wish to understand important developments in intellectual and aesthetic thought in the early stages of the “scientific revolution.”

The Plural Image I will now say something about the formal arrangements of early modern visualizations of philosophy, since the structures of these images are closely related to their allegorical and didactic operations. In order to grasp the formal syntax of the philosophical visual representations at the core of this book, we must note a few basic features of the organization of diagrams. Although they are less artistically sophisticated than the images that are the focus of this study, medieval and early modern diagrams can help us to understand the laws governing the form of early modern philosophical images. First, diagrams often employ geometrical idioms to express concepts pictorially. Second, they tend to combine visual representations with letters or text. A cursory glance at the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier allows us to discern both of these features. All five broadsides juxtapose word and image, and in the Descriptio, for instance, the fountain in the bottom half of the print recalls the shape of a circle; as is explained in chapter 2, it presents viewers with a sequence of notions that are conceptually linked, without being shown in a hierarchical arrangement. The broadside also makes repeated use of rectangles to order 16

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concepts across the space of the page. And in the Synopsis different types of change are visualized in a half circle at the bottom of the print; this geometric shape also facilitates the grouping of a series of items into a conceptual unit but does not show them in a stratified organization. A third, critical feature of diagrams is that they use the pictorial space to exhibit relationships. Philosophical stemmata, which are among the most popular philosophical visual representations of the Middle Ages and early modern period, for instance, map out the constituent parts of a single concept, moving from the general to the particular.53 They typically begin with one notion shown at the top or left side of the page; below or to the right of this concept is a bracket that points to two or more constituent elements; these in turn are subdivided by brackets into more parts; and so on. Stemmata clearly portray the activities of the mind in breaking down a question or problem. Their greatest virtues include their functions as powerful summaries and ways of showing different sorts of relationships. A broad range of early modern thinkers employed this species of diagram. The German humanist Rudolphus Agricola (1444–­1485) outlines philosophical concepts with stemmata, as does the French humanist Christofle de Savigny (1530–­1608) in his Tableaux accomplis de tous les arts liberaux, and the Swiss physician and humanist scholar Theodor Zwinger (1533–­1588) in his Theatrum vitae humanae.54 The Dutch humanist professor Cornelius Valerius (1512–­1578) created broadsides with stemmata summarizing logic, moral philosophy, and rhetoric that he referred to as Anacephaleoses.55 In 1635 Meurisse also authored a booklet composed of twenty-­nine stemmata pertaining to the cardinal virtues.56 Booklets consisting only, or almost entirely, of stemmata became popular tools for students, who would employ these teaching materials to organize their thoughts and memorize the precepts of Aristotelian scholastic philosophy.57 Stemmata can also be found in the works of anti-­Aristotelian thinkers, and they were often, though not exclusively, employed by Peter Ramus (1515–­1572) and his followers.58 Hobbes integrates a foldout stemma of dichotomies into the Leviathan; the Italian scientist, founder of the Accademia dei Lincei, Federico Cesi (1584–­1630) produced highly detailed stemmata of the natural world.59 Diagrams, like rotae and stemmata, transmit ideas onto the pictorial space through a combination of words and simple shapes that show conceptual relationships in clear ways. Sometimes these relationships are hierarchical; at other times they are affiliations of equivalency or of opposition. They allow viewers to grasp at a glance how a subject or concept can be divided into its parts, and how its parts relate to one another and the whole. The individual sections of diagrams cannot be fully appreciated when seen in isolation from the rest of the diagram; they gain their significance and meaning from their location within the image’s system. Conceptual relationships hold diagrams together, create their unity. The artist-­philosophers discussed in this book adopt features of schematic diagrams into their more complex works, which convey philosophical ideas by composing visual commentaries with allegorical representations. Like diagrams, the early modern philosophical visual representations that I introduce are organized by intellectual relationships. They function as effective teaching aids, in part because it is conceptual relationships that dictate their formal arrangements. They are, however, often far more intricate than most medieval diagrams and are perhaps best compared to a combination 17

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opposite  figure 8

Amiens Cathedral, 1220–­c. 1270, exterior view of west façade photographed by Etienne Neurdein. 19th Century Architectural Photography Collection, Kranzberg Art & Architecture Library, Washington University in St. Louis.

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of multiple geometric diagrams and figurative representations. Indeed, an engraving like the Descriptio juxtaposes a circle with a number of rectangles and figures to express philosophical relationships and interpretations. In addition to examining the question of how visual representations function as instruments of knowledge in early modern pedagogical and scholarly contexts, with this project I explore changes in the unity and coherence of prints and drawings of philosophy over the course of the early modern period. Most European paintings and works of architecture produced between 400 ce and 1400 are organized into discrete, individual parts or images that combine to create a heterogeneous whole.60 In many premodern artworks, from altarpieces to façades to ivory caskets, images are never isolated but always juxtaposed with other images that contribute to their meaning.61 The façade of Amiens Cathedral (c. 1220–­1235) is an example of this kind of compound artwork (fig. 8). It contains distinct parts or visual representations that are bound into a system with other visual representations. Throughout this study, I use the term “plural image” to refer to a work that features this segmented mode of organizing space into multiple images that are linked by conceptual affiliations.62 I show how in the context of philosophical thought and instruction plural images continue to be made well into the eighteenth century—­far longer than in other areas of artistic production, where, as noted above, they grow out of fashion around 1400. The peculiar formal organization of the Synopsis, for example, maintains a strong kinship with the structure of diagrams as well as medieval works, like the façade of Amiens Cathedral (see fig. 1). The images on the façade and within the Synopsis are located next to other images; the meanings of none of the pictures in either of these plural images can be fully appreciated when they are seen in isolation. Like the parts of a diagram, the individual images in the façade and the Synopsis acquire their meaning in large part from their location in the network of images that surround them. The conception of space in prints such as the Synopsis or in medieval works such as the façade of Amiens is fundamentally different from the modern model of the “singular image,” or “tableau.” The singular image is independent and isolated; by contrast, the pictures in a plural image cannot, as argued above, be understood fully when seen in isolation. Tableaux are defined by their tendency to show a single moment in time, a cohesive space, and a coherent action. The visual “field” in a tableau is joined together into a homogeneous whole through the implied presence of a fixed observer. Charles Perrault (1628–­ 1703) wrote in his Parallèle des anciens et des modernes of 1668 that only modern artists, or people living in his period, brought figures together “avec entente” or with agreement.63 The Synopsis and other plural images do not strive for the same form of unity as one finds in singular images. The entities and objects of the Synopsis are related to one another through intellectual hierarchies and connections, not unlike those mapped out by diagrams or in the façade of Amiens. A synthesis is created in plural images like the Synopsis through theoretical associations within the philosophical content that is represented in its particular images. The synthesis is primarily conceptual. The distinction that I am drawing between plural images and singular images is of course artificial, and some works contain elements of both genres. A plural image, like the Descriptio, which presents a bird’s-­eye view of a garden, for instance, shows a relatively cohesive space. Yet

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when we examine it in chapter 2 in greater detail, it will become apparent that its organization is not driven primarily by a desire to re-­create a homogeneous, verisimilar picture of the world; rather, its form is designed to convey above all else conceptual relationships in Aristotelian scholastic logic. A singular image is often designed to be taken in at a glance, or, if it is more complicated, traversed in any order, though it is common for the viewers’ eyes to be nudged in certain directions. A plural image usually demands to be traversed in a prescribed order, which relates it to the activity of reading texts. Hence it is particularly well suited to be integrated with texts, placed on a written page, and the like. As emphasized above, whereas in most European artistic contexts, the plural image is gradually replaced by the tableau around 1400, in philosophical and pedagogical contexts, plural images continue to be made well into the eighteenth century. To add a further layer of complication, the formal arrangements of French philosophical thesis prints, a focus of much of this study, have a slightly different chronology from other philosophical pedagogical images. As I show in chapter 1, speaking in general terms, most philosophical illustrated thesis prints before the third decade of the seventeenth century in France are plural images, whereas thesis prints produced after the mid-­1630s tend to be unified tableaux, although there are of course exceptions.64 A thesis print designed and made by Chauveau in 1652, for instance, for philosophy students at the Collège de Clermont in Paris features a unified composition that brings the figures together in a cohesive whole (fig. 9). One of the aims of this project is to chart the ways in which the genre of the philosophical plural image rises and falls in popularity in the early modern period. Because the thesis prints of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier are so different from most other surviving illustrated thesis prints produced later in the century, it is helpful to identify these highly idiosyncratic works with the genre of the philosophical plural image, in addition to the genre of the thesis print. I will now introduce a few other philosophical plural images that are not thesis prints but shared many of the uses that I ascribe to the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier in the pages that follow. The Ordo universi et humanarum scientiarum prima monumenta (The order of the universe and first memorials of the human sciences), hereafter Ordo universi, is one of the oldest philosophical broadsides that was already linked in the early modern period to the engravings of Meurisse and Gaultier (fig. 10).65 The doctor and philosopher Andrea Bacci (1524–­1600) designed the Ordo universi in 1581 in collaboration with the engraver Natale Bonifacio (1538–­1602).66 Bacci, who was granted the chair of botany at the Gymnasium Romanum (also known as the Sapienza) in 1567, conceived of this plural image as a pedagogical aid to help his students understand the relationships among God, the cosmos, and man. The broadside aims to organize information across the space of the page in a clear format that would assist students to grasp and to memorize natural philosophy in its entirety. It is possible that it inspired the similar, though less detailed account of cognition drawn on a man’s profile in the Utriusque cosmi . . . metaphysica, physica atque technica historia (A metaphysical, physical, and technical account of both worlds), hereafter Cosmi historia, of 1617–­21 by the English physician and polymath Robert Fludd (1574–­1637) in collaboration with the engraver Matthäus Merian (1593–­1650) (fig. 11). Although Philander Colutius (d. 1627) began teaching at the Gymnasium Romanum in Rome only in 1603, one year after Bacci’s death, it is more than likely that he saw 20

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figure 9

Chauveau, thesis print with a singular image, 1652. Engraving printed on paper, 37.3 × 24.7 in. (94.7 × 62.8 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6].

his Ordo universi.67 Colutius might therefore have been inspired to create his own logic teaching aid, the Logicae universae typus (Scheme of universal logic), in collaboration with Cristoforo Bianchi (fl. 1592–­1619), partly by the success of Bacci and Bonifacio’s print, which was reissued in numerous editions (fig. 12).68 In his dedication of the Logicae universae typus to Pope Paul V (1552–­1621), Colutius describes logic as the most difficult and intricate branch of philosophy: “There is no part of Philosophy, most blessed Pope, nothing written in Aristotle that is so difficult and so complex as what is commonly 21

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opposite  figure 10

Bacci and Bonifacio, Ordo universi, 1581. Engraving printed on vellum, 25.8 × 18.3 in. (65.6 × 46.6 cm). British Library, London. right  figure 11

Fludd and Merian, account of cognition, in Cosmi historia (Oppenheim: Johann-­Theodore de Bry, 1617), 2:217. Engraving printed on paper, 12.2 × 7.9 in. (31 × 20.1 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

pages 24–25  figure 12

Colutius and Bianchi, Logicae universae typus, 1606. Engraving printed on paper, 29.1 × 19.1 in. (73.9 × 48.6 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6]. pages 26–27  figure 13

Colutius and Buschweiler, Physica, 1611. Engraving printed on paper, 28.3 × 18.5 in. (72 × 47.1 cm). HAB, Wolfenbüttel [IE2].

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called logic, over which even Aristotle admits to have sweated in disputes.”69 He explains that he pondered for a long time how to present this difficult field of knowledge to his students, before ultimately deciding to employ a visual aid.70 In addition to revealing that his broadside was meant to function as a teaching aid, Colutius flatters his powerful patron: “I am aware that this endeavor is owed at the same time to your holiness, . . . let not, I ask, the greatest of men look down on the insignificant work of an insignificant man.”71 Colutius also created a second illustrated broadside, entitled Physica seu naturae theatrum in typum totius philosophiae naturalis (Physics or the theater of nature, according to the scheme of natural philosophy in its entirety), hereafter Physica, in 1611, dedicated to Cardinal Scipione Borghese (1576–­1633), the art patron and nephew of Pope Paul V (fig. 13).72

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This work, which summarizes natural philosophy with a rich combination of word and image, features busts of ancient Greek philosophers positioned on a multileveled stage in a three-­tiered colonnaded theater.73 As in the Roman Colosseum, Colutius’s theater features Doric columns in its lowest tier, Ionic columns in its second, and Corinthian columns in its highest. The sole surviving impression, held by the HAB in Wolfenbüttel, is dated September 1, 1611. Matthäus Buschweiler (fl. 1611–­1620) is cited on this impression as either its engraver or, more probably, its publisher. The Wolfenbüttel impression of the Physica is difficult to decipher and littered with errors. It is possible that the lettering of the first, now lost, edition of this broadside was executed with greater accuracy and skill, although early modern authors did not always proofread their works before they went to press. This first edition of the Physica might therefore have functioned as a more effective pedagogic aid. The Physica and the Ordo universi appear to have been associated with the broadsides of Meurisse and Gaultier already in the seventeenth century: Dey, the translator of the Descriptio, Laurus metaphysica, and Tableau, also produced English-­language editions of the Physica and Ordo universi.74 Because of their formal and functional similarities to the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier and the seventeenth-­century associations among these works, I believe that we should view these broadsides as belonging to a distinct genre, the philosophical plural image.75

Antecedents Precursors to early modern allegorical plural images of philosophy can be found in a range of different media. Perhaps the most important antecedents are the immaterial images created by practitioners of the ars memorativa (art of memory). This book aims to expand our understanding of the art of memory as it relates to both artistic and philosophical education during this period, complementing works on the subject by Frances A. Yates, Paolo Rossi, Mary Carruthers, Lina Bolzoni, and others.76 Aristotle argues that mental images are indispensable to memory: “Memory even of intellectual objects involves an image.”77 In addition, he contends that recollection is aided by regularity: “Things arranged in a fixed order, like the successive demonstrations in geometry, are easy to remember, while badly arranged subjects are remembered with difficulty.”78 These ideas concerning mental images and order were already central to the memory technique formulated many years earlier by Simonides (c. 556–­468 BCE). The pre-­Socratic Greek lyric and elegiac poet was said to have argued that practitioners of the art of memory should learn systems of knowledge by memorizing a series of locations in a prescribed order, which they would then associate with mental images of the information they wished to commit to memory.79 The representational techniques employed in early modern philosophical plural images are closely related to the art of memory: these works feature frameworks onto which are projected text and image representing philosophical ideas in carefully arranged orders. Printed plural images and imagined memory images both feature fractionalized organizations of space. And most philosophical plural images, like memory images, are designed to be read in a particular order; in some cases this is linear in one direction along the page, and in others it involves more complicated progressions through

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the contents. These prints dictate the ways in which they are to be read by their arrangement of concepts and representations of space and architectural and natural structures. This mode of contemplation is analogous to movement along a route or path through the broadside. Indeed, in some plural images figures walk along paths. The metaphor of reading as motion along a path is best understood with reference to the rhetorical concept of ductus, recently defined as “the way by which a work leads someone through itself.”80 Chirius Consultus Fortunatianus, who is believed to have been Augustine’s contemporary, first described this notion in his textbook on rhetoric.81 Ductus denotes a composition’s “flow,” the way the composition leads or conducts its viewer through its stages.82 For all these reasons, early modern philosophical plural images can be interpreted as material translations of mental mnemonic compound images. In addition to the immaterial plural images produced through the art of memory, there are also many material works that can be identified as medieval precedents to the early modern plural image. The ensemble of reliefs that decorates the bottom area of the campanile of the Florentine cathedral is one such premodern allegorical plural image: it shows theoretical knowledge and craft traditions that contribute to the prosperity and redemption of humanity through a variety of scenes and personifications on the faces of the tower.83 The reliefs—­conserved today in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo in Florence (the campanile now features copies after the originals)—­were designed and executed in the fourteenth century by Andrea Pisano (1290–­1348) and workshop sculptors, and may also have been designed in part by Giotto (1266/67–­1337). Shown within lozenges on the south face, for instance, are the theological virtues of Faith, Charity, and Hope, as well as the cardinal virtues of Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Fortitude (fig. 14). Below, relief sculptures in hexagonal frames show Gionitus, who was said to have been the first astronomer, and the mechanical arts of construction, medicine, horsemanship, and weaving, as well as Phoroneus, who was believed to have invented law, and the famed craftsman Daedalus. The lozenges and hexagons that contain these images are all enclosed within rectangles that separate the scenes from one another, while combining them into an orderly, regular grid. The space of this plural image is compartmentalized. These reliefs form a compound image that offers a clearly ordered vision of the relationship of parts of a system to one another and to the whole. The illuminated manuscript entitled Augustine and the Allegory of Knowledge, which was created by Niccolò da Giacomo (c. 1325–­c. 1403) around 1360–­70 for the Lectura super digesto novo of Bartolus of Sassoferrato (1313–­1357) is another intricate premodern allegorical plural image (fig. 15). Augustine (354–­430) sits near the top of the central, vertical axis of this work. Principal biblical characters and philosophers are assembled to his right and left; these include Moses and Saints Paul, John the Evangelist, and Jerome, as well as Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, and Seneca. Although these figures, like Augustine, are rendered naturalistically, they do not inhabit a single, coherent space. The personifications of the virtues, vices, the trivium and quadrivium below, as well as the figures in the thirty-­five rectangles that frame the top half of the image and depict scenes from Augustine’s writings, do not form a single, harmoniously accordant composition. Annotations distributed throughout the work further obstruct the spatial unity of the illumination.

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figure 14

Copies after Pisano and workshop sculptors, south face of the campanile of the Florentine cathedral, fourteenth century. Archivision Base Collection.

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Another compelling plural image is The Triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas by Andrea di Bonaiuto (1346–­1379), which was painted between 1366 and 1368 on the western wall of the chapter house (now referred to as the Spanish Chapel) of Santa Maria Novella in Florence (fig. 16).84 The fresco shows an oversized Thomas Aquinas (1225–­1274) enthroned in the central, vertical axis of the composition, drawing the observer’s focus immediately to the Dominican friar. Near and below the celebrated theologian are personifications of the liberal arts, the theological sciences, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the quadrivium, the trivium, civil and canon law, the virtues, and ancient theology, as well as exemplars of different fields of learning, including Plato, Cicero, Euclid, St. Augustine, Pythagoras, and Donatus, prophets from the Hebrew Bible, and various other biblical figures, saints, and scholars. It is probable that distinguished members of the Dominican order helped create this plural image, giving di Bonaiuto detailed instructions.85 Di Bonaiuto is not, however, mechanically executing the inventions that scholastic theologians explained to him. Rather, he is also thinking through the practice of making art by developing pictorial strategies to explore the structure and limits of theoretical knowledge and the force of divine influence. At the apex of the fresco’s frame, Christ bends forward from the quadrilobe that surrounds him and projects into our space. This illusionistic device signifies his reach into our world, as well as his protection of Thomas Aquinas. Equally thoughtful is di Bonaiuto’s rendering of the spatial isolation of the heretical thinkers Arius (c. 250–­ 336), Averroes (c. 1126–­1198), and Sabellius (fl. c. 215), who sit at Thomas’s feet with

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figure 15

da Giacomo, Augustine and the Allegory of Knowledge, c. 1360–­70. Painted vellum, the full page measures 18.1 × 11 in. (46 × 28 cm). Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid [197, fol. 3r].

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their backs to one another, and who are significantly smaller than him and his colleagues. The platform on which these men are perched projects away from the wall and forward into the space of the viewer, obscuring the sculptural decorations of the two chairs below Thomas.86 Whereas the vast majority of figures in the painting sit upright, the heretics are hunched over. They retreat into their own beings to hide from the world; they are physically and spiritually defeated and isolated. The fresco’s message is clear: whereas we should emulate Thomas and the thinkers around him, we must not fall into the spiritual and intellectual traps set up by these heretics.

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figure 16

di Bonaiuto, The Triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas, 1366–­68. Santa Maria Novella, Spanish Chapel, Florence.

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The most famous precursor to early modern philosophical plural images is the Stanza della Segnatura, which was painted in the Vatican palace by Raphael (1483–­1520) between 1508 and 1511 (fig. 17). This room’s complex organization of space features an overlap of what I have argued was originally a medieval spatiality with the newly emerging, unified space of perspective. The fictive mosaics that adorn the room’s ceiling are compound images, in which the subjects of philosophy, theology, poetry, and law are represented through personifications in medallions and through scenes that explore notions pertaining to each discipline. In juxtaposing the perspectival space of the School of Athens, which like the other wall frescoes might be understood as a unified tableau, with the heterogeneous images of the ceiling, as well as the library’s neo-­Cosmatesque pavement, the room as a whole is structured as a sort of a multidimensional plural image. Yet, as noted earlier, the distinctions between tableaux and plural images are not hard and fast. Despite its use of perspective, even the School of Athens is not fully a tableau, as its meaning is drawn largely from its positioning in relation to the other wall frescos and ceiling images in the Stanza. One may ask at this point, why is there a movement toward the homogeneous, singular image in early sixteenth-­century frescoes like the School of Athens and not in the

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plate 2 Chéron and Gaultier, Typus, 1622. Engraving on paper, 29.1 × 18.5 in. (74 × 47 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

figure 17

Raphael, view of the Stanza della Segnatura, with the School of Athens to the right, 1508–11. Vatican Palace.

philosophical prints and drawings produced over a century later? One of my aims in this project is to uncover the ways in which formal arrangements unfold in different ways depending on the media and contexts in which they materialize. In the contexts of prints and drawings produced for strictly pedagogical and scholarly purposes, the desire for a homogeneous unity emerges later than in certain other media and contexts. When examined closely, the transition from medieval to early modern modes of image making is considerably more asynchronous and messy than art historians might care to admit. Whereas we can already see this desire for unity in the School of Athens or, for instance, the independent and complete landscapes produced by Albrecht

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Altdorfer (c. 1480–­1538) in the early sixteenth century, it is only in the third decade of the seventeenth century that it emerges in the context of French thesis prints, and in the eighteenth century that it develops in some pedagogical and philosophical visual representations.87 “The point about genre,” writes Michael Baxandall, “is that it has responded to and conventionalizes within itself, however tacitly, much about the purpose and effect of the work of art it subsumes.”88 It is likely that this desire for unity appears later in these philosophical contexts because the structures of these visual representations are determined largely by their use. Because these works are instruments of knowledge, it is intellectual relationships and not aesthetic ones that dictate their mode of organization. They help the mind to see, to understand, and to remember philosophy by showing viewers how they might picture concepts internally. Because the didactic operations of these works are so critical, they are organized by relationships among immaterial ideas, rather than being structured by conventional modes of capturing a verisimilar viewpoint of nature. In order to engage with these plural images, viewers must understand how they are bound together. Viewers synthesize these images in their minds, not by recognizing a single reality depicted in the picture, but rather by understanding their conceptual connections and unity.

Wars of Religion and Philosophy In The Massacre of Paris, a play written by Christopher Marlowe (1564–­1593) around 1592, the Duke of Guise denounces Ramus for propagating the use of stemmata of dichotomies in the practice of philosophy: He that will be a flat decotamest,

And seen in nothing but Epitomies: Is in your judgment thought a learned man.89 Ramus defends himself: I knew the Organon [that is, Aristotle’s logical writings] to be confusde. And I reduc’d it into better forme.90

Marlowe’s dialogue emphasizes the controversial nature of the philosophical diagrams recommended and employed by the Huguenot convert. Ramus continues by attacking the “blockish” scholastic philosophers at the Sorbonne, who “Attribute as much unto their workes, / As to the service of the eternall God.”91 Whereupon the Duke of Guise orders his stabbing, so that he can be sent “to his friends in hell.”92 Ramus was indeed murdered during the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre of 1572. I am recounting this violent scene from The Massacre of Paris because I would like to stress that an attack on Aristotelian philosophy in early modern France, especially one launched by a Protestant thinker, was often interpreted as an attack on the Catholic church and state. For hundreds of years, Aristotelian scholastic philosophers had labored to reconcile Aristotle’s positions with the tenets of theology; as a result, to go against

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Aristotle was to go against the church and state. In the aftermath of the religious wars of the sixteenth century and the assassination of Henri IV (1553–­1610), the French state and Catholic church grew wary of anti-­Aristotelian ideas, which they feared could undermine their authority, as they typically associated its advocates with those of Protestant positions. By the early 1600s, there had already been centuries of debate as to how Aristotle’s ideas should be understood, and a variety of different schools of interpretation had developed.93 Professors of philosophy in late sixteenth-­and early seventeenth-­century Paris believed it their calling to explain Aristotle’s ideas to their pupils, rather than to delve into the criticisms of his writings formulated by Ramus and others.94 With the support of the Paris Parlement and the Catholic church, the University of Paris protected the dominance of the Aristotelian tradition. In an effort to control the doctrinal content of classes offered outside its walls, the university required all students who wanted to be considered for theology bachelor’s degrees to present their philosophy notebooks to the Faculty of Theology.95 Similarly, before it was brought to the printer, a thesis print needed to be approved by numerous officials, who upon signing the document became responsible for its content. It was illegal to alter a thesis print once it had been signed.96 The prints of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier are all marked with the words “Cum privilegio Regis,” or “Avec privilège du Roi” (With the privilege of the King), to indicate that the authors had received official approval for their publications.97 In August 1624 Étienne de Clave, Jean Bitaud, and Antoine de Villon (1589–­after 1647) distributed a thesis print with fourteen theses attacking Aristotelian doctrines.98 After the Faculty of Theology formally denounced a number of the theses, the three were prohibited from teaching within the jurisdiction of the university and were expelled from Paris. On September 4 of that year the Paris Parlement forbade anyone “on pain of death to sustain or teach any maxims against the ancient and approved authors, or to undertake any disputation other than those that will be approved by the doctors of the said Faculty of Theology.”99 The Parisian authorities condemned the theses of de Clave, Bitaud, and de Villon on the grounds that they were formulated primarily to attract attention and create scandal, rather than to serve as serious conduits to productive intellectual debate.100 The writer and novelist Charles Sorel (1602–­1674) offers further insights into why the thesis print caused such a stir: Every day when there are debates in the colleges in philosophy classes, although the opinions of this Philosopher [that is Aristotle] are contradicted, it can be said that this is an exercise, and that the debate is always concluded in his favor. Instead Villon aimed to make Aristotle lose his debate. . . . This is why he was banned from defending the theses.101 One of the banned theses attacked Aristotle’s theory of matter and form, which had dangerous theological implications. The mathematician, philosopher, and Minim friar Marin Mersenne (1588–­1648) explains, “If there is no form and no matter, then man has neither body nor soul, something contrary to the belief of the Catholic faith.”102 The controversial thesis print survives, and it includes no imagery.103 This episode is nevertheless important to the present study, as it highlights the stakes involved in attacking Aristotelian philosophy in this period and context.104

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The state and church continued to fight against new philosophies as the century progressed and Cartesianism gained increasingly in influence. In 1671 the archbishop of Paris François Harlay de Champvallon (1625–­1695) issued a decree from Louis XIV (1638–­1715) to the University of Paris urging them to ban “certain opinions” (certaines opinions) that “could bring some confusion into the explanation of our mysteries” (qui pouroit apporter quelque confusion dans l’explication de nos Mysteres).105 In response, the Faculty of Theology passed a decree in which professors were instructed not to teach new doctrines.106 Although the decree did not explicitly cite René Descartes (1596–­1650), it was his brand of anti-­Aristotelian philosophy that gave the king cause for concern.107 The teaching of philosophy was regulated at other universities in Europe as well. The 1567–­68 and 1639 statutes of the University of Leuven, for instance, specified that the curriculum should adhere to the writings of Aristotle.108 In 1658 lectures in Leuven began to reflect Cartesian doctrines.109 No official regulations by the university pertaining to the changes of 1658 have survived, and an official document of reforms may never have been drafted.110 Conspicuous allegiance to the new philosophies of Descartes, Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–­1543), and other anti-­Aristotelian thinkers could lead to punishment in Leuven as in Paris. A controversy arose in 1691, for instance, again around the publication of an anti-­Aristotelian thesis print. The document in question was written and defended by Martin-­Etienne van Velden (1664–­1724), royal professor of mathematics, who was suspended twice.111 In July 1691 the renowned scientist Christiaan Huygens (1629–­1695) wrote to his brother about van Velden’s plight to ask for his assistance: [Van Velden] recently published and defended theses in which not only does he advance the opinions of Descartes and the mobility of the earth in accordance with the Copernican system, but he also discusses somewhat freely the uselessness of the scholastic philosophy, which some of these ancient doctors could not endure, [and] they have therefore accused him before the apostolic nuncio, who is in Brussels, in order to make him intervene with the Rector of the University to imprison our Philosopher, who could thus become a martyr of the Cartesian doctrine. . . . See, I beg you, if there is a way to do something for him.112 Challenges to Aristotelian philosophies were considered very threatening at the Universities of Leuven and Paris, even as new theories were growing in popularity outside the walls of these institutions. As in the case of the controversial 1624 thesis print mentioned earlier, what interests me about van Velden’s thesis print is the way in which the history surrounding this document enables us to see the dangers that could ensue from opposing Aristotelian philosophy. Following Copernicus in arguing against the stability of the earth and its centrality in the cosmos, for instance, caused concern, as it was thought to contradict the biblical account.113 At the University of Leuven, Cartesianism at last gained a surer foothold toward the end of the seventeenth century.114 Similarly, at the University of Paris, the dominance of Aristotle and his scholastic interpreters in the field of natural philosophy began to wane in the 1690s.115

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The political and religious stakes associated with philosophy in this period are reflected in a tendency throughout the seventeenth century to link philosophical discourse with military action.116 Not only did the titles of many scholastic books feature militant symbolism, but authors also replaced the neutral verbs of previous generations, such as reiicitur (it is rejected) or contradicitur (it is contradicted) with more aggressive and combative terms, including convelluntur (it is uprooted / dismembered / shattered), destruitur (it is demolished), and exarmatur (it is deprived of arms / disarmed).117 In a similar vein, many philosophical visual representations feature images of battle, drowning heretics and sophists, and students falling off cliffs. The comparison of philosophical discourse with warfare is most obviously exhibited in the Logicae universae typus by Colutius and Bianchi (see fig. 12). This plural image, which I discuss in chapter 2, features the iconography of a defense tower with a procession of soldiers loosely divided into ten groups that correspond to Aristotle’s categories. Although analogies of war with philosophical debate could also be ways of enlivening materials for students, these militaristic philosophical images draw our attention to the seriousness with which professors and scholars took the question of whether or not one supported Aristotelian ideas.

Chapter Summary Chapter 1 explores the ways in which visual representations both succeeded and failed as instruments of knowledge. It opens with an account of a dissertation about methods of learning with mnemonic printed images that appeared in a revised edition in 1731 and was authored by Siegmund Jacob Apin (1693–­1732). The first part of this treatise refers to key pedagogical visual representations of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, including the works of Jan Amos Comenius (1592–­1670), Johannes Buno (1617–­1697), Andreas Vesalius (1514–­1564), and Leonard Fuchs (1501–­1566). Among the philosophical prints discussed by Apin are the illustrated thesis prints of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier. In the second part of the dissertation, Apin presents criticisms of mnemonic images. Apin’s dissertation allows us to appreciate both the early modern interest in epistemological visual representations and some of the reasons for the demise of the philosophical plural image over the course of the 1700s. In chapter 2, I discuss the Descriptio, the Typus, and the Logicae universae typus (plates 1 and 2 and fig. 12). These engravings depict entire systems of philosophical knowledge in a comprehensive manner and a hierarchical format, by showing, on a single page, how individual elements of the system relate to the whole. My analysis shows how these plural images are organized by conceptual relationships; their unity is primarily theoretical. The chapter also mentions philosophical plural images in the logic textbook of Johann Justus Winkelmann (1620–­1699), which was first published in 1659 and appeared again in 1725. Winkelmann’s visual representations combine details of the earlier plural images and show how this genre continued to be employed in the teaching of philosophy well into the eighteenth century. The ideas of Aristotle’s logic held sway for over two thousand years, until the work of Gottlob Frege (1848–­1925). Whereas much scholarship on the “scientific revolution” focuses

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on discontinuities and ruptures, in this chapter and chapter 4, I examine the prolonged and relatively stable dominance of Aristotle in the field of logic in the context of universities. Chapters 3 and 4 explore manuscripts produced by philosophy students from the Universities of Paris, Leuven, and elsewhere to demonstrate the rich and varied roles of visual representation in Aristotelian and anti-­Aristotelian philosophical learning in this period. I focus on seventeenth-­and eighteenth-­century lecture notebooks that contain hand-­drawn illustrations, in addition to printed imagery inserted between pages. The prints and drawings in these documents interact with the text to represent complex ideas in ways that aided students in practicing the art of memory, organizing the subject matter they studied, and deriving rich interpretations of philosophical material. Among the images found in these student notebooks are original etchings by and drawings after prints in Callot’s Balli di Sfessania (c. 1621–­22), Capricci di varie figure (1617–­22), and Varie figure gobbi (1616). In chapter 3, I focus on the question of how images structured students’ engagement with philosophical lessons. I explore the strategies these visual representations employ to order philosophical materials in students’ notebooks. Chapter 4 turns to the notebooks of seventeenth-­and eighteenth-­century students of logic in Paris and Leuven to demonstrate further the ways in which visual representations, including diagrams of the Porphyrian tree and the square of opposition, along with allegorical and figurative illustrations, were critical in the teaching and development of Aristotelian scholastic philosophy. In addition to looking at logic lecture notes, I discuss the visual representations of alba amicorum. The chapter also explores the role of humor in the illustrations in student notebooks and friendship albums. Chapter 5 studies how early modern thinkers understood the connection between the generation of art and the generation of philosophical understanding. I argue that in this period the generation of mental representations was understood through practices of artistic production, and that the notion of generation itself was central to philosophy. In the first section I explore descriptions of cognition that compare thinking to the creation of artistic works. I discuss the accounts of a broad range of artists and scholars, including Dürer and Willibald Pirckheimer (1470–­1530), Bosse and Girard Desargues (1591–­1661), Descartes, and others to show how constant the association between artistic generation and mental generation was in this period. The chapter’s second section examines the celebrated frontispiece to the Leviathan that Bosse created in collaboration with Hobbes. I argue that previous accounts of the frontispiece have failed to capture the full complexity of this etching, and I offer a new, if complex, account of this famous image—­one that emphasizes the process of the state’s generation. Artists and philosophers invested significant amounts of time and money in the creation of philosophical visual representations, and we must take these contributions to their thought seriously if we wish to understand their ideas in all their complexity and richness. This book concludes with two appendixes. The first offers a catalogue of known surviving impressions of some of the most important early modern philosophical broadsides. It presents locations and shelfmarks of these plural images and notes the people involved

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in their production. Where possible, the appendix mentions their dates and sites of creation, offers measurements, and observes whether the broadsides consist of one or two sheets of paper. It also cites broadsides that are now lost. The second appendix provides complete transcriptions of the texts of these broadsides. E

The interaction of images with language organizes in a fundamental way the whole history of art in Europe. It is not just philosophical plural images (such as certain illustrated thesis prints or frontispieces) that are structured by this image-­language interaction; rather, all premodern art in Europe involves language, even if script is not literally present. Most images created before 1800, and certainly all artworks in the more prestigious genres of that period, are incomprehensible without a reference to a text, such as the Bible, Ovid, or Tacitus, regardless of whether that text is literally inscribed onto the visual representation in question. Modern art can be seen as an attempt to sever this connection of images with language. In other words, visual representations produced after about 1800 replace the art that tells traditional stories or visualizes ideas usually expressed in writing with one that captures the individual experience of a genius, an attempt that can never succeed completely, because all awareness has linguistic character. This project focuses on philosophical visual representations to impart an aspect of this larger narrative. The rise and decline of the philosophical plural image is also a story of the demise of language in the organization of visual representations.

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Ch a pter 1

Apin’s Cabinet of Printed Curiosities

A

det ail of fig ure 20

t the cusp of the Enlightenment and toward the end of the early modern period, Siegmund Jacob Apin wrote a treatise on pedagogy titled Dissertatio de variis discendi methodis memoriae causa inventis earumque usu et abusu (Dissertation on various methods of learning, invented for the sake of memory, and on their use and abuse) that was first published in 1725 and then appeared in a revised and augmented edition in 1731. This work offers a helpful point of orientation for the first chapter of this book, since it provides a sort of synoptic view over diverse species of didactic and mnemonic image usage. From his preface to the reader, we learn that his treatise’s inventory of pedagogical images is also in part a description of his own collection of illustrated books and prints. The first chapter of his dissertation introduces and offers brief descriptions of well over one hundred engravings, woodcuts, and illustrated books, many of which are from his collection. He organizes the pedagogical images in his treatise into twenty different subjects that range from philosophy to history to geography to astronomy. With the exception of a few calligraphic flourishes, the Dissertatio is entirely unillustrated. It is possible that Apin simply could not afford to illustrate his dissertation, but it is also conceivable that this reliance on textual modes of expression could be an indication of his waning confidence in the capacities of visual representations to instruct, a topic that is explicitly addressed in the second chapter of the treatise. Apin lived in a transitional era, in which one form of learning and organizing knowledge was dying out and a new one was coming into existence.1 It is for this reason that he is a particularly valuable tour guide to understanding the role of images in early modern classrooms; his treatise allows us to see and to make sense of the waning of the world of visual representation that I am trying to bring back to life in this book. On the title page Apin is identified as the rector of the Aegidien school (in Braunschweig, Germany) and as a fellow of the imperial Academia naturae curiosorum (Academy of those Curious about Nature, known today as the Leopoldina).2 This scientific society was modeled on the Italian academies and would go on to count Goethe among

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its members. Apin studied in Altdorf and visited Halle, Leipzig, and Wittenberg;3 he is also known to have attended lectures in Jena by the Protestant theologian and philosopher Johann Franz Budde (1667–­1729), who in his Elementa philosophiae instrumentalis aims to free his readers from any type of philosophical authority. While the works described in Apin’s treatise and held in his collection were falling out of favor and use in his day, for the previous century they had represented a dominant means of transmitting knowledge across the European continent. This chapter argues that the modes of pictorial representation employed in the works described in Apin’s treatise are designed to maintain their integration with the lived activities of the viewer. I contend that these images are objects of use that guided viewers’ actions, almost like a behavioral road map. In the first section I focus on Apin’s opening chapter, entitled “Sistens varia Eruditorum inventa mnemonica” (Laying out the various mnemonic devices of the learned), in which, as noted above, he catalogues important epistemological prints of the early modern period. My discussion presents some of the strategies these plural images deploy for integrating themselves into pedagogical and scholarly contexts. I believe that we cannot appreciate these visual representations without understanding the ways in which they function as epistemological tools. Unless otherwise noted, all of the prints that I will be discussing in the first section of this chapter are described in the first chapter of Apin’s treatise and were also likely a part of his own private collection of printed documents. In the second section I focus in greater detail on the uses of the plural images of philosophy that Apin introduces, and in particular on the functions of a category of broadside he discusses, the illustrated thesis print. As noted in the introduction, the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier are all thesis prints that were employed in the complicated rituals surrounding academic disputations. In the third section I turn to chapter 2 of the treatise, entitled “Diiudicans allata Eruditorum inventa” (Judging the published findings of learned men), in which Apin criticizes many of the works that he catalogued in his first chapter. This section of his treatise allows us to understand some of the reasons why Enlightenment figures turned away from late Renaissance visual modes of organizing and transmitting philosophy. One of my aims in this chapter is to help us to make sense of the ways these images come to be used in the seventeenth century, why they are considered interesting, and then why they are rejected a century later.

Uses of the Prints and Illustrated Books in Apin’s Collection and Featured in His Treatise On the Usefulness and Use of Prints

Why were prints so essential to philosophical thinking in the seventeenth century? How exactly did they function as “instruments of knowledge”? To answer these questions in general terms, before turning to Apin’s treatise in detail, let us consider briefly a discussion of the utility of prints in the teaching and practice of philosophy in chapter 27 of the treatise L’idée du peintre parfait (1699) by the French art critic Roger de Piles (1635–­ 1709). Already the chapter’s title—­“On the Usefulness and Use of Prints” (“De l’utilité des Estampes, & de leur usage”)—­introduces this mode of visual representation as an

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instrumental medium.4 He begins the chapter by citing the opening of Aristotle’s Metaphysics: “Man is born with a Desire for knowledge,” and, de Piles continues, “nothing so much hinders his informing him as the trouble of Learning, and the easiness of forgetting.”5 In addition to philosophers, de Piles argues that prints benefit “Divines, Monks, devout Men, . . . Soldiers, Travellers, Geographers, Painters, Sculptors, Architects, Gravers, Lovers of the Fine Arts, all that are curious in History or Antiquity,” and those who want to learn.6 Among the sorts of philosophical prints that he finds especially useful are “all the Demonstrative Figures, which relate not only to the Experiments of Physick, but all that may encrease their Knowledge in natural Things.”7 He offers a typology of six “good Effects that may arise from the use of Prints,” though he admits that there are still more:8 The first is to divert us by Imitation, in representing visible things to us by their Painting. The second is to Instruct by a more forcible and ready manner than by Speech: Things, says Horace, that enter at the Ear, go more about to come at us, and touch us less than those that enter by the Eyes, which are the more sure and more faithful Witnesses. [Horace, Ars poetica, 180–­82] The Third is to shorten the time we employ in recollecting those things that have escap’d our Memory, and to refresh it with a glance of the Eye. The Fourth is to represent absent and distant Things, as if they were before our Eyes, which otherwise we cou’d not see without troublesom Voyages, and great Expence. The Fifth is, to afford us by this Means an easy way of comparing several things together, Prints taking up so little room, and we may make use of so great a number and so different. And the Sixth is to give one a Tast of good Things, and a Tincture of the Fine Arts which no Gentleman shou’d be ignorant of.9 With this final point, de Piles implies that even if aesthetic education is unable to mold the souls of decent people toward the right judgments, it should at least dye their souls, alter their color, which is more superficial, and yet not insignificant. The soul is fashioned—­even superficially in the case of a “teinture”—­as a work of art by education to good things and to fine arts through prints.10 Toward the end of his chapter de Piles refers to prints as the “light of Discourse, and the true means by which an Author can communicate his meaning.”11 With the metaphor of illumination, de Piles indicates that prints can help thinkers and students achieve genuine intelligibility. Descartes likewise describes prints as clear and efficient vehicles of communication: “In the case of most books, once we have read a few lines and looked at a few of the diagrams, the entire message is perfectly obvious. The rest is added only to fill up the paper.”12 As is clear from de Piles’s citation of Horace in the second point, there is a long tradition of celebrating the utility of images for the acquisition of knowledge. The most famous defense of the pedagogical powers of images appears in the letters written in the late sixth century by Gregory the Great (590–­604) to the bishop of Marseilles. The pope defends

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images as a means to teach the faith to illiterate Christians: “For a picture is displayed in churches on this account, in order that those who do not know letters may at least read by seeing on the walls what they are unable to read in books.”13 The abbé Michel de Marolles emphasizes their pedagogical power in the preface to his print catalogue: Meanwhile, if one must speak of their utility for the instruction of those who love them, or to form the spirit of a young prince, it is certain that well-­chosen and well-­arranged prints give knowledge in a pleasant manner, not only of all the Sciences, and all the Fine Arts, but also of all imaginable things.14 De Marolles then goes on to list the large number of fields that benefit from prints.15 De Piles’s second point also makes clear that visual representations were understood to function as instruments of persuasion that strengthened the force with which ideas were transmitted. Quintilian, in his overview of the training of orators, emphasizes that they must speak in such a way that the audience can see what the speaker describes: “A considerable contribution to the effect may be made by combining the true facts with a plausible picture of the scene, which . . . gives the impression of bringing the audience face to face with the event.”16 He uses the Greek term enargeia to refer to the vividness that causes an audience to feel that they are actually viewing what the orator describes:17 “It is a great virtue to express our subject clearly and in such a way that it seems to be actually seen.”18 Early modern philosophers were well aware of the persuasive force of verbal figures. Hobbes, for example, praises Thucydides in his preface to his translation of the History for writing “with such perspicuity and efficacy . . . , that, . . . he maketh his Auditor a Spectator.”19 In order to transform audiences into viewers, Renaissance rhetoricians added visual figurae, or figures, to their speeches.20 This verbal imagery made it possible for audiences to see the things that were being discussed. In addition to visual figures of speech, actual figures—­usually prints—­came to be integrated more and more into texts, in order to persuade readers/viewers.21 The dominance of the notion that orators should communicate to the eyes of their audiences to persuade them helps to explain the widespread interest in philosophical and symbolic images more generally in sixteenth-­and seventeenth-­century courtly and learned circles.22 In the third point, de Piles highlights the fact that images were valued for their capacity to strengthen the retention of knowledge. As noted in the introduction, the structures of plural images comply with the principles of practitioners of the art of memory: they might be understood as material equivalents of mnemonic plural images. In the dedication to Nicolas de Verdun (d. 1627) inscribed at the bottom of the Laurus metaphysica, Meurisse explicitly relates his and Gaultier’s visualization of metaphysics to the art of memory: I declare and offer to the leader of the supreme senate the chief of the sciences [that is the discipline of metaphysics], sketched out by means of the chief of trees [that is the laurel tree], and indeed it has been engraved in copper, because not only in copper, or marble, but also through the blessed

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memory of the French, and the perpetual memory of the entire world, will its honor and name and praise remain forever.23 Meurisse intended his broadsides to play an important role in helping students (around the world!) to commit ideas to memory, and prompting them to recall material they had read earlier during their courses. The capacities of visual representations to function as tools that ease and strengthen the transmission and retention of knowledge are all noted in the following passage, written by the French Jesuit Louis Richeome (1544–­1625): There is nothing that delights more, nor that makes a thing slide into the soul more sweetly than painting; nor is there anything which engraves that thing more deeply into memory; nor which more effectively pushes the will so as to set it in motion and to move it with energy to love or hate the object, good or bad, that is proposed to it. I do not see how one could teach more profitably, vividly, and deliciously.24 In view of the increasing popularity of pedagogical engravings in this period, it is significant that here and elsewhere Richeome refers to images as being engraved, or graver, in memory.25 As I argue in greater detail in chapter 5, over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries print technologies developed into popular metaphors to explicate how we perceive the external world and remember it. Beyond facilitating the acquisition of knowledge in general, prints and the processes of printmaking helped early modern writers and artists to make sense of the activities of thinking and remembering in particular. Walter Ong taught us that the proliferation of Ramism and its associated diagrams in the early modern period emerged from a growing tendency to conceive of thinking through spatial constructs.26 While corroborating Ong’s observations, this book argues that processes of thought came to be associated not only with the space of the page, but with the activity of drawing and the technology of printmaking as well. To Make the Acquisition of Knowledge Easier The second effect de Piles associates with prints in his typology—­“to Instruct by a more forcible and ready manner than by Speech”—­is championed with minor variations by many of the authors whose works are described by Apin and may also have been held in his private collection. In the dedicatory epistle of De historia stirpium (On the history of plants), for instance, the medical botanist Leonard Fuchs celebrates the instructive power of images over texts: “A picture expresses things more surely and fixes them more deeply in the mind than the bare words of the text.”27 In a similar vein, the anatomist Andreas Vesalius writes in De humani corporis fabrica (On the fabric of the human body), which is also described by Apin in his treatise, “Illustrations greatly assist the understanding, for they place more clearly before the eyes what the text, no matter how explicitly, describes.”28 The Moravian educational reformer Jan Amos Comenius is also keenly aware of the pedagogical powers of images. In the preface to his encyclopedia and language manual for children, Orbis sensualium pictus (The visible world in pictures), which is

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left  figure 18

Comenius, image of the brain and the senses, from Orbis sensualium pictus (Dortmund: Harenberg Kommunikation, 1978). Facsimile of edition published in 1658, 6.9 × 4.8 in. (17.5 × 12.2 cm). Cotsen Children’s Library Reference Collection, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 19

Comenius, image of the soul of man, from Orbis sensualium pictus (Dortmund: Harenberg Kommunikation, 1978). Facsimile of edition published in 1658, 6.9 × 4.8 in. (17.5 × 12.2 cm). Cotsen Children’s Library Reference Collection, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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discussed by Apin as well, he echoes Aristotle’s claim that knowledge is founded on sensory impressions.29 The 1659 English translation by Charles Hoole (1610–­1667) reads: There is nothing in the understanding which was not before in the sense. And therefore to exercise the senses well about the right perceiving the differences of things, will be to lay the grounds for all wisdom, and all wise discourse, and all discreet actions in ones course of life.30 On the title page of the Hoole edition, the inscription “Nihil est in intellectu, quod non prius fuit in sensu” (There is nothing in the mind that was not first in the senses) also highlights the sensory origin of knowledge.31 Comenius inserts large woodblock prints throughout the work to help children comprehend and memorize through the act of seeing; although he describes the pedagogical utility of all the senses, he, like de Piles, Fuchs, and Vesalius, particularly embraces the pedagogical force of sight. In line with his educational program, Comenius teaches children in an often-­ reproduced woodcut of the Orbis pictus about the internal and external senses by means of the sense of sight (fig. 18). A dissected brain is at the center of the image, and around the brain are the organs of sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. Although the external sense organs are entirely out of scale in relation to the brain, through their positioning on the page around the brain they symbolically express how the external senses inform the c h a pt e r on e

mind. The external sense organs in the woodcut are annotated with numbers that refer to identifying texts printed below and on the facing page in Latin and German translation. The image is approximately the same width and height as the columns of text below. It functions as a third language or mode of communication, but one that is somehow more universal—­it literally and figuratively traverses the line separating the Latin and German translations beneath it. The sense organs are imprinted onto a piece of cloth.32 Woodcuts explicating the head and hands and the human soul likewise show images imprinted onto a cloth (fig. 19).33 In all three images, the top corners of the cloth are pinned to a support, and striations show the fabric’s downward pull. The woodcuts picture exhibited prints that point to the illustrative force of the image, thereby promoting the technique of teaching through the sense of sight advocated by Comenius and other pedagogical reformers. To Facilitate Mnemonic Visualizations Another important function cited in de Piles’s typology and executed by the pedagogical images discussed by Apin was to strengthen the memory by providing viewers with mnemonic structures that they could re-­create mentally. To make sense of this claim, we would do well to remember that the age-­old technique of the ars memoriae involved mentally projecting a text (or the body of knowledge to be memorized) onto a series of neatly organized places; practitioners would position images that represented specific parts of the text to be memorized onto these distinct locations. Together the individual places imitated the shape of a natural or artificial entity—­such as a garden or a theater—­yet creators of mnemonic images always maintained strict divisions among the constituent parts as well as an understanding of the order in which particular images should be examined. Consequently, I have argued that the mental images created by practitioners of the ars memoriae are among the earliest and most important examples of plural images. Many of the pedagogical works Apin introduces feature plural images that provide students with ready-­made mnemonic structures that they can envision mentally, so that they no longer need to rely on their own associative, mnemonic keys. Several formal features of Comenius’s image showing the internal and external senses justify its classification as a plural image that a child could re-­create in his or her mind (see fig. 18). The fabric’s sagging is not registered in the anonymous artist’s renditions of the sense organs: there is no attempt to weave them onto the cloth in a realistic fashion. The image also shows an inorganic relationship among the body parts, as though they do not belong to a unified whole. Furthermore, as noted above, the artist has not taken care with the relative sizes of the organs—­the ear labeled “2,” for instance, is almost as tall as the dissected head. Finally, and perhaps most important, each sense organ floats in a distinct locus on the cloth. This plural image functions as an aid designed to give children a clear and simple framework that they can envision internally in order to learn and memorize information pertaining to sense perception. One might speculate that Comenius and the authors of other illustrated pedagogical works introduced in the Dissertatio conceptualize the processes of learning and remembering as akin to the technologies of creating the images by means of which viewers learn.34 Just as images were impressed onto paper or cloth in processes of creating engravings or woodcuts, so images were impressed onto the viewer’s mind in the processes of 47

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learning and memorizing from printed plural images. These prints are tools that help students to learn and to remember things by enabling them to envision them internally, to create mental prints of the ideas they wish to commit to memory. Comenius’s rendition of the rational soul as a print made of a series of dots outlining the shape of a man and impressed onto a piece of fabric is a vivid exemplification of the close association among prints and the rational faculties in this period, a topic that I explore in greater depth in the final chapter (see fig. 19). Johannes Buno, a pedagogue from Lüneburg, created some of the most brilliant mnemonic plural images.35 Whereas the woodcuts of Comenius’s Orbis pictus are extremely simple and clear, Buno’s Latin grammar book Neue Lateinische Grammatica in Fabeln und Bildern (New Latin grammar in fables and images), which appeared in 1651 and is described in Apin’s treatise, is filled with representations of an almost undigestible complexity.36 One imaginative engraving pictures the grammatical genders through a man, a woman, and a hermaphrodite, each accompanied by annotated images of masculine, feminine, and neuter things (fig. 20). For instance, on the face of the man is a knife, or a culter, which in Latin is a masculine noun. On the hat of the woman we find Fama, the feminine personification of fame, depicted with wings and a trumpet, and on the face of the hermaphrodite is the sea, or pelagus in Latin, a neuter noun. In a marginal inscription, Buno describes the hermaphrodite, “who is not a man, because he wears a skirt; but is also not a woman, because he has trousers on and on one side [of his face] a beard.”37 This and other images in Buno’s works are so rich in detail that they are meant to be looked at again and again. The viewer cannot possibly be expected to stamp the images onto his or her memory at once, but rather must repeatedly return to these complex compositions to discover more and more details and in the process learn and memorize more and more. I have argued that plural images recall the structures of mnemonic images and stemmata, but they also often closely follow the formal divisions of printed texts. Apin does not mention Buno’s Memoriale institutionum juris (Memory book of the institutes of law) of 1672, but as the title indicates, this textbook is intended to function as a mnemonic aid as well. In the upper left corner of one foldout engraving, a man props open a volume representing the first book of The Institutes of Justinian (fig. 21). The displayed pages feature smaller images that correspond to individual chapters in book 1. In addition to visualizing book 1 of the Institutes, this detail shows more generally the ways in which mnemonic images could relate to the words of written texts. Designers were often beholden to the structures or conceptual logic of written works, as opposed to aiming to represent a visually unified, realistic world through techniques developed by artists. Prints of the Tabula Cebetis (Table of Cebes) are another category of pedagogical images that Apin discusses, which provide viewers with mnemonic structures that they can re-­create in their minds.38 This text was mistakenly attributed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to Cebes of Thebes, who converses with Socrates in Plato’s Phaedo.39 It was employed to teach virtuous behavior and elementary Greek grammar throughout the early modern period; in his 1644 treatise Of Education, John Milton (1608–­1674) recommends the allegory to students.40 The text is written in the form of a dialogue between visitors to a temple of Saturn and an old man, known as Genius. One of the pilgrims asks Genius about the contents of a strange image painted on a tablet displayed within the 48

c h a pt e r on e

above  figure 20

pages 50–51  figure 21

Buno, image of the grammatical

Buno, print with detail represent-

genders, from Neue Lateinische

ing the first book of The Institutes

Grammatica in Fabeln und Bildern

of Justinian, from Memoriale insti-

(Danzig: Andreas Hünefeld, 1651),

tutionum juris . . . (Ratzenburg:

between pages 4 and 5. Foldout

Conrad Buno. 1672), before fol. A1.

engraving printed on paper, 13.5 ×

Foldout engraving on paper, 10.5 ×

15.8 in. (34.3 × 40.1 cm). Cotsen

15.9 in. (26.7 × 40.4 cm). Cotsen

Children’s Library Reference

Children’s Library Reference Col-

Collection, Department of Rare

lection, Department of Rare Books

Books and Special Collections,

and Special Collections, Princeton

Princeton University Library.

University Library.

temple. This painting was reproduced throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in woodcuts, engravings, frescoes, oil paintings, and tapestries.41 Early modern representations of the tablet tend to feature three concentric walled enclosures with individuals approaching or moving within its spaces; in visualizations of this text, education is figured as a journey along pathways. The comparison of learning to movement along a path is often found in pedagogical documents of this period. It recalls the imagined movement through the carefully ordered images of a mnemonic framework. The figures wandering inside the walled areas meet various personifications. Deception, who requires the travelers to drink from the cup of Ignorance and Error, stands with an old man, also called Genius, at the gate of the outermost wall. Within this enclosure, visitors encounter blind Fortune and the Opinions. At the gate of the second walled space is False Education, and within this enclosure visitors meet the personifications of the liberal and mechanical arts. Those who choose to continue their journey travel on a perilous road that leads to the gate of the third enclosure, where they encounter True Education. Genius notes that the individuals who reach this innermost space will find Blessedness. Some of the most interesting representations of the Tabula Cebetis were published in Paris in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The illustrated translation of the text by Giles Corrozet (1510–­1568), for instance, published in Paris in 1543, offers rich visualizations of the work. Another important interpretation of the allegory, entitled Le Tableau de Cébès, was engraved by Nicolas de Mathonière (1573–­1640) and appeared in Paris in 1614. The Tabula Cebetis, carta vitae of 1561 is also a magnificent visual account of this text that was based on a design by Frans Floris (1519/20–­1570) and made by Philip Galle (1537–­1612) (fig. 22). This broadside can be identified as a precedent to de Mathonière’s engraving: recall that Netherlandish engraving helped stimulate the development of printmaking in early seventeenth-­century Paris. Practitioners of the art of memory could employ engravings of the Tabula Cebetis to create mental images of moral philosophy. Like Buno’s prints, the works are of a staggering complexity and reward repeated viewings. These images of the Tabula Cebetis bear a particularly close resemblance to the Descriptio (see plate 1). It is the Synopsis, not the Descriptio, however, that Apin refers to in his Dissertatio.42 He writes that its figures are “fastened to one another, so that I could scarcely give a clear and sufficient description of them, without describing the whole tablet.”43 Apin’s remark brings out some of the formal qualities of this work that have led me to characterize it as a plural image: its images are not united into a single, coherent tableau but are more accurately described as tied together into a sort of bundle of visual representations; consequently, it is not possible to do justice to this work without examining it in its entirety (see fig. 1). Of course, it is also impossible to “give a clear and sufficient description” of a tableau without describing it in its entirety, but we might argue that tableaux can be explicated more easily, as they show a single cohesive scene. Like the works of Buno and the representations of the Tabula Cebetis, the Synopsis is an extraordinarily intricate artwork that offers readers a detailed mnemonic framework that they can return to repeatedly to commit ideas to memory. Apin compares the method of intellectual discovery presented in the Synopsis to that of the Typus (see plate 2).44 This broadside depicts the human quest to reach wisdom and visualizes the discipline of logic. It too would have provided early modern viewers with mnemonic frameworks that they could use over extended periods of time to assist their 52

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figure 22

Galle and Floris, Tabula Cebetis, carta vitae, 1561. Engraving on paper, 17.9 × 23.4 in. (45.5 × 59.5 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S.V. 89194].

learning. Apin’s waning enthusiasm for early modern hieroglyphic modes of instruction is nowhere more evident than in his account of the Typus. He writes that its “images are horrid, absurd, and often have no similarity to the things they ought to indicate” (imagines sunt horridae, absurdae, nullamque saepius cum rebus, quas debent indicare, habent similitudinem).45 As I argue in the third section of this chapter, he is bothered by the gap between the broadside’s allegorical visual representations and the content they denote. To Guide Action and to Persuade Some of the images in Apin’s print collection and treatise encourage viewers not just to create mental visualizations, but to produce physical ones as well. These uses of visual representations are associated in particular with instructional manuals. In general the reader/viewer of such a manual can successfully follow its instructions only if he or she engages with both its text and its images. The Neu erfundener Lüstweg zu allerley schönen Künsten und Wissenschafften (Newly invented pathway for amusement to all kinds of beautiful arts and sciences), published in 1700 with engravings by Johann Christoph Weigel (1661–­1726), is one such illustrated instructional manual.46 The opening section of the work is devoted to teaching children the letters of the alphabet. The letters A and B, for instance, are elucidated with an image of a child and of a ram, because they are said to

53

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make sounds that resemble the German pronunciation of these letters (fig. 23). Readers are given strict commands for how to engage with the pages of the Lüstweg. The instructions for the letter A, for instance, open as follows: Here one has to say this first to the kids: “This little child opens its mouth thus and cries ‘Ah.’ ” Then one should immediately point to the letter and one should say to the child that “this signifies ‘a.’ ” Then one should ask the kid where the “a” is written. Third, when the child points toward the letter, one should ask: “What is the name of this letter?”47

above  figure 23

opposite  figure 24

Weigel, letter A from Neu erfun-

Frontispiece showing Vesalius dis-

dener Lüstweg zu allerley schönen

secting a body, from De humani

Künsten und Wissenschafften

corporis fabrica librorum epitome

(Nürnburg, 1700), 1. Engraving on

(Basel: Johannes Oporinus, 1543).

paper, 6.3 × 3.9 in. (16 × 10 cm).

Woodcut printed on paper, 16.6 ×

Stadtbibliothek Nürnberg [Phil. 12

11.2 in. (42.2 × 28.4 cm). Rare

951.8o].

Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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The image works with the written instructions to imbue readers with some general sense of how to engage in a series of actions, how to enact physically the materials before them, step-­by-­step. Readers are told to interact with the image dynamically and not just through the sense of sight, but through those of touch and hearing as well. Text and image necessitate verbal, as well as gestural, enactment. In following the commands and imitating a child crying “Ah” (or a ram’s “be be”), the dutiful reader reproduces what is represented on the printed page, but through a sequence of actions that are ordered in time. The physical enactment of the reader is closer to a visualization of the written text than the image, which captures a single moment of the child screaming, as opposed to a temporal unfolding of actions. Yet both text and image are essential tools that work together to direct the behavior of the reader/viewer. Instructional manuals, like the Lüstweg, function as simulacra of the activity that the viewer is meant to perform. Whereas the Lüstweg was intended for children at the very beginning of their studies, Vesalius’s Fabrica of 1543, which Apin also mentions in his treatise, was designed for advanced university students, proficient in Latin. One of the anatomist’s primary aims with this work was to inspire teachers of medicine to conduct dissections with their own hands. It is for this reason that the densely packed frontispiece shows Vesalius himself, left of center, dissecting the body of a woman (fig. 24).48 Whereas barber-­ surgeons had executed dissections previously, the great anatomist believed that it was essential for physicians themselves to perform the surgery.49 He writes that the

greatest impediment to knowledge “arises when the more experienced practitioners of the art cynically apportion its component disciplines among a variety of artisans.”50 That Vesalius hoped to inspire students to perform dissections themselves is also clear from his inclusion within the Fabrica of a picture of the tools that he requires in dissections (fig. 25). The woodcuts incorporated into the Fabrica did not function as surrogates for the corpses used in dissections.51 Rather, these images, together with the text, were vital for providing students with instructions on how to dissect and to see the body. Early modern dissections were messy affairs—­it was often difficult to discern particular parts of the body, to separate them out from surrounding tissues and fluids.52 Consequently, images were invaluable means for professors to persuade students and colleagues of their interpretations of the body’s structure during dissections. We know from the eyewitness report of a student by the name of Baldasar Heseler that Vesalius employed prints while performing dissections at the University of Bologna in 1540.53 While teaching Heseler, Vesalius used a print to convince him of his account of the azygos vein, which, as it turns out, was incorrect.54 Far from becoming redundant or useless during dissections, anatomical woodcuts served as crucial instruments of clarification and persuasion. Furthermore, the woodcuts of the Fabrica enabled Vesalius to offer a generalized account of an ideal human body, in a way that was impossible during dissection of an individual’s body, which was necessarily idiosyncratic when examined closely.55 He describes his response to finding abnormalities in the azygos vein in dissections as follows:

figure 25

Woodcut showing tools required in dissections, from Fabrica, 1543, 235. Woodcut printed on paper, 16.6 × 11.2 in. (42.2 × 28.4 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

If I observe these things in the course of carrying out public dissections, I pass them over in silence as if they did not exist, lest candidates in arts should think these things are to be observed in all bodies. . . . Since it would be a considerable disadvantage for them to have chanced upon such a body, which varies greatly from the canon of men, for the entire dissection, unless perhaps they had [previously] been present frequently at dissections of perfect and not monstrous men.56 56

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figure 26

Woodcut showing the seminal veins and organs, from Fabrica, 1543, 372. Woodcut printed on paper, 16.6 × 11.2 in. (42.2 × 28.4 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

Unlike the bodies employed in dissection halls, the text and images of the Fabrica could impart universal knowledge: they allowed Vesalius to teach students about ideal human bodies that could be likened to other bodies. It is probably for this reason that his woodcuts cite the bodies and poses of ancient statues; the seminal veins and organs, for instance, are shown within the celebrated torso from the Belvedere Courtyard (fig. 26).57 By integrating his anatomical images into idealized sculptures, Vesalius showed readers/ viewers that he was offering an account of a generalized human body that was universally valid. Vesalius wanted them to believe that they could rely on the accuracy of his Fabrica when conducting their own dissections, even though he often directly contradicted the Galenic tradition in his accounts of the parts of the body. 57

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To Delight It is clear from Vesalius’s letter to his publisher Johannes Oporinus (1507–­1568) that he also wanted the Fabrica’s illustrations to elicit pleasure:58 Now I beg and beseech you in every way I can that all the printing should be done as neatly and quickly as possible. . . . Particular care must be given to the printing of the illustrations, since these have not been executed merely as simple outlines like ordinary diagrams in textbooks but have been given a proper pictorial quality. . . . I am very anxious about one thing in the printing process, and that is that you should follow the exemplar as closely as possible, as it has been printed off by the block cutter as his own proof (you will find it enclosed with the wood blocks). If this is done then no symbol, however hidden in the shading, will escape the notice of a reader who has eyes and uses them; and in addition it will bring out the cleverest aspect of the technique of these pictures, one which gives me extreme pleasure when I look at them, and that is the use of thicker lines in places along with the elegant darkening of the shadows. . . . I shall do my best to come and visit you shortly and stay at Basel, if not for the entire period of the printing then at least for part of it.59 The anatomist ascribed great importance to the technical sophistication of the images in his book. By describing his pleasure in examining the subtle variations in the widths of the illustrations’ lines and their refined chiaroscuro effects, he encourages his readers/ viewers to delight as well in these aspects of the images. In a note the publisher explains why he opted to print Vesalius’s letter: “It contained several things of which the reader should be advised at the outset.”60 The letter informs readers that they should enjoy the woodcuts, and also, as noted earlier, that they should trust them, as Vesalius had worked hard to ensure their beauty and accuracy. Other prints in Apin’s collection and treatise also aim to turn learning into a pleasurable enterprise. In the Logica memorativa, for instance, the Franciscan satirist Thomas Murner (1475–­1537) created symbolic plural images on playing cards in order to help his students grasp Peter of Spain’s Summulae logicales.61 Not all viewers, however, found his cards delightful: his pedagogical woodcuts were so effective and allowed students to learn logic with such speed that he was accused of sorcery.62 Meurisse also envisioned his prints as sources of pleasure. In his dedication to King Louis XIII (1601–­1643) on the Synopsis, the friar explicitly compares the broadside to a “theater of nature” (see fig. 1).63 This metaphor, which was common in early modern philosophy, relied on an understanding of the theater in two different but overlapping senses: first, as a space combining instruction and entertainment; and second, as an encyclopedic collection of all of nature’s manifestations and artifacts.64 The metaphor therefore designates the broadside as an instrument of learning and delight. The locus classicus of this combining of the useful with the pleasurable is Horace’s Ars poetica, where the aim of the poet is said to be to instruct and to delight. One viewer who took pleasure in contemplating the Synopsis was Apin. He writes

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that it shows the study of natural history to the eyes of men with “such an abundance of invention that I cannot sufficiently admire the ingenuity of the author.”65

The Uses of the Philosophical Prints in Apin’s Collection and Featured in His Treatise Now that I have discussed some of the uses of printed documents from Apin’s treatise and personal collection that visualize a range of different subjects, I would like to focus on the functions of the images that he discusses that pertain to philosophical knowledge in particular. What were the roles of the Synopsis, Typus, and other illustrated thesis prints? And how did the purposes and forms of illustrated thesis prints change over the course of the seventeenth century in France? I argue that works in this genre shift from plural images to singular images. Although plural images continue to be made into the eighteenth century, French thesis prints have their own chronology and stop belonging to the genre of the plural image around the 1630s. Illustrated Thesis Prints and Disputations In addition to making the acquisition of knowledge easier, facilitating memorization, persuading, and delighting, the Synopsis and Typus guided the actions of viewers in ways that can be tied to the broadsides’ identification with the genre of the illustrated thesis print. The best-­known thesis print in history is undoubtedly the document containing ninety-­five theses that Luther is reputed to have posted on the door of the Wittenberg Castle Church in 1517. By this date it had become standard to announce in advance the propositions or theses that students and scholars were expected to defend or elaborate in disputations. If the event indeed took place, Luther’s theses would have been displayed to advertise propositions that were scheduled for discussion—­his action would not have been intended as a call for the Reformation.66 Although historians do not agree as to whether Luther in fact posted his theses, it is accepted that he transmitted them to two bishops on October 31, 1517. The original document containing the theses has not been found; it was presumably not illustrated and may have been handwritten. By the early seventeenth century, thesis prints with prominent images had come into use in France and Italy, and soon afterward throughout Catholic Europe. The illustrated thesis print was a preeminent category of graphic art in the early modern period: Louise Rice has shown that in Rome many leading baroque painters collaborated on their creation, including Pietro da Cortona (1596–­1669) and Andrea Sacchi (1599–­1661).67 In the seventeenth century the imagery of thesis prints became so luxurious that these broadsides came to be valued as works of art. In Molière’s Le Malade imaginaire, Toinette tells Thomas Diafoirus that his thesis print could be hung as a decoration in a room.68 This episode highlights how these broadsides could function as objects of pleasure. As the primary functions of thesis prints had to do with disputations, we need to study some of the rules that governed these strictly ritualized events. The 1502 statutes of the Grand Couvent des Cordeliers, where Meurisse taught philosophy, specified that

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disputations should take place once a week and should be attended by all masters, bachelors, and students, unless the convent’s guardian excused them.69 In addition to regular disputations, some students took part in public defenses, staged to strengthen a school’s reputation and win support from patrons. Only the ablest students were chosen to participate in these oral exercises, which were often conducted in front of parents, friends, and wealthy or politically influential individuals who might become patrons of students or the institution.70 An appendix written into the notebook of a student at the Grand Couvent in 1710 offers invaluable details about how oral examinations were run.71 When discussing private disputations, the appendix urges students to articulate proofs fully, even if it means repeating themselves.72 In contrast, the rules for public disputations command students not to reiterate arguments that could bore the audience: Indeed in public disputes, proofs are not to be poured forth willy-­nilly at every opportunity; . . . such frequent repetition seems to be nothing other than unpleasant babbling that offends the ears and arouses distaste.73 These public events could be extravagant affairs, and the elaborate thesis prints of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier were designed to be employed at such occasions.74 The appendix’s emphasis on keeping the audience entertained helps to explain why broadsides made for these public events should be seen as instruments of both learning and pleasure. Participation in both public and private disputations was subject to strict prescriptions. The appendix outlines the roles assigned to participants: “in our . . . [disputations] some play the part of disputant and others of respondent.”75 The disputant is told to commence with a precise formula: The one who is to dispute rises and must start his speech properly as follows: “As my most honorable master has ordered it already, let my dearest fellow pupils kindly listen; answering learnedly and properly, I will argue for that thesis in which you say such and such.”76 The “thesis” or proposition to which the disputant refers would be inscribed either on a broadside, as a thesis print, or in a booklet of approximately ten pages, normally in quarto format.77 Thesis prints and booklets were made for disputations in the fields of philosophy, theology, law, and medicine. The theses printed on the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier were not highly original philosophical propositions: rather, like the theses of other prints designed for young philosophy students, they represent a settled body of knowledge that students were expected to prove that they had absorbed, in order to succeed at the disputations.78 Advertisements, Invitations, Programs, and Fund-­R aising Tools Early modern thesis prints typically include inscriptions that explicitly identify their use in a disputation. At the bottom of the Descriptio, for instance, is a note stating that a class of students will discuss its theses, while noting when and where the disputations are set to occur: “The brother-­logicians will answer concerning this thesis in the Convent of the

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Friars Minor at Paris at the customary hours and days from 1 June to 1 August, in the year of the Lord 1614.”79 The Typus offers more information on the disputation by listing the names of students who were expected to answer questions and challenges concerning its theses.80 It was standard practice for groups of students to participate in disputations together over an extended period of time, and for thesis prints to cite the date and location of the event, as these broadsides functioned as advertisements and were distributed as invitations.81 During the disputations themselves, thesis prints were displayed on walls and given to audience members, serving as programs exhibiting the theses to be discussed.82 The Houghton Library holds an impression of the Descriptio that is printed on vellum and is hand colored and decorated with a painted border of laurel leaves; a wooden fragment attached to one corner suggests that the broadside was once pasted to a backing board (fig. 27).83 Thesis prints also served to promote the efforts of educational institutions to attract political and financial support. Public disputations would often commence with a speech in praise of the dedicatee, which was typically also inscribed on the broadside.84 Dedications were employed as gestures of thanks or pleas to obtain the patronage or support of important individuals.85 The broadsides of Meurisse, Gaultier, and Chéron are dedicated to such prominent figures as the French statesman and bibliophile Jacques-­Auguste de Thou (1553–­1617), Louis XIII, Queen Anne of Austria (1601–­1666), the first president in the Parlement of Paris Nicolas de Verdun, and Henri de Bourbon (1601–­1682), the illegitimate son of Henri IV. In the 1612 Statuta generalia pro utraque Familia (General statutes for each family) of the general chapter of the Franciscans in Rome, it is stipulated that, henceforth, elaborate thesis prints should not be made, “even if some spiritual friend should supply expenses”;86 this implies that ecclesiastical benefactors had previously covered the costs of creating prints for Franciscan students. In the dedication inscribed onto the Descriptio, Meurisse showers de Thou with praise: To the most illustrious and most noble man, . . . for you, patron of our Seraphic order, . . . we append this picture of philosophical debate. Take [it] up now and if you wish, love, cherish, [and] protect me and my colleagues in this your Franciscan brotherhood. Fare well.87 The inscription exemplifies the ways in which dedications enabled educational establishments and their members to acknowledge the help of patrons, while requesting further support. overleaf  figure 27

Meurisse and Gaultier, Descriptio, 1614. Engraving printed on vellum and hand colored and decorated with a painted border of laurel leaves, 25.6 × 19.3 in. (65 × 49 cm). Harvard University, Houghton Library, Cambridge, MA.

61

From Plural Images to Singular Images Illustrated thesis prints produced in France before 1625 are extremely rare. We cannot be certain that the formal arrangements of those that do survive are representative of the majority of thesis prints produced at this time in France, which, like most broadsides created in this period, are no longer extant. Yet, as I have emphasized, surviving early seventeenth-­century French thesis prints tend to be plural images, organized by the intellectual relationships among the theses they visualize.88 In the engravings of Meurisse,

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Chéron, and Gaultier, imagery and theses work together to convey philosophical meanings, and their imagery is not related to their dedications. By contrast, illustrated thesis prints produced later in the seventeenth century in France and elsewhere tend to feature a singular image or unified tableaux.89 In most surviving illustrated thesis prints from later in the seventeenth century, theses and imagery are also separated, with the textual element and dedication printed at the bottom of the page, and the image above.90 The imagery is often based in part or entirely on a painted tableau by a renowned artist, such as Raphael, Titian (c. 1485/90–­1576), or Nicolas Poussin (1594–­1665), and may have little or no obvious connection to the broadside’s theses and dedication.91 For example, the top of a thesis print owned by a student named Stephanus Varembault, whose disputation was arbitrated by Franciscus Guenon in 1681, features a print based on Poussin’s Rest during the Flight into Egypt (fig. 28).92 Images could also be portraits or original inventions aimed at celebrating the broadsides’ dedicatees.93 For instance, the iconography of seventeenth-­century Roman Jesuit thesis prints was often related thematically to the dedicatory inscriptions and panegyric poems and music that would have been read and performed at disputations.94 In thesis prints produced after the 1630s in Paris, it is not uncommon for the theses, printed below the tableau, to be integrated into a kind of plural image that features sculptures on pedestals or a series of emblematic devices.95 We can see this arrangement, for instance, in a philosophy thesis print engraved by Grégoire Huret for a disputation held in August 1641 in Paris (fig. 29). In the tableau or singular image above, Louis XIII sits on a throne and receives tributes from the four parts of the world with the help of the figure of Mercury; below, the theses lie at the center of a plural image. This broadside and other thesis prints like it feature an overlap between medieval and modern specialties. They combine a modern unified tableau above with a premodern plural image below. The present book studies works like the Synopsis that belong to the genre of the philosophical plural image. It charts the rise of this genre and its demise toward the end of the early modern period and at the outset of the Enlightenment. But, in the case of illustrated thesis prints produced in seventeenth-­century France, the spatial arrangements of plural images fall out of fashion well before the end of the early modern era. Why does this happen? Artistic forms evolve in diverse manners depending on their historical coordinates. The physical properties of objects are inextricably tied to their role in society. The apparent structural transformation in French illustrated thesis prints occurs in part because after about the third decade of the seventeenth century, these broadsides generally no longer function as didactic and mnemonic aids that bring multiple theses into visual form and in relationship to one another. Instead, the creators of thesis prints tend to focus the imagery on a single conceit. Once the images in illustrated thesis prints were no longer used to visualize an entire discipline of philosophy, they no longer belonged to the genre of the philosophical plural image. Designers of images for thesis prints could step away from trying to organize works through conceptual relationships and could experiment with ways of creating a coherent image that were unique and particular to visual media. Why did the creators of illustrated thesis prints stop featuring visualizations of philosophical theses? It is hard to give a definitive response to this important question, though

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above  figure 28

Stephanus Gantrel after Poussin’s Rest during the Flight into Egypt, in a thesis print used in 1681. Engraving printed on paper, 17.3 × 18.1 in. (44 × 46 cm). Bibliothèque Sainte-­ Geneviève, Paris. opposite  figure 29

Huret, thesis print, 1641. Engraving printed on paper, 30.4 × 21 in. (77.3 × 53.4 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [RESERVE QB-­ 201 (171, 2)-­FT 5/Hennin, 3070].

it is likely that some of the criticisms of mnemonic prints that I present in the final section of this chapter will point us in the right direction. Members of the Franciscan order worried that extravagantly illustrated thesis prints were improper to their profession; invoking concerns similar to those addressed by Oyseau, they argued that images were intellectually distracting.96 Thus the Statuta generalia pro utraque Familia of 1612, mentioned earlier, already require that none of the student brothers should have the theses he is defending printed with elaborate images attached to or included in them, so as to avoid confusion of opinion, and to cut down superfluous expense (which is inappropriate for our situation), even if some spiritual friend should supply expenses. Nevertheless, let it be allowed [for them to be printed] by a simple press and in accordance with the old custom of our Order.97 Since this prohibition is directed toward students, not teachers, Meurisse was able to produce his broadsides lawfully in the years that followed in collaboration with Gaultier.98 It is nonetheless surprising that he opted to make his prints at a time when members of his order clearly disapproved of such extravagance. The Franciscan general chapter of 1658 continued to exhibit a vehement distaste for expensive illustrated prints: The general chapter orders that henceforth in the chapters, the general congregations, or the provincial congregations, the theses to be defended should not be exhibited with images engraved in copper or with plates that are in any way sumptuous; but all theses [should be exhibited] in common fonts, however much they are commissioned out of devotion to a great patron; the man who acts otherwise is prohibited from defending these very theses; he is deprived of his lectureship if he has already obtained one; but if not, he is debarred from obtaining one. Indeed the minister or the prelate who has allowed the opposite to occur should be suspended from his office at the will of his Superiors.99 These severe statutes, which no longer applied to students alone, help explain why this graphic tradition did not continue to flourish among Franciscans. To gain insight into some of the justifications that were used for no longer employing works in the genre of the philosophical plural image toward the end of the early modern period, and how these prints were forcibly pushed out, let us now turn to the second chapter of Apin’s dissertation. This chapter gives us a glimmer of insight into this moment of shift.

Apin on the Problems with Philosophical Images Pedagogical Prints and Illustrated Books as “Curiosities”

At the beginning of chapter 2, Apin condemns a large percentage of the pedagogical prints from his collection that he introduces in the Dissertatio: “I acknowledge and confess that many images of this sort that have been sought out with anxious curiosity are a

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curious vanity and of little use.”100 In this passage and elsewhere, Apin designates his pedagogical prints and illustrated books as curiosities; in other words, he conceives of his personal collection of printed documents as a sort of “cabinet of curiosities.”101 His treatise should therefore be understood as a catalogue of Apin’s cabinet of curiosities. Apin and other creators of Wunderkammern were consumed by a passion for the multiplicity of nature and human creation, and they took pleasure in their ability to bring into unprecedented proximity things that had hitherto been unknown and unseen. A cabinet of curiosities might include, for instance, the headdress of an Aztec emperor made from the spectacularly colored feathers of quetzal birds, delicately crafted scientific instruments, a stuffed crocodile, and a horde of other vastly heterogeneous natural and artificial entities from local and faraway lands. Visitors could feast their eyes on images and objects of dazzling beauty and discover a microcosm of a seemingly endless range of animals and plants that far exceeded Aristotle’s account of the natural world. As a result, these collections encapsulated new terrestrial findings that were as revolutionary in the discipline of natural history as Copernicus’s arguments against the stasis and centrality of the earth were in cosmology. The University of Leiden anatomy theater, for instance, doubled as a cabinet of wonders in which one could find natural curiosities and archaeological artifacts, including an Egyptian mummy.102 Prints were displayed in the amphitheater, at its entrance, and in rooms above and below the stage.103 Although almost all of the prints have now been lost, scholars have reconstructed the contents of the collection.104 Among the prints were anatomical engravings by Lukas Kilian (1579–­1637) after instructions by the doctor Johannes Remmelin (1583–­1632); a mappemonde by Jodocus de Hondt (1563–­1612/13), based on a print by Hieronymus Wiericx (1552–­1619) after Maarten de Vos (1532–­1603); a 1592 Tabula Cebetis engraved by Jacob Matham (1571–­1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558–­1617); and, most relevant to the present study, impressions of the Synopsis and the Physica.105 Apin’s cabinet featured printed images of a broad range of natural and artificial wonders; in the earlier sections of this chapter, we have already encountered some of Apin’s grammatical, anatomical, and philosophical images. From other parts of his Dissertatio, we learn of the zoological representations that he may have owned that were created by the Bolognese naturalist collector Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522–­1605) and the Swiss naturalist and bibliographer Conrad Gessner (1516–­1565).106 In addition, we discover illustrated works on fossils, coins, and antiquity.107 Readers also encounter the fabulous maps of geographers and astronomers.108 Apin singles out, for instance, the works of the Dutch cartographer and astronomer Willem Janszoon Blaeu (1571–­1638). His maps, as Apin notes, are among the earliest printed non-­Ptolemaic representations of the heavens.109 As readers turn the pages of the Dissertatio, they can envision a visit to Apin’s collection of curious engravings, woodcuts, and illustrated books. With new patterns of print usage, the collecting of images developed into a widespread phenomenon that was no longer restricted to the realms of wealthy institutions and monarchs. The means of replicating images were not invented in the early modern era—­Aristotle spoke of wax impressions, and countless ancient coins survive with

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the same stamped images. It was, however, only over the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries that paper became easier to purchase across Europe, and that techniques of printmaking became sufficiently advanced that it was possible to replicate intricate images in large numbers. At this time the preexisting technologies of woodcut and engraving were appropriated in new ways to create new forms of knowledge, experience, and collecting practices. Apin is representative of these new phenomena: he is a pedagogue and not a member of the aristocracy, but was nevertheless able to amass his own cabinet of curiosities. His and other Wunderkammern produced new forms of social interaction that led to discussions among like-­minded people on the wonders of creation. Apin explains that he decided to republish his dissertation to accommodate the requests of the many visitors to his collection, for whom time constraints limited what they could view in person.110 He signals that he has included only works that he has seen or shown to “curious men.”111 No tradition of expression starts or ends at a single moment in time. Apin lived in a period of change, when early modern patterns of rendering life intelligible were losing traction. The Dissertatio was written at a time in which many of the visual modes of organizing, transmitting, and retaining knowledge that are introduced in the treatise (and in this book) were growing obsolete. It is an attempt to codify different pedagogical images, although the author, like other early Enlightenment figures, is simultaneously critical of many of the prints he catalogues.112 Apin exhibits an ambivalent attitude to these documents; although he collects them, he expresses doubt as to their ultimate value. By assembling this collection of printed documents, this cabinet of curiosities, Apin is turning these pedagogical images, these objects of use, into idle objects of display. In the process of putting together his cabinet of wonders, he, like the creators of the Leiden collection, denies these prints their pedagogical functions and recategorizes them as strange, byzantine objects. Instead of employing these pedagogical prints as they were meant to be employed, he archives them as curiosities “of little use.” In addition to identifying his images and illustrated books as curiosities, in the second chapter of the treatise, Apin isolates two interrelated problems with philosophical images: I will refer to the first as the problem of dissimilarity and the second as the problem of conceptual abstraction. The Problem of Dissimilarity The concept of “curiosity” can help us to understand what I have identified as the problem of dissimilarity. The most prevalent characteristic of curiosity in the early modern period is ambiguity.113 Curiosity arises when we are faced with something that is susceptible to more than one meaning or interpretation. The author’s dismissal of the Typus and many other pedagogical images in the second chapter of his Dissertatio is tied to the confusion that he fears they will bring to the minds of students. Toward the beginning of chapter 2, Apin explains that he is opposed to the sorts of images “that do not show the matter, as it is in itself, but rather [show] its arbitrary and imaginary signs.”114 He cites the following critique of mnemonic images by the polymath Daniel Georg Morhof (1639–­1691):

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The true connection between things is thrown into confusion by images, and obscured as if by clouds. For which reason, I do not approve at all of the logica memorativa of Winkelmann.115 The first edition of Apin’s dissertation, which appeared in 1725, was appended to Winkelmann’s logic textbook.116 The images from the Logica memorativa (published in Halle in 1659, and in Frankfurt and Leipzig in 1725) are discussed in the next chapter, as they draw on the iconography of both the Typus and the Descriptio. Winkelmann’s images are also described in a section on the “Art mnémonique” (art of memory) written by Abbé Claude Yvon (1714–­1791) in the first volume of the Encyclopédie of Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert.117 Yvon is skeptical about their utility, writing of these and other mnemonic images that they “appear more difficult to retain than the things that they are meant to ease the study of.”118 Early Enlightenment thinkers held that these mnemonic images throw things into confusion and increase the student’s work because they do not resemble what they denote. The Problem of Conceptual Abstraction Let us turn now to the interrelated problem of conceptual abstraction. Apin clarifies later in his second chapter that it is especially in the teaching of universal notions and abstract ideas that the gap between images and what they represent is impossible to overcome: “The matter of the mind cannot be revealed in speech with corporeal things, unless metaphorically.”119 We can see this line of reasoning in book 4, chapter 2, of Pantagruel (1532), when on the island of Medamothi Pantagruel buys paintings of Plato’s ideas and Epicurus’s atoms “portrayed after life,” subjects that Rabelais (1483–­1553) takes to be ludicrous as they are impossible to represent. Notwithstanding Rabelais’s skepticism about the feasibility of this project, several Renaissance artists attempted to visualize the Platonic forms. One intriguing example can be found in the upper area of the frontispiece to a Neapolitan manuscript of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics that was made around 1500 (fig. 30). Golden lines connect the animals scattered throughout the countryside to their corresponding forms above.120 Apin specifies that he is not opposed to the employment of mnemonic images in history (in fact, he is certain that memory of history is aided by images), nor is he planning to attack mnemonic images in the fields of chronology, geography, heraldry, chiromancy, metoposcopy (forehead reading), military and civil architecture, astronomy, anatomy, surgery, chemistry, and botany.121 He holds that images are particularly dangerous when they are used to convey the universal, as they can never capture conceptual abstractions adequately. The problem of conceptual abstraction magnifies that of dissimilarity outlined above. Apin lists the subjects for which he finds teaching with images particularly objectionable: I am now not at all afraid to say, about those pictures with which certain men chiefly try to teach the first beginnings of letters, a knowledge of vocabulary, Grammar, and Sciences to boys, that they are completely ridiculous, unsuitable, and occasionally clearly false.122

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Image-­based learning is dangerous insofar as it can lead students to mistake the particular for the universal. He admits that, to a certain extent, the minds of boys are strongly enticed by images of this kind, yet he argues that they do not lead students toward solid and comprehensive understanding.123 The problem, he explains, is that mnemonic images increase the work of a student: Surely, if you wish to gain knowledge through pictures, you would be forced to commit to memory two things at the same time, the images and the objects that are signified by them; since, if you were to undertake the matter bare, with no pictures added, you would be able to give that time which you are obliged to give to impressing images [on your mind] to the learning of a new thing.124 Yvon makes a similar point, arguing that mnemonic images should not be used to designate ethical and metaphysical ideas, because these visualizations would require so much explanation that the work of the student would be doubled.125 Instead, the encyclopédiste recommends perfecting the memory through logical reasoning. He writes, referring to Descartes’s twin predicates for certainty, “The more that the idea that we have of a thing is clear and distinct, the more we will have the facility of remembering it and recalling it when we need it.”126 The remarks of Yvon and Apin are representative of the sorts of argument that led to the demise of the allegorical, mnemonic plural image over the course of the eighteenth century. They help us to understand how philosophical plural images came to be viewed as useless curiosities. In addition, the case of Apin’s treatise and collection sheds light on the ways in which objects change their valences in different contexts. By collecting these objects and transporting them from classrooms to his personal cabinet, Apin robs them of their uses and turns them into encrusted curiosities.

Coda The protagonist of Goethe’s eighteenth-­century drama Faust, like Apin, is faced with the failures of traditional patterns of creativity that he once valued. In a monologue from the first part of the play, Faust opens a book by the French astrologer-­prophet Nostradamus (1503–­1566) and sees the sign of the macrocosm.127 Initially he is enthralled by this hieroglyphic symbol: “In these pure ciphers I can see / living Nature spread before my soul.”128 Faust’s confidence in the illuminating powers of the ciphers quickly dissolves, however: What pageantry! But alas, a pageant and no more!

Where shall I clasp you, infinity of Nature? You breasts, where? You wellsprings of all life?129 opposite  figure 30

Frontispiece to book 1 of Aristotle’s Ethics, Neapolitan manuscript of c. 1500. 16.7 × 11.2 in. (42.5 × 28.5 cm). Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna [Cod. Phil. Gr. 4].

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Faust experiences a crisis when he stops conceiving of the phenomenal world as a set of hieroglyphs that can be deciphered. Goethe included a frontispiece by Johann Heinrich Lips (1758–­1817) in volume 7 of the 1790 edition of his writings, which contained the Faust fragment (fig. 31). The image shows a scholar in his study and is based on an etching created by Rembrandt

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right  figure 31

Lips, frontispiece to the seventh volume of Goethe’s Schriften, 1790. Engraving printed on paper, 4.5 × 2.7 in. (11.4 × 6.9 cm). Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, Weimar. opposite  figure 32

Rembrandt, A Scholar in His Study (“Faust”), c. 1652. Etching, drypoint, and burin, printed on paper, 8.3 × 6.3 in. (21 × 16 cm). BM, London.

around 1652 (fig. 32).130 In both versions of the print, a Faustian figure studies a mysterious sign that floats midair and emits light, adding to the natural light that enters through the window. The sign illuminates the face of the scholar, as well as the skull behind him. Rembrandt’s etching and Lips’s copy superimpose a diagram—­one that we can imagine as corresponding to Nostradamus’s macrocosmic plural image—­onto a relatively coherent tableau of a scholar at work. Like Apin’s dissertation, Rembrandt’s etching is an object created during a moment of transition: it shows one structure of making sense of the world in the context of another, newer mode of organizing reality. This book studies the rise and decline of the belief in philosophical plural images as ciphers for the universe—­a history that we can find enacted both in the opening monologue of Faust and in Rembrandt’s etching.

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Ch a pter 2

Thinking through Plural Images of Logic

A main source of our failure to understand is that we don’t have an overview of the use of our words.—­ Our grammar is deficient in surveyability. A surveyable representation produces precisely that kind of understanding which consists in “seeing connections”. Hence the importance of finding and inventing intermediate links. The concept of a surveyable representation is of fundamental significance for us. It characterizes the way we represent things, how we look at matters. (Is this a “Weltanschauung”?) —­ Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations

I

n September 1751 Jean-­Baptiste Ludot (1703–­1771), a lawyer and mathematician from Troyes, sent a six-­page letter to Suite de la clef; ou journal historique sur les matières du tems describing an engraving that visualizes an Aristotelian system of logic in the form of a garden.1 From the introductory sentences onward, Ludot’s enthusiasm for the print is apparent: Here, Monsieur, is a copy of a work, which through its extreme uniqueness may merit a place in your journal. One ought, as much as possible, to save chefs-­d’œuvre from being forgotten, and this work is one.2

det ail of plat e 1

“The work,” he explains, “is the programme of theses in logic defended at the Grand Couvent des Cordeliers in Paris . . . under the supervision of the Professor friar Martin Meurisse.”3 He identifies the engraver as “L. Gaultier, one of the most famous engravers of the time,” and offers an overview of the engraving’s textual and iconographic content.4 His description so closely matches the Descriptio, the first illustrated thesis print of Meurisse and Gaultier, that there is little question that this is the chef-­d’œuvre Ludot admired so fervently (see plate 1). Ludot was far from the only scholar to extol the Descriptio. This broadside was translated into English by Richard Dey and published in London in 1637 (fig. 33); as I show in chapter 4, it inspired prints and drawings integrated into the notebooks of Leuven philosophy students. In the pages that follow, I argue that this thesis print was also the most important source of the Typus, and I offer a detailed explanation of the iconographic

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opposite  figure 33

William Marshall (?) and Meurisse, An artificiall description of logick, London c. 1637. Engraving printed on paper, 20.1 × 15.4 in. (51 × 39 cm). Yale University, The Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library, New Haven, CT.

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and textual contents of both these prints (see plate 2).5 I demonstrate the ways in which these engravings operated as tools that enabled Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier to think through and organize the discipline of Aristotelian scholastic logic. Both of these plural images use the space of the page to visualize conceptual relationships among parts of Aristotelian scholastic logic to one another and to the field as a whole, while they also offer subtle visual commentaries on particular topics within the discipline. Although these broadsides are more verisimilar than other plural images and show relatively coherent views of landscapes, they still belong to this genre, because, as the following analysis shows, they are primarily organized and unified by conceptual relationships. In this chapter and chapter 4, I focus in large part on visual representations of Aristotelian scholastic logic. Because logic was considered to provide students with the tools to reason without falling into error, seventeenth-­century educators agreed that it should be taught before other philosophical disciplines. Indeed, the title of Chéron’s thesis print, Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas (Scheme of the necessity of logic for grasping the other branches of knowledge), emphasizes logic’s role in preparing students for the study of other sciences. Logic instruction was based primarily on a collection of texts by Aristotle known as the Organon and on Porphyry’s third-­century text, Isagoge, which served as a preface to the Organon.6 The teaching of these treatises reflected the view that logic should be organized into the three mental operations: apprehension, judgment, and ratiocination (or reasoning by using syllogisms). It is through apprehension, the first operation of the mind, that the conception of an object or term is brought to the mind. The texts pertaining to apprehension include excerpts of Porphyry’s Isagoge and Aristotle’s Categories (a treatise in the Organon). Through judgment, the second operation, simple concepts are combined or divided to create propositions. The relevant text from the Organon is Aristotle’s On Interpretation. By way of ratiocination, the third operation, the mind organizes the propositions that were made through the second operation to form syllogisms. Discussions of the third operation were generally based on the following texts from the Organon: the Prior Analytics, the Topics, the Sophistical Refutations, and the Posterior Analytics.7 Logic textbooks throughout the seventeenth century also present this tripartite division.8 Both the Descriptio and the Typus situate philosophical dialogues within natural settings. The Descriptio includes excerpts of logical texts scattered across the image of a three-­tiered garden, and the Typus places philosophical quotations over a diverse landscape with mountains, a walled garden, a grassy field, and a body of water. At the bottom of both these broadsides, Meurisse and Chéron are shown conversing with students before entrances to walled gardens (figs. 34 and 35). In the Descriptio the following annotation floats beside his mouth like a speech bubble: “The entrance lies open now for you, and this step is prepared. A fertile fountain, blooming palm trees, and healthy fruit.”9 Meurisse gestures with his right arm, in order to encourage his pupils to enter the garden.10 Chéron urges students to explore a garden as well. Near his mouth is the following text, in dactylic pentameter: “She who sitteth on the throne scattereth away all evil.”11 Chéron speaks of Logic, who guards the entrance to the garden; he implies that by

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left  figure 34

Meurisse and Gaultier, detail showing Meurisse and his students from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. right  figure 35

Chéron and Gaultier, detail showing Chéron and his students from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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teaching the science of correct reasoning and the proper definitions of terms, Logic can refute heretical positions and thus eliminate evil. The Synopsis also shows Meurisse and his students conversing in a natural landscape, and in the Laurus metaphysica Meurisse helps his students climb a giant laurel tree (see figs. 1 and 2). By illustrating the field of logic as a natural landscape, Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier show their awareness of the notion of the garden as a locus for collecting and studying knowledge, drawing inspiration from a tradition dating back to antiquity that celebrated nature and gardens as conducive to philosophical contemplation and learning.12 Throughout the Renaissance, gardens continued to serve as popular backdrops for philosophical dialogues. The colloquy Convivium religiosum written by Desiderius Erasmus (1466–­1536) in 1522, for instance, is set in the gardens of Eusebius’s country house. Moreover, the Descriptio and Typus were designed during a period in which universities, in increasing numbers, were planting pedagogical gardens;13 thus they should also be seen in the context of teaching and intellectual activities transpiring in actual gardens throughout Europe. In Gaultier’s frontispiece to the Institutionum pharmaceuticarum libri quinque (Five books of pharmaceutical instruction) by Jean de Renou (1568–­ca. 1620) individuals walk, talk, tend plants, and write in a botanical garden (fig. 36). The broadsides’ uses of the garden metaphor, however, should be distinguished from that of Erasmus. The moralization of the natural world in the Convivium stands at the start of a very different tradition, of emblematics and occasional meditation, in which Nature is made to deliver edifying messages. Eusebius in the Convivium describes Nature as an instructor who “speaks.”14 As he and his guests wander through his “Epicurean gardens,”15 Eusebius draws his interlocutor’s attention to pedagogical inscriptions that accompany plants and painted images. Beside the herb marjoram, for instance, is a banner informing visitors that pigs hate its smell; and a painting of an Attic owl “speaks Greek,” advising visitors to be prudent.16 By contrast, the broadsides, far from aiming at moralization, are rather designed to impress a set of dialectical categories into the heads of students. The Descriptio’s garden is not natural but “artful,” as Meurisse says in the title (Artificiosa). What makes these logic gardens memorable and effective, as I show in the account that follows, is precisely their unnatural touches, such as the books hanging from one of the Descriptio’s trees, or the burning palm fronds and the images of severed body parts.

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The Logicae universae typus

left  figure 36

Gaultier, frontispiece to de Renou’s Institutionum pharmaceuticarum libri quinque (Paris: Guillaume et Denis de La Noue, 1608). Engraving printed on paper, 7.8 × 5.5 in. (19.7 × 14 cm). Bibliothèque Interuniversitaire de Santé, Paris. right  figure 37

Reisch, Typus grammaticus, in Margarita philosophica (Freiburg im Breisgau: Schott, 1503), fol. 3r. 8.6 × 6 in. (21.8 × 15.2 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Before turning to the Descriptio and Typus, I would like to note their affinity to the Logicae universae typus of Colutius and Bianchi (see fig. 12). Although this broadside does not depict a garden, instead showing the tenets of Aristotelian scholastic logic over the architectural structure of a defense tower, it incorporates in a simpler format many of the same organizational and intellectual principles on which Meurisse and Chéron formed their broadsides. This chapter argues that all these engravings, as single-­paged, abbreviated, and organized summaries of logic, realize the belief that systems of philosophy could be represented in their entirety in concise formats. In the manner of the contemporaneous genre of the philosophical textbook, these broadsides rely on summary to teach logic to students of philosophy in Italy and France. And yet by bringing philosophical notions into visual forms, these plural images also use the space of the page to show intellectual relationships, and they inevitably offer enriching interpretations and commentaries on the materials they transmit. Colutius and Bianchi were not alone in depicting an academic subject on the form of a tower: the Margarita philosophica (1503) by the German Carthusian prior Gregor Reisch (ca. 1467–­1525) included a didactic print depicting grammar on a tower, the Typus grammaticus (fig. 37). In this woodcut, the mythical author of the Latin alphabet Nicostrata holds a leaf of paper containing the alphabet, known as a hornbook, and a key, as she

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leads a young boy into the tower of learning. On the first and second stories of the tower are the grammarians Donatus and Priscianus. The third story shows Aristotle, Marcus Tullius Cicero, and Boethius, who are noted for their respective contributions to the fields of logic, rhetoric and poetry, and arithmetic. On the fourth story are Pythagoras, cited for his work on music, Euclid, named for his contributions to geometry, and Ptolemy, mentioned for his research in astronomy. The disciplines of physics and moral philosophy, the latter of which is represented by Seneca, are referred to on the fifth story. On the highest story of the tower of learning is Peter Lombard, who represents theology and metaphysics. As the Margarita philosophica was popular and frequently reprinted throughout the sixteenth century, it is possible that Colutius and Bianchi were inspired by this tower when they designed their own print.17 As noted above, it was standard for the field of logic to be organized into the three operations of the mind, and the broadside of Colutius and Bianchi conforms to this tradition, as do those of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier. In order to analyze the content of the Logicae universae typus, I have subdivided the image into five horizontal segments numbered successively from bottom to top (fig. 38). In the lowest segment we find a combination of words and images to represent Porphyry’s five predicables, or general types of assertions about a subject, and Aristotle’s ten categories. A soldier standing in a lookout tower in the fifth horizontal segment apprehends the concepts shown in segment 1 and symbolizes the activity of the first operation of the mind, through which the conception of an object or term is brought to the mind. The tower’s second highest tier explicates the activity of the second operation of the mind, through which terms are combined and divided to form propositions. The portion of the tower occupied by the third horizontal segment encapsulates the activity of the third operation of the mind, by which propositions are organized into syllogisms or arguments. In the second horizontal segment, nineteen valid syllogisms are illustrated and summarized on a zigzagging wall before the tower’s base. Segment 1 A band of text at the bottom of the first horizontal segment of the Logicae universae typus presents Porphyry’s five predicables: genus, species, difference, property, and accident (see fig. 38). Above these terms denoting possible classifications of the ways in which predicates relate to subjects is a procession of soldiers loosely divided into ten groups that correspond to Aristotle’s ten categories, which Aristotle enumerates as follows:

opposite  figure 38

The five segments of the Logicae universae typus, 1606. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6].

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Of things said without any combination, each signifies either substance or quantity or qualification or a relative or where or when or being-­in-­ a-­position or having or doing or being-­affected. To give a rough idea, examples of substance are man, horse; of quantity: four-­foot, five-­foot; of qualification: white, grammatical; of a relative: double, half, larger; of where: in the Lyceum, in the market-­place; of when: yesterday, last year; of being-­ in-­a-­position: is-­lying, is-­sitting; of having: has-­shoes-­on; of doing: cutting, burning; of being-­affected: being-­cut, being-­burned.18

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The categories are the different types of concepts apprehended through the mind’s first operation. Within each of the ten groups of soldiers, Colutius and Bianchi represent one soldier whose flag is labeled with the name of a category, and another whose flag cites one or more examples of the category. For instance, in the third group of soldiers from the left, a man in armor holds a flag labeled “Relatio” (relation); behind him a soldier holds a flag marked “Pater Filius” (Father Son) and wears a shield with an image of a man and child (fig. 39). The filial relationship is a famous example of Aristotle’s category of relation.19 Beneath each of the ten groups of soldiers, rectangular boxes of texts further characterize the ten categories. In one case, for example, under the group of men visualizing the category of relation, the rectangle contains the title “Classis Relationis” (class of relation), and Latin text summarizing Aristotle’s description of this category.

above  figure 39

Detail showing the filial relationship from the Logicae universae

Segment 5 Colutius marks the top of the tower with the words “Prima Operatio Ap[p]rehensio” (The first operation [of the mind] is apprehension), designating the space as summarizing the activity of the first operation of the mind, through which the mind conceives of an object or term (see fig. 38). A man in armor holds a flag marked with the text “Praefectus Arcis Intellectus” (The governor of the citadel is the intellect) (fig. 40). He observes the soldiers below him from the top of the tower. His gaze signifies the activity of the mind’s first operation: he apprehends below him the soldiers, who personify the categories, just as the mind apprehends the categories in the first operation. This analogy functions to enrich students’ understanding of apprehension. The two flags flanking the soldier present further logical distinctions pertaining to the mind’s first operation.

typus, 1606. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6].

right  figure 40

Detail showing a man whose gaze signifies the activity of the mind’s first operation from the Logicae universae typus, 1606. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6].

Segment 4 Colutius marks the second-­highest tier of the tower with the words “Secunda Operatio Judicium” (The second operation [of the mind] is judgment), meaning that it is a representation of the second operation of the mind, or the mind’s ability to combine and divide terms in order to create propositions. The flags in this area, including one showing a square of opposition that I discuss in chapter 4, contain annotations relating to the characteristics of propositions. 82

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Segment 3 The area of the tower in the third horizontal segment encapsulates the third operation of the mind, its ability to order propositions into arguments (see fig. 38). The words “Tertia Operatio Discursus” (The third operation [of the mind] is discourse) are inscribed at the top of a banner hanging from the center of this region of the tower. The words “Janua aulae demonstrationis” (The door to the hall of demonstration) are marked on the railing in front of the central of three doors, characterizing it as leading to deductions that produce knowledge through valid syllogisms. A banner with text describing valid syllogisms hangs above it. Syllogisms that result in opinion are accessed through the door on the left, labeled “Janua aulae Dialecticae” (The door to the hall of dialectic) and topped with a banner describing characteristics of dialectical arguments. In front of the door on the right is the phrase “Janua aulae Sophisticae” (The door to the hall of sophistry), indicating that it represents syllogisms that produce error. The banner above this door describes the traits of sophistic syllogisms. Flags to the left and right of the doorways contain text summarizing different types of arguments, including various forms that do not result in knowledge. Segment 2 The second segment of the engraving depicts nineteen examples of valid syllogisms (see fig. 38). Valid syllogisms contain three propositions: a major premise, a minor premise, and the resulting conclusion. The major and minor premises of all valid syllogisms must share a term that is either the subject or the predicate of each premise. For example, Major Premise: “All humans are rational.” Minor Premise: “Some animals are human.” Conclusion: “Some animals are rational.” Syllogisms can be classified into four different entities called “figures,” depending on whether the middle term (“human,” in the above set of premises) is the subject or the predicate of the major and minor premises. Syllogisms can also be organized according to their mood, that is, depending on what types of propositions appear in their major premise, minor premise, and conclusion. The four types of propositions were symbolized from the Middle Ages onward by the vowels A, E, I, and O. Universal affirmative propositions are denoted by the vowel A; E signifies a universal negative proposition; I stands for a particular affirmative proposition; and O represents a particular negative proposition. Beginning in the first half of the thirteenth century, students employed the following mnemonic verse to assist in the memorization of the moods of nineteen valid syllogisms: Barbara celarent darii ferio baralipton Celantes dabitis fapesmo frisesomorum; Cesare camestres festino baroco; darapti Felapton disamis datisi bocardo ferison. The vowels in each of the nineteen words signify the mood of a specific syllogism. For instance, “Barbara” represents a syllogism of the A-­A-­A form, namely, one that consists of three universal affirmative propositions. 83

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figure 41

Detail representing a syllogism that consists of three universal affirmative propositions from the Logicae universae typus, 1606. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6].

The second segment of the engraving depicts nineteen cannons marked with the mnemonic names from the poem cited above in order to represent each of the valid syllogisms. The cannons are also ordered into four columns that denote the four figures and emerge through openings in the wall before the tower. Each cannon has just shot three cannonballs, depicted by the mouth of the cannon, which represent major and minor premises and conclusions. For instance, the word “Barbara” is inscribed to the right of a cannon at the top of a column, slightly right of the center (fig. 41). The third cannonball from its mouth—­the first one shot, signifying the first premise of the syllogism—­is identified “Major” (Major), and labeled with the words “Universalis Affirmativa” (Universal Affirmative), indicating that it symbolizes the major premises of syllogisms in the first mood of the first figure. The central cannonball is labeled with the word “Minor” (Minor) and is also marked as representing a universal affirmative proposition. The rightmost cannonball symbolizes the syllogism’s conclusion: it is labeled “Conclusio” and is also characterized as a universal affirmative proposition. In addition to representing nineteen valid syllogisms, Colutius inscribes various logical distinctions pertaining to syllogisms in this segment of his engraving. Colutius and Bianchi aim in their Logicae universae typus to clarify an entire system of Aristotelian logic for students at the Gymnasium Romanum by showing it in a single image. They rely on analogies to systems that would be more widely known, such as architecture and military actions. In its focus on the first, second, and third operations of the mind, the engraving is similar to the Descriptio and the Typus. It will become apparent, nevertheless, that these thesis prints are significantly more complex than the Logicae universae typus.

Comparative Analysis of the Descriptio and the Typus opposite  figure 42

The five segments of the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. overleaf  figure 43

The six segments of the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Whereas the Logicae universae typus depends on a single architectural structure to depict logic, Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier employ intricate iconographic schemas, illustrating the discipline over gardens, man-­made constructions, and natural landscapes. The Typus is particularly complicated; in this work, nearly a hundred small figures stumble along treacherous pathways, scale craggy cliffs, cross wild hunting grounds, and sail through a roiling sea in pursuit of wisdom, represented by a domed temple rising above the waters near top of the print. This discussion of the Descriptio and Typus relies on their division into successive segments (figs. 42 and 43). The following analysis roughly adheres to a course from the lowest to the highest segments of each engraving,

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segment 5

segment 4

segment 3

segment 2

segment 1

segment 1

segment 2

segment 2 segment 6

segment 5

segment 4

segment 3

segment 2

in the order in which it appears that Chéron, Meurisse, and Gaultier intended viewers to explore their images. Dedications are appended to the top of both broadsides, and background information regarding the design and publication of the engravings appears in the lowest portion of each print. As noted in this chapter’s opening section, these lowest segments also feature portraits of Meurisse and Chéron with their students (see figs. 34 and 35). These depictions of teacher and students before gates to knowledge invite viewers to investigate the engravings by reading the images from their lowest areas upward. The unique framing device of the Typus further directs its viewer’s progression through the images: along rugged pathways on both sides, travelers pass from the top of the image downward to the bottom of the broadside, where they join Chéron and his students as they prepare to enter the gate and make their way back up through the center. The second segment of the Descriptio and the third segment of the Typus represent the walled spaces within these gates. The third segment of the Descriptio depicts a hedged garden, while the fourth segment of the Typus shows a field framed with rocky cliffs. The fourth segment of the Descriptio represents three fruit trees and portraits of Duns Scotus and Aristotle. In the fifth segment of the Typus, cliffs surround turbulent waters, above which, at the center of segment 6, stands a circular, open-­air temple, the house of Wisdom.

above  figure 44

Detail showing Aristotle from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. below  figure 45

Detail showing Scotus from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

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Framing Segments Viewers are meant to begin their contemplation of the Descriptio at the top, by reading its title and dedication to Jacques-­Auguste de Thou. Looking downward, they might turn next to the right-­hand corner below the title, where Aristotle pulls back a curtain, a gesture of uncovering that signifies his central role in unveiling the system of logic described in the engraving (fig. 44). An inscription stresses his extraordinary contributions to logic: “When the supreme Aristotle expounds the logical precepts of the wise ancients, he makes all things lucid.”20 In the upper left corner is an image of Duns Scotus, a traditional depiction of a scholar working in his study (fig. 45).21 The legend emphasizes his role as a commentator: “Scotus owes his [ideas] to Aristotle. But he explains him. What, therefore, does Aristotle not owe to Scotus?”22 This celebration of Duns Scotus’s elucidation of Aristotelian logic makes clear the medieval philosopher’s influence on the Descriptio. There were many commentaries on Aristotle’s philosophy, but members of the Franciscan order aggressively championed Duns Scotus’s writings, and Meurisse was no exception; his own book on metaphysics is explicitly indebted to the “subtle doctor.”23 Scotist-­leaning scholastic Aristotelianism dominated curricula in many of the monastery schools and colleges in early seventeenth-­century Paris, as evinced by the correspondences between the Descriptio and the textbooks of Eustachius a Sancto Paulo (1573–­1640) and Charles François d’Abra de Raconis (1580–­1646).24 After reading the title and dedication in segment 1 of the Typus, viewers were expected to examine the contents of segment 2, in which Chéron and Gaultier repeatedly frame the study of logic and philosophy in relation to the rhetorical notion of invention.25 For Chéron’s students at his Carmelite convent in Paris, the broadside served as a map of intellectual discovery, its intricate juxtaposition of text and image providing

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left  figure 46

Detail illustrating King Solomon and the first reason for studying philosophy from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 47

Detail on the second reason for studying philosophy from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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the opportunity to master logic, and thus to find wisdom, through a process that corresponds with the rhetorical category of invention (inventio), most correctly understood in accordance with its etymological sense of finding.26 At the top of the pathway on the left, King Solomon wears a crown and sits in a tent flanked by two soldiers (fig. 46). His throne is decorated with lions. An annotation near Solomon’s mouth stresses his close connection to Philosophy, who sits in the temple of wisdom.27 Two men in habits stand in front of Solomon, asking him questions pertaining to the search for Wisdom, the first of which relies on invention: “Where is wisdom to be found?” (Vnde venit sapientia?) and “Where is the place of understanding?” (Quis est locus intelligentiae?) (Job 28:12). Beneath Solomon and his subjects is an inscription identifying ignorance as a primary motivation for studying philosophy: “The First Reason for seeking philosophy was ignorance” (1.A Causa inveniendae Philosophiae fuit ignorantia). In the Metaphysics Aristotle also cites ignorance as a state that propels individuals to philosophize.28 This is the first of four causes for inventing or seeking philosophy that are offered in the upper left and right pathways of the broadside. The second motivation for studying philosophy is identified by the following annotation on the edge of the rocky cliff, below Solomon and his companions (fig. 47): “The second reason for seeking philosophy was wonder” (2.A Causa inveniendae philosophiae fuit admiratio). Aristotle cites “wonder” as a motivation for people to engage with philosophical questions.29 Near this inscription pertaining to wonder are various individuals who discuss the ways to acquire wisdom and express their admiration for knowledge. For instance, two men who lean over the cliff and point toward the temple in segment 6 locate understanding in the treasures of wisdom.30 The third reason Chéron cites to explain why people philosophize is inscribed across from these images, at the top of the pathway on the right side of the sheet (fig. 48): “The third reason was appetite” (3.A Causa fuit appetitus). Above this

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left  figure 48

Detail with further reasons why people philosophize from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 49

Frontispiece to a handbook for students at the University of Strasbourg, from Tabula militiae scholasticae (Strasbourg: Wyriot, 1578), fol. 4r. Woodcut on paper, c. 8.3 × 6.2 in. (21 × 15.8 cm). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, München [H.lit.p. 646 o-­1/3].

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inscription is an image of Aristotle beside the tent farthest to the right. Aristotle’s name is inscribed near his feet, and on his tent are the words “Aristotle restorer of philosophy” (Aristoteles philosophiae restaurator). He is in conversation with his pupil Alexander the Great, identified by the words “Alex[ander] Mag[nus].” The inscription by Alexander’s mouth, “I proposed wisdom to kingdoms” (Proposui illam regnis), denotes his dominance in the field of political wisdom. A boy walks toward Aristotle from the left and asks him to give him wisdom.31 Six additional tents are inscribed with the names of the Greek philosophers Parmenides, Diogenes, Socrates, Plato, Thales, and Zeno.32 Lining the path that appears before the philosophers’ tents is a direct transcription of the first sentence of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, “All men by nature desire to know” (Omnes homines natura scire desiderant).33 These annotated military tents and the tents at the bottom of segment 5 resemble those depicted on an anonymous woodcut titled Tabula militiae scholasticae that served as a frontispiece to a handbook for students at the University of Strasbourg in 1578 (fig. 49).34 The tents in both prints draw an analogy between educational and military combat, which we have already encountered in multiple works. A fourth reason men are drawn to find philosophy is inscribed on the edge of the cliff below the third reason (see fig. 48): “The fourth reason for seeking philosophy was

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left  figure 50

Detail on the dangers of disregarding wisdom from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 51

Detail on the nature and merits of wisdom from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

experience” (4.A Causa inveniendae Philosophiae fuit experientia).35 Above this inscription, three men labor intensely to climb the rocky cliff: one carries a ladder, as another behind him uses both hands to help a third man up the cliff. An annotation based on Ecclesiastes 10:10 suggests that their hard work will be rewarded by knowledge: “After industry shall follow wisdom” (Post industriam sequetur sapientia). In his representation of the relationship between experience and wisdom, Chéron presumably drew inspiration from the passage in the Nicomachean Ethics in which Aristotle argues that it is because young men have no experience that they lack practical wisdom.36 A little below Aristotle, Alexander the Great, and the other philosophers, two men stand beside a third who sleeps on a rock (see fig. 48). The figure nearest the sleeping man says, “It [i.e., wisdom] is not found in the land of them that live in delights” (Non invenitur in terra suaviter viventium).37 Again Chéron employs the rhetorical notion of invention. He wants his students to know that they must work hard to gain wisdom; they will not find wisdom by sleeping all day. The words printed near the mouth of the man on the left also offer students advice on how to approach knowledge and avoid getting into danger: “Seek not the things that are too high for thee” (Altiora te ne quaesieris). This quotation, based on Ecclesiasticus 3:22, is a religious injunction that refers to the limits of human reason. On the right pathway of the Typus, a man falls into the water, perhaps because he has sought “the things that are too high,” while another walks confidently over a bridge without losing his balance (fig. 50). Near the falling man Chéron includes an annotation explaining the cause of his demise: “For regarding not wisdom, they have slipped” (Sapientiam praetereuntes lapsi sunt).38 Above the man on the bridge is a maxim by Publilius Syrus (fl. 46–­29 Bce) that explains his confident stance: “It is foolish to fear what cannot be avoided” (Stultum est timere quod vitari nequit).39 Farther down the pathways to the right and left, individuals descend the mountain and comment about the nature and merits of wisdom (fig. 51). Chéron continues to rely on the rhetorical notion of invention; on the right, for instance, one man, who runs away

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above  figure 52

Detail on the labor and hardship involved in the search for knowledge from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. below  figure 53

Detail on wisdom from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

from a blindfolded siren, declares, “Blessed is the man that findeth wisdom” (Beatus homo qui invenit sapientiam).40 Sirens were allegorical figures that symbolized dangerous and heretical thought and sensuous pleasures.41 The Tableau of Meurisse and Gaultier features a “Siren of concupiscence” (Syrene de concupsicence), who brushes her hair and admires herself in a mirror (see fig. 3). It also shows a second female sea monster, who like the Typus’s siren is blindfolded; she is characterized as a “monster of ignorance” (monstre d’ignorance). Both these sea monsters are precedents to the siren in the Typus. Below the man who escapes the blindfolded siren, a male traveler dressed as a Carmelite says to another, “Steep indeed is the path of wisdom” (Arduum sane est sapientiae iter) (fig. 52). He is aware of the labor and hardship involved in the search for knowledge. Across from these travelers, on the left pathway, a man cites the book of Job 28:18: “Wisdom is drawn out of secret places” (Trahitur sapientia de occultis) (fig. 53). Below him stands a gate whose architrave is marked with the words “The papacy is not wanting in logic” (Pontificium non eget logica) and displays the personal coat of arms of Pope Gregory XV (1554–­1623), who was in power when the Typus appeared (fig. 54). On the opposite side of the engraving, another gate displays the words “Civil law is not wanting in Logic” (Jus civile non eget Logica) with the royal coat of arms of France and Navarre (fig. 55). The inscriptions on both gates remind travelers approaching the gate to Logic that the discipline is integral to the thinking of society’s religious and civil officials. We will reencounter this thinking in terms of the two powers of church and state in chapter 5 in the frontispiece to Hobbes’s Leviathan. In the bottom right corner of segment 2 stands the fourteenth-­century Carmelite Michael of Bologna (d. 1400), who says, in reference to the keys in Logic’s hands (fig. 56), “Behold the governess of the soul and both the door key and the method of knowing. And when this is disdained, no one is able to approach wisdom.”42 Opposite Michael of Bologna, in the left corner, is St. Augustine, who likewise stresses logic’s propaedeutic role (fig. 57): “When this is opened, the rest are opened and the closed things are closed” (Hac

left  figure 54

Detail on logic’s relationship to the papacy from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 55

Detail on logic’s relationship to civil law from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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left  figure 56

Detail showing Michael of Bologna from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 57

Detail showing St. Augustine from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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aperta caeterae aperiuntur et clausa clauduntur). Chéron and Gaultier have presented St. Augustine and Michael of Bologna prominently in the bottom corners of their engraving to emphasize the importance of their ideas.43 As noted above, Meurisse and Chéron lecture to their students before entrances to walled courtyards (see figs. 34 and 35). Meurisse is identified by the inscription “Brother Martin Meurisse, in charge of Logic, ordered [it] to be printed and brought into the light of day [i.e., published] with the permission of his superiors.”44 The image of Chéron teaching his students is labeled, “Brother John Chéron, among the Carmelites of Paris, in charge of Logic.”45 Meurisse holds an open book in his left hand. The meanings of the text and image in the Descriptio presuppose a familiarity with Aristotelian scholastic logic; the book in Meurisse’s hand alerts viewers that the broadside summarizes information fleshed out in detail in logical texts.46 Because portraits of Duns Scotus and Aristotle appear in the Descriptio, it can be presumed that the text Meurisse holds is by one of these philosophers, or by both, as in Duns Scotus’s published interpretation of Aristotle’s logical works. In the Typus, in addition to Michael of Bologna, Augustine, and Chéron with his students, eight men appear in the vicinity of Logic. Some of these travelers confront formidable adversity in their quest to reach Logic. One man, who has finally reached Logic and stands to her left, addresses her with the phrase (see fig. 57) “From you there is wisdom” (Abs te est sapientia).47 To the left of Michael of Bologna stands a Carmelite traveler. The words engraved by his mouth denote his awareness of the struggles endured by ignorant people, “How very unpleasant is wisdom to the unlearned” (Quam aspera nimium est indoctis sapientia).48 Meurisse and Gaultier also depict figures approaching the walled space in the Descriptio. As I explain in detail in chapter 4, segment 1 shows Genera, Species, Differences, and Individuals nearing the garden’s entrance, as well as a man representing the idea of the division of a whole into its parts. This man and the group of men, women, and boys allow Meurisse and Gaultier to present two different kinds of division.

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left  figure 58

Detail on the first operation of the mind from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 59

Detail showing Definition from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

The First Operation of the Mind The second segment of the Descriptio and the third segment of the Typus illustrate courtyards that signify the first operation of the mind, or the mind’s ability to form concepts (see figs. 42 and 43). In the Descriptio the words “Prima mentis operatio” (the first operation of the mind) are inscribed on the back wall of the courtyard; in the Typus, the phrase is annotated above a representation of a naked woman with long hair who stands in the center of the courtyard (fig. 58). Chéron’s inscription above the woman specifies that truth-­ values cannot be ascribed to products of the mind’s first operation, because the products are merely concepts, and not propositions or judgments.49 The courtyards in both prints feature female personifications of definition (figs. 59 and 60). In the Descriptio she appears as a naked woman at the center of a fountain, characterized thus by Meurisse: “Definition, a phrase explaining the nature of the thing, relates to the first operation of the mind.”50 In the Typus Definition stands before a door in the center of the courtyard’s back wall, where she is characterized as “the first handmaiden of wisdom,” in reference to the idea that in order to gain knowledge, one must first apprehend the meanings of the concepts being discussed.51 She stands before a diverse group of animals; words inscribed next to her mouth betray her ambition to analyze the creatures before her: “I make known the natures of things.”52 In order to enter the walled garden of the Descriptio, students must pass through a set of concentric arches and climb five steps. Doric columns support the outer arch, while the inner arch rests on rectangular pilasters. A definition of the discipline of dialectic, or logic, is annotated on the entrance’s outer arch.53 The architrave is inscribed, “Dialectic is defined as the art of discourse.”54 The text on the outer columns of the archway presents further dialectical definitions and distinctions. Similarly, to enter the courtyard represented in the Typus, students must pass through an archway and open a wooden door, using the keys held by Logic (fig. 61). The arch is built over four Corinthian columns, and its architrave carries a definition of the discipline of logic.55 The entrances in the Descriptio and Typus engravings use the same portico vocabulary found in early modern book frontispieces, which serve metaphorically as gates to the text, just as the engravings’ gates lead into spaces of knowledge.56 In the Descriptio the steps leading to the inside of the walled garden are annotated with definitions of the five predicables. In addition to genus, species, and difference on steps 1 to 3, Meurisse defines property on the fourth step of the staircase:

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left  figure 60

Detail showing Definition from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 61

Detail showing Logic from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

A property is a universal that is predicable of many things differing in species and number according to how they are. By necessity and reciprocally, it is not distinguished really from that of which it is a property.57

figure 62

Detail showing Accident from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Porphyry also presents property as a counterpredicate. By way of example, Porphyry explains that only men have the ability to laugh, and that if a being laughs, he or she must belong to the species of man; reciprocally, if a being is a member of the species man, he or she must be able to laugh.58 Meurisse’s definition of accident is inscribed on the fifth step: “Accident . . . is what is absent or present without the destruction of the subject.”59 Abra de Raconis offers a nearly identical definition, and those included in Porphyry’s Isagoge and Eustachius’s textbook are also similar.60 Meurisse ties the five predicables to universals, in three inscriptions on the archivolt and rectangular pilasters that frame the five steps: “A universal is what is suitable to be in many things”; “The universal thing is before all understanding. It exists not beyond, but in particulars”; and “Universal is the univocal genus of the five universal things.”61 Porphyry’s five predicables also feature in the Typus, where they are represented by personifications positioned inside the walled space in segment 3. The broadside’s explanation of accident offers insight into its summaries of Porphyry’s philosophy. Chéron and Gaultier personify this predicable as an old man, inside the walled space slightly left of center, who holds himself upright by leaning on a cane and a tree stump (fig. 62). The image is annotated, “The accident needs support” (Accidens eget fulcimento). Whereas subjects can exist without their accidents, the converse is not the case. Chéron characterizes the accident as requiring support because, just as the old man cannot stand without support, an accident cannot subsist without being supported by a subject. For instance, the accident of “being tall” cannot exist without a subject who can be characterized by tallness. Below Accident, moving counterclockwise, Chéron and Gaultier personify the predicables of difference, genus, species, and property. Aristotle’s ten categories, the different types of concepts apprehended through the first operation of the mind, are depicted in circular arrangements inside the courtyards of both the Descriptio and the Typus; this similarity of organization exemplifies one of the ways in which the Typus was inspired by the earlier thesis print. In the Descriptio,

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left  figure 63

Junius’s Emblemata (Antwerp: Christophe Plantin, 1569), p. 17. Woodcut on paper, the full-­page measures 4.5 × 2.8 in. (11.5 × 7 cm). National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. right  figure 64

Detail representing substance from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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texts describing Aristotle’s categories are provided in ten basins: into each basin spurts a stream from the fountain inscribed with the name of the category it waters. Substantia (substance) is described in the first basin to the right of the garden entrance; then, moving counterclockwise, we find the remaining categories: Ad aliquid (relation), Agere (action), Ubi (place), Situs (being-­in-­a-­position), Habitus (having), Quando (time), Pati (being-­affected), Qualitas (quality), and Quantitas (quantity). Meurisse’s explanations are inspired by Aristotle’s Categories.62 By contrast to the Descriptio’s textual summaries of the Aristotelian categories, the Typus relies more heavily on image than text; this difference suggests that Chéron was more confident than Meurisse in the potential for images to convey philosophical concepts. Inside ten porticoes, Chéron and Gaultier stage scenes that visualize the meaning of each category. Individuals are framed by similar architectural structures in emblem 11 of the Emblemata of Hadrianus Junius (1511–­1575); this emblem, which may have inspired the Typus’s porticoes, shows Victory, Apollo, and Mars in vaulted temples (fig. 63). In the Typus the roof of each portico is inscribed with the name of the category shown beneath. Substance, for instance, is represented by the image within a portico that stands directly to the left of the courtyard’s entrance (fig. 64). The word “Substantia” is inscribed on the portico’s roof, and its Ionic columns feature the text “It [i.e., substance] includes God and created things” (Continet Deum et creaturas). Chéron

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left  figure 65

Detail representing God the Father and finite entities from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. right  figure 66

Detail on complete and incomplete entities from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

and Gaultier depict several types of substance within the portico. A woman stands in the center of the space with a boy at her leg; she is surrounded by a variety of species, and to her right floats God the Father in the clouds. On the edge of the portico’s base is the annotation “Individuals are the foundations of predicated things [i.e., the categories]” (Individua sunt bases predicamentorum). Chéron alludes to the fact that if all individuals of a particular species disappeared, that species itself and its most general genus (i.e., its category) would also cease to exist. This portico, and the nine others as well, are supported by young boys who personify individuals, to demonstrate that individuals are the foundations of the categories. The other porticoes, as we move clockwise, summarize the categories of relation, doing, time, being-­in-­a-­position, habit, place, being affected, qualification, and quantity. In addition to offering iconographic and textual explications of Aristotle’s categories, the second and third segments of the Descriptio and the Typus present visual commentaries on a broad array of entities and concepts. As has already been noted, God the Father is depicted inside the Typus’s visualization of the category of substance in segment 3. In the Descriptio, by contrast, God the Father is shown outside the courtyard in the upper left corner of segment 2, to emphasize the fact that the Aristotelian categories do not apply to him, something the text in the basin within the courtyard makes explicit (fig. 65).63 Along the walls within the Descriptio’s courtyard are real entities and concepts that are logically graspable; these contrast with the entities and concepts positioned outside, directly across the wall, which are not logically graspable. Thus God the Father is outside the walls, wearing a tiara and holding a globe under the words “Infinite being,” across from four angels inside the courtyard, situated on a cloud below the words “Finite entities, such as Angels, and Heavens”64 (see fig. 65). God’s attributes are listed on the wall between them, as “Infinity, priority, simplicity.”65 Duns Scotus stresses the infinity of the divine nature in his writings, and Meurisse presents a Scotist interpretation of God, which is absent from the Typus.66 Duns Scotus also notes that the infinite being is impossible to define: “An infinite being is that which exceeds any finite being whatsoever not in some limited degree but in a measure beyond what either is defined or can be defined.”67 Chéron and Gaultier do not represent in the Typus any of the concepts lining the inside of the Descriptio’s courtyard walls. Instead, they represent only the concepts positioned outside the Descriptio’s garden; these appear within the Typus’s courtyard,

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described twice with the annotation “Reiiciuntur” (They are rejected), emphasizing that they do not belong in the realm of proper logic. The similarities between the items characterized as rejected in the Typus and those positioned outside the courtyard in the Descriptio demonstrate the influence of the 1614 print on the Typus; at the same time, the decision of Chéron and Gaultier not to represent the items within the Descriptio’s courtyard shows Chéron’s independence from Meurisse. In the Descriptio beneath God the Father are pairs of hands and feet labeled “Entia incompleta” (incomplete entities); these are contrasted with five men and women inside the garden, marked “Completa” (complete [entities]); and on the wall dividing the figures and body parts is the inscription “Carentia compleitatis” (lack of completeness) (fig. 66). These images are meant to show Aristotle’s view that a human being must be whole for his or her body parts to be what they are and for them to function as they are expected to. This is expressed in the Metaphysics through the example of a severed finger,68 but in the Politics (which was not part of the Organon) in terms of a foot and a hand; when the body has been destroyed, a hand is no better than a “stone hand.”69 Chéron and Gaultier depict an incomplete entity in the upper left corner of their courtyard, where a man with severed legs sits on the ground, with the label “Incompleta” (Incomplete). Meurisse and Gaultier position the functionless body parts outside the garden’s walls to contrast them with the functional body parts of the complete and whole bodies. The Typus, which does not confine the scope of proper logic to the interior of the courtyard, shows the incomplete entity within the courtyard. In chapter 4 I discuss the representations of “entities in their own right,” “entities per accidens,” and equivocation in both broadsides. I also consider the account of univocal naming in the Descriptio. Beneath their image of equivocation, Meurisse and Gaultier show a pedestal, a human foot, and a mountain, with the annotation (fig. 67) “Analogous items are those that have a name in common and the definition of their substance partly the same and partly different.”70 The name these entities have in common is pes (foot), and they are analogous because they all hold up structures above them.71 Chéron and Gaultier represent “Analogum” (Analogy) as a doctor holding medicine at a patient’s bedside (fig. 68). This image is based on a passage in the Metaphysics in which Aristotle cites the similar and yet diverse ways in which the term “medical” may be used: above  figure 67

Detail on analogy from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. below  figure 68

Detail on analogy from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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And that which is medical is relative to the medical art, one thing in the sense that it possesses it, another in the sense that it is naturally adapted to it, another in the sense that it is a function of the medical art.72 In the image the doctor possesses the medical art, or knowledge of how to cure people; the patient is naturally adapted to it, because he is naturally suited to being treated; and the medicine held by the doctor is a function of the medical art, because it is to be employed in the doctor’s medical procedures. Chéron and Gaultier present Aristotle’s example of the similar ways in which the term “medical” may be employed in order to visualize the notion of analogy. Under the analogous items in the Descriptio is a Chimera, a grotesque monster composed of parts of various animals, including a snakelike tail, a lion’s head, and a

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left  figure 69

Detail showing a Chimera from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. right  figure 70

Detail showing a Chimera from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and

goat’s hooves (fig. 69).73 The Chimera is qualified as an “Ens rationis” (rational being) and is juxtaposed with three cows inside the walled garden, marked “Entia realia” (real entities).74 Chéron and Gaultier also represent a Chimera, at the lower left of their courtyard, annotated as “Ficta” (fictive) (fig. 70). In the Descriptio the final pair of entities are, outside the garden, five clothed men labeled as “Entia complexa” (complex entities), and, inside, six young men wearing nothing other than loincloths, marked as “Incomplexa” (noncomplex) (fig. 71).75 When a human is wearing clothing, he is a complex entity, because while the rational and living human belongs to the species of man, the irrational and nonliving clothing does not. Chéron and Gaultier include a representation of complex beings on the left side of their courtyard (fig. 72). The Typus’s image presents three dressed men hugging and is marked with the word “Complexa” (complex [entities]). These men are complex entities because they too are wearing clothing and presumably also because they are three distinct individuals joined together in a hug, as though they were one being, when in fact they are three beings plus three sets of clothing. This image also plays on the meaning of the verb complecto, “to embrace.” In this example we can see how the Typus draws inspiration from the Descriptio but also offers its own innovative interpretations.

Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

above  figure 71

Detail on complex and noncomplex entities from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. below  figure 72

Detail on complex entities from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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The Second Operation of the Mind The third segment of the Descriptio and the fourth segment of the Typus summarize the second operation of the mind, the intellect’s ability to combine and divide the terms apprehended by the first operation of the mind, and to create propositions (see figs. 42 and  43). In the Descriptio the words “SECUNDA MENTIS OPERATIO ” (Second operation of the mind) are inscribed on the back hedge in segment 3. In contrast, the Typus integrates the second operation of the mind into a visual commentary that summarizes how the intellect obtains sensory data (fig. 73). Scholastic Aristotelian philosophers held that the intellect does not receive information from the five external senses directly, as I explain in greater detail in chapter 5. Once the senses have gathered information from the outside world, it must be processed or apprehended, through the first operation of the mind, before it can be divided and combined into propositions, through the second operation of the mind. In the Typus a woman, a boy, and a girl at the center of the field show this complex process (see fig. 73). The young boy personifies the five external senses; he picks flowers, beside the words “Sensus colligit” (The senses collect). The flowers symbolize things that humans become aware of through the senses. The naked young girl, who stands at the knee of the seated woman, is identified as Apprehension with the words “Apprehension

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left  figure 73

Detail summarizing how the intellect obtains sensory data from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 74

Detail on the creation of propositions from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

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acts as assistant.”76 Apprehension “assists” with processing sensory information. The seated woman personifies the second operation of the mind. Above her is the inscription “The second operation binds simple terms.”77 The boy gives his flowers to Apprehension, who in turn hands them over to the Second Operation, who binds the flowers together to create a wreath, a metaphor for the combining of concepts into propositions. Meurisse characterizes “noun” and “verb,” central elements in any proposition, on the palm tree trunks: each is “an utterance signified by convention” (fig. 74).78 Palm trees are dioecious—­their male and female flowers grow on separate plants—­and were thought to reproduce by intertwining with the branches of other palm trees of the opposite sex. Mating palm trees became popular emblems for conjugal love and fertility in French iconography between the mid-­sixteenth and mid-­eighteenth centuries.79 The designers’ choice of imagery, therefore, draws an analogy between the mating of trees and the production of propositions: Meurisse and Gaultier adapted the emblem in a manner that they expected viewers of the broadside to understand and appreciate. 80 This detail highlights the varied sources of inspiration for the designers of philosophical broadsides, but it also indicates the richness of their visual commentaries. Whereas a textbook from the period might simply define a proposition as the sum of its parts (a noun and a verb), this image presents a much more intricate and complex interpretation of the proposition, likening it to a new organic entity, a proposition generated by mating plants. These segments of the Descriptio and Typus also contain personifications of division. The Descriptio’s Division tears a piece of paper in half (see fig. 74).81 In the Typus she is represented at the back of the field opening a door with the inscription “Division is the second handmaiden of wisdom” (fig. 75).82 An annotation near her mouth emphasizes her profession of dividing.83 Other details in these segments summarize and interpret topics in logic pertaining to terms and propositions, such as significations by social convention and by nature, and future contingent propositions. For instance, in the Typus we can find a natural sign in the lower right corner of the field, where an old man with a cane, presumably Heraclitus, has dropped a globe of the world surmounted by a cross and wipes tears from his eyes (fig. 76). This image of Heraclitus weeping over the stupidity of the world is annotated with the words “Natural sign” (Signum naturale), because crying is a sign of grief that is not generated by conventions. We can also find a

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left  figure 75

Detail showing Division from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 76

Detail showing Heraclitus from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

natural sign in the Descriptio’s image of the palm tree on the left that has three severed branches (see fig. 74). Meurisse annotates the highest of them “Signa naturalia” (natural signs), with reference to its smoking tip—­smoke being a natural sign of fire. The branch is detached from the tree to alert students to the contrast between nouns that have artificial meanings, cited on the left tree trunk, and “natural signs.”

figure 77

Detail with Syllogism from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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The Third Operation of the Mind Segment 4 of the Descriptio and segment 5 of the Typus visualize the activities of the third operation of the mind: here the propositions created by the second operation are combined into ordered arguments, or syllogisms (see figs. 42 and 43). Just as the Logicae universae typus does, these broadsides show syllogisms that result in knowledge, opinions, and errors. The three fruit trees in the Descriptio are identified as representing the activity of the “Tertia mentis operatio” (third operation of the mind). A definition of the term “syllogism” is inscribed onto a scroll woven through the three tree trunks: “A syllogism is a statement in which, when certain things have been posited, something else necessarily follows from the things that have been posited, since they are the case.”84 The fifth segment of the Typus does not make explicit reference to the third operation, but it features a female with three faces who personifies the third operation’s product, the syllogism (fig. 77). The three-­faced Syllogism is positioned in the bottom center of this segment, below the words “The syllogism is the object of logic.”85 Her three faces are meant to signify the three different types of syllogism.86 The Typus shows syllogisms that result in knowledge, opinions, and errors on three large rowboats. Leaning over the stern of the largest boat in segment 5 is a woman who holds the key that unlocks the door to the temple of wisdom in segment 6 (fig. 78). Near her mouth are the words “I make knowledge” (Facio scire). An annotation identifies her as Demonstration: “Demonstration is the third handmaiden of wisdom” ( 3A ANCILLA SAPIENTIAE DEMONSTRATIO). In the Posterior Analytics Aristotle equates demonstrations with scientific syllogisms, or deductions that produce knowledge. 87 Demonstration’s boat summarizes syllogisms that produce knowledge. As already

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Detail representing syllogisms that result in knowledge from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

explained, valid syllogisms consist of three propositions: a major premise, a minor premise, and the resulting conclusion, which are represented by the words: “Major” (Major), “Minor” (Minor), and “Conclusion” (Consequentia), inscribed on the boat’s three sails. At the bow sits “Will” (Voluntas). In an inscription by her mouth, Chéron affirms her inability to render a valid syllogism invalid: “The will is not able to impede the assent of the conclusion” (Voluntas non potest impedire assensum conclusionis). The men aboard Demonstration’s boat are safeguarded by four cannons, named after the four first figure syllogisms, “Barbara,” “Celarent,” “Darii,” and “Ferio,” introduced earlier in this chapter. At the top of the ship of Demonstration, a figure personifying intellect (Intellectus) keeps a lookout. The central tree in the Descriptio summarizes valid syllogisms, and its branches and fruit are annotated with quotations from Aristotle’s Prior and Posterior Analytics (fig. 79). The trunk, inscribed “Demonstration is a syllogism that brings about knowledge,”88 divides into two distinct branches. The intersection is marked “univoce” (univocally), to remind students that the meanings of words used in arguments that are deemed valid must remain the same throughout the entire argument. On a scroll directly above this, Meurisse stresses that the subject of an argument must be defined unambiguously: “The definition of the subject is the means for the most powerful demonstration.”89 Together, these annotations serve to emphasize to students that unchanging and unambiguous definitions of words and subjects are crucial for the generation of valid syllogisms. On the left branch of the middle tree is the phrase “A priori” (Prior to experience); on the right branch are the words “A posteriori” (Based on experience). The inscriptions on both sides of the tree are taken from both the Prior and Posterior Analytics. For example, six short subbranches are marked with expressions derived from the following passage from the Posterior Analytics:

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figure 79

Detail summarizing syllogisms that result in knowledge, opinions, and errors from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes,

If, then, understanding is as we posited, it is necessary for demonstrative understanding in particular to depend on things which are true and primitive and immediate and more familiar than and prior to and explanatory of the conclusion.90

Brussels [S. IV 86231].

Meurisse has picked out the phrases “ex veris” (from true things), “primis” (from primitive things), “immediatis” (from immediate things), “notioribus” (from more familiar things), “prioribus” (prior to), and “causativusque conclusionis” (explanatory of the conclusion). Together these offshoot branches summarize the attributes of premises, or the first principles of demonstrations. The ends of the left and right branches curl downward to form circles labeled “Non datur circulus” (a circular argument is not allowed).91 In the Prior and Posterior Analytics, Aristotle argues that demonstrations using circular arguments are not valid.92 A large, branched offshoot relating to subalternation sprouts upward from the right branch. Two of its subbranches are inscribed “Subalternans” and “Subalternata.” Aristotle and Duns Scotus both refer to these concepts. In the Posterior Analytics Aristotle writes that when the principles of one science are derived from a second science, the first is said to be “subalternate,” or subordinate to the second. The science from which the principles are drawn is termed “subalternans.” His mention of subalternation occurs in a discussion of syllogisms, because often syllogisms in one science make use of assumptions that have been proven by another field.93 Duns Scotus uses the terms when discussing the scientific status of theology.94

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Inscriptions marking the fruits hanging from smaller branches on both sides of the middle tree present characteristics of knowledge generated from demonstrations. For instance, hanging from an offshoot of the branch on the left labeled “ex veris” (from true things), a pair of fruits carry the inscriptions “non stat cum fide” (it is not compatible with the faith) and “non cum opinione” (not with opinion).95 The inscriptions refer to the knowledge, generated from valid syllogisms, that is based on neither faith nor opinion. Topical syllogisms are summarized in the left tree of the Descriptio. The inscription marked on its trunk is “Syllogismus topicus pariens opinionem,” emphasizing that the “topical” syllogism generates opinion, as opposed to scientific knowledge. In the opening paragraphs of the Topics, Aristotle distinguishes between demonstration, rooted in true and primitive premises, and dialectical deductions, whose premises are reputable opinions.96 In the inscription on the upper part of the tree trunk, Meurisse describes dialectical deductions: “A dialectical argument is a probable argument devised to bring about belief.”97 Two branches on the left side of the tree are marked “ex probabilibus” (from probable things), highlighting the idea that topical syllogisms are not based on certain premises. The inscriptions on this tree’s fruits characterize dialectical deductions. For example, the lowest fruits are labeled “incertus” and “et dubius” (“uncertain,” “and doubtful”), stressing that topical deduction cannot result in certain knowledge. A topical syllogism is based on a principle known as the locus, or maxima propositio, which is universal, self-­evident, and indemonstrable.98 This principle must not be stated explicitly and is based on conditions that are either internal or external to the argument. For instance, consider the following argument presented by Boethius in De topicis differentiis: An envious man is one who disparages the good of others. But a wise man does not disparage the good of others. Therefore, an envious man is not wise.99 The locus or maxima propositio “Things whose definitions are different are themselves different” justifies this argument.100 The name locus is also applied more generally to terms that classify a maxima propositio. For the maxima propositio just cited, the intrinsic locus would be “from the definition” (a definitione). Students were expected to memorize external and internal loci in preparation for disputations. To the left of the tree pertaining to topical syllogisms, two boys employ a pulley contraption to dig holes in the earth (fig. 80). An inscription associates them with dialectical deductions and reiterates that topical arguments are not scientifically accurate: “Dialecticians devise probable arguments.”101 Another inscription on the grass to their right characterizes the term “locus”: “The locus of the argument is the seat and receptacle from which arguments can be brought forth. And they are twenty: nine internal; and eleven external.”102 Meurisse defines internal loci in the hole being dug by the boys and external loci in another hole to the left. He may have represented the loci as holes because these principles could become pitfalls for students who failed to study adequately for the examination.

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left  figure 80

Detail pertaining to internal and external loci from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. right  figure 81

Detail summarizing syllogisms that result in opinion from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Detail pertaining to internal and external loci from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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The Typus summarizes the kinds of syllogisms that result in opinions, and are based in faith, in a boat that floats to the right of the boat of Demonstration (fig. 81). “Fides” (Faith), holding a cross, sits in the boat; behind Faith is “Scientia” (Knowledge), who holds an opened book; and behind Knowledge is “Opinio” (Opinion), who clutches a pole.103 The juxtaposition of Knowledge and Opinion is explained by the inscription “Knowledge and opinion can exist at the same time in the intellect.”104 Another annotation above the boat underlines its role in summarizing topical syllogisms that do not result in valid knowledge but aim for correct understanding: “The topic strives toward truths.”105 In the Typus Chéron enumerates nine intrinsic loci by marking their names on the roofs of the tents at the bottom left side of segment 5 (fig. 82). Above the tents on the left are the words “Loci argumentorum” (The places of the arguments) and “Intrinseci” (Intrinsic). Chéron also lists the names of eleven external loci at the bottom of the right side of segment 5, with the words “Loci argumentorum” (The places of the arguments) and “Extrinseci” (Extrinsic). As noted earlier, this depiction of annotated tents recalls those illustrated in the anonymous woodcut Tabula militiae scholasticae (see fig. 49) and serves to highlight the comparison between philosophical and military battles evoked explicitly in the Logicae universae typus. The Typus discusses sophistic methods of argumentation in the image of the sailboat farthest to the left (fig. 83). An inscription marks sophists as steering the boat: “Sophistry tends into error” (Sophistica vergit in errorem). Chéron inscribes words denoting the five goals of sophists near their weapons.106 Above the sophists’ boat is an

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Detail on syllogisms that result in error from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

overleaf  figure 84

Gaultier, frontispiece to de la Bigne’s Bibliothecae veterum patrum et auctorum ecclesiasticorum, 1609. Engraving printed on paper, full-­page measurements are 14.9 × 9.6 in. (37.8 × 24.4 cm). Cambridge University Library, Rare Books Room.

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annotation stressing, “Among the wicked is a wisdom attacked by dangers” (Apud improbos lacessita est periculis sapientia).107 Seven men drown beside the boat; an inscription reveals that they know they are suffering the consequences of sophistry: “We have erred from the way of truth.”108 Another inscription stresses their ignorance: “They did not want to understand all her [i.e., Wisdom’s] ways.”109 A man peeks down at the drowning sophists from the rocky cliff above; an inscription next to his mouth betrays his awareness that the sophists have lost their way to wisdom: “The greatest misery is not knowing to where you are heading.”110 Another figure on the cliff observes a man falling into the water; an inscription next to the observer warns Chéron’s students of the dangers of living without a knowledge of logic: “Ignorance of logic made [him] wander astray.”111 A visual source for these boats in tumultuous waters may be found in a frontispiece engraved by Gaultier in 1609 for the Bibliothecae veterum patrum et auctorum ecclesiasticorum by Marguerin de la Bigne (c. 1546–­c. 1595) (fig. 84).112 Gaultier shows clerics safely seated in a sailboat that represents the church. In the water heretics drown because of their unorthodox views, just as the sophists are shown drowning in the Typus. In the Descriptio a legend on the trunk of the tree on the right reveals that it summarizes invalid syllogisms: “Syllogism of the sophists giving birth to error” (see fig. 79).113 Books grow only from the tree associated with invalid syllogisms, perhaps to remind viewers of the many error-­filled tomes of the period. Nearby, to the right of the garden hedge, are two kneeling sophists, blowing into short flutes, whom I discuss in detail in

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Detail showing sophists from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

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Detail on various forms of arguments from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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chapter 3 (fig. 85). They may be interpreted as using bird lures (bird whistles) in order to deceive the three birds above them—­one sitting on and two flying from the tree of the sophists’ syllogisms. The three birds themselves were interpreted by Ludot as symbolizing bad omens.114 As such, they serve as a further caution to students of the potential dangers of employing illusory argumentation. Argumentation sits at the base of the central tree with her arms stretched out horizontally at her sides (see fig. 79). An annotation reads, “Argumentation is a statement in which one thing is inferred from another.”115 Because Argumentation rests against one tree and her arms reach out to the other two, she appears to encapsulate not only valid arguments produced through demonstrations, but also the types of arguments summarized by the trees to her left and right. Arguments can result in knowledge, opinions, and error. Immediately behind Argumentation are three shrubs bearing the words “Inductio” (induction), “Exempla” (examples), and “enthimema” (enthymemes). Aristotle often emphasizes the differences between syllogisms and inductions, in which general universals are inferred on the basis of particulars.116 “Examples” and “enthymemes” are two forms of arguments that are also discussed in the Prior Analytics.117 These same words appear on three rowboats positioned toward the center of the Typus’s fifth segment (fig. 86).118 Above the rowboats Chéron includes an inscription explaining that the three methods of argumentation do not automatically create knowledge: “They do not make knowledge unless by means of the necessary syllogism.”119

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figure 87

Detail showing the home of Wisdom from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Wisdom As the analysis above has shown, the first four segments of the Descriptio and the first five segments of the Typus offer summaries of the three operations of the mind. Both of these plural images are structured above all else by conceptual relationships. The similarities between the two professors’ representations of the mind’s operations reveal that the Typus was inspired by the Descriptio. Chéron and Gaultier do not, however, restrict their account of logic to the three operations of the mind. They include in the Typus a sixth segment in which a round edifice is shown in cross section to reveal its interior (fig. 87). This building is marked as the home of Wisdom by an inscription written across a ledge at the front, “Wisdom hath built herself a house” (SAPIENTIA AEDIFICAVIT SIBI DOMVM).120 The front door bears an annotation urging viewers to be attentively observant of the gates of Wisdom’s house: “Blessed is the man that watcheth at my gates” (Beatus qui vigilat ad fores meas).121 In the cupola is the Tetragrammaton, encircled by rays of light. The words “All things are hard: man cannot explain them by word” (Cunctae res difficiles non potest homo eas sermone explicare), inscribed above the building’s roof, presumably refer to the difficulty of articulating complex wisdoms about God with language.122

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In the front of the temple, two friars debate whether voluntary action is an act of the will or of the intellect.123 The one to the left is the Carmelite John Baconthorpe (Baco[nthorpe] Carm[elita]); he debates the Franciscan Duns Scotus.124 Duns Scotus is enumerating points with his fingers. In his discussion of this gesture, John Bulwer warns, “It is not to be used unlesse the distinctions and distributions be substantiall and weighty, being things of great moment which we desire, should fix and take deep impression in the mindes of men.”125 Between the men are the words “Rare agreement” (Rara Concordia), because these friars rarely agree. Chéron may have hoped to inspire his students with this representation of two famous medieval philosophers debating, since his students, like the philosophers, would also be engaged in debates during disputations. Five women, seated in a row, observe the debate. In the center is Philosophy, holding a book and a cornucopia of flowers.126 The text near her mouth stresses both her positioning at the top of the Typus and her close ties to wisdom: “I inhabit wisdom in the highest places” (Ego sap[ient]iam in altissimis habito). The wall above Philosophy and her companions bears the words “Philosophy is divided into four general species, namely, into” (PHILOSOPHIA DIVIDITVR IN 4 SPECIES GENERALES SCILICET IN ), introducing the disciplines personified to Philosophy’s left and right. The leftmost figure is Mathematics, who draws on a tablet with a compass.127 Next to Mathematics sits Theology with a book—­almost certainly the Bible—­in her lap and a dove above her that symbolizes inspiration.128 Theology points upward to refer to the dove and higher powers. To the right of Philosophy is Physics with a book on her lap, holding a sun with a face in her right hand. The rightmost personification is Ethics; she holds a burning heart and has a book resting on her lap. The Typus could have been limited to a summation of Aristotelian logic, as the Descriptio is; instead, however, Chéron and Gaultier go further and link their exposition of logic to other branches of wisdom through these female personifications in the temple of wisdom. eE

The Descriptio, the Typus, and the Logicae universae typus organize the field of logic in similar formats and generally emphasize the same aspects of Aristotle’s system, yet the iconography and scope of these plural images are remarkably different. Colutius’s Logicae universae typus relies on the single structure of a defense tower, and its imagery is thus considerably less complex than the intricate maps designed by his colleagues in Paris. Inspection of the Descriptio and Typus reveals that both prints visualize the field of Aristotelian logic with similar format and iconography. Chéron and Gaultier, however, expand the impact of their broadside a step further than the Descriptio by integrating biblical quotations into their engraving and placing greater emphasis on the propaedeutic value of studying logic in order to gain wisdom in other disciplines. All three plural images rely on the space of the page to show how the field of logic is organized. They also feature rich visual commentaries that offer new interpretations of Aristotle’s age-­ old system.

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opposite  figure 88

Plural image, in Winkelmann’s Logica memorativa (Halle: Schwanderus, 1659) p. 26a. Foldout engraving printed on paper, 16.5 × 12.2 in. (42 × 31 cm). HAB, Wolfenbüttel [M: Li 6220]. above  figure 89

Plural image, in Winkelmann’s Logica memorativa (Frankfurt and Leipzig: Peter Conrad Monath, 1725), table 2, p. 7. Foldout engraving printed on paper, 6.2 × 8 in. (15.7 × 20.3 cm). Cotsen Children’s Library, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Johann Justus Winkelmann Beyond influencing the iconography of the notebooks of students in Leuven, as I show in chapter 4, the Descriptio and Typus prints inspired another philosophical plural image in the logic textbook of Johann Justus Winkelmann, first published in 1659 (fig. 88). This logic print was expanded into multiple plural images in a new edition of the textbook that appeared 1725 with—­as we saw in chapter 1—­the first edition of Apin’s dissertation (figs. 89 and 90). In both editions of Winkelmann’s Logica memorativa we can find, for instance, a fountain and ten water basins copied from the Descriptio, as well as images based on the Descriptio’s representation of a man with a basket of human limbs and its depictions of equivocation, univocal naming, analogy, infinite and finite entities, complex and noncomplex entities, entities in their own right and entities per accidens, and complete and incomplete entities. The images of Aristotle’s categories in both editions appear to be inspired by the Typus. Winkelmann also produced a plural image of moral philosophy based on the Tableau of Meurisse and Gaultier; this print was published in Wessel in 1679 and titled Artificiosa totius moralis philosophiae

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above  figure 90

Plural image, in Winkelmann’s Logica memorativa (Frankfurt and Leipzig: Peter Conrad Monath,

delineatio (fig. 91, and see fig. 3). These creations show that the plural images of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier continued to be influential well into the eighteenth century.

1725), table 3, p. 11. Foldout engrav-

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ing printed on paper, 6.2 × 9.1 in. (15.7 × 23.1 cm). Cotsen Children’s Library, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

opposite  figure 91

Winkelmann’s Artificiosa totius moralis philosophiae delineatio (Bremen: Wessel, 1679). Foldout engraving printed on paper,

Unlike the plural images analyzed in this chapter, a tableau or singular image, precisely because it is a single, homogeneous image, does not have to be seen or read in any particular order (though it is also the case that a tableau cannot be taken in all at once). By contrast, what makes a plural image “plural” is not only the plurality of its components but the fact that it usually needs to be read in a prescribed order, just like a verbal text (or, of course, like a mnemonic structure of places); its experience is more akin to the reading of texts than is the experience of viewing a tableau. Whereas a tableau might suggest or nudge viewers to examine its contents in a particular order, plural images command them to follow a very precise path toward wisdom.

12.5 × 16 in. (31.8 × 40.6 cm). Niedersächsische Staats-­und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen [8 PHIL VI, 2735Sachgebiete: PHIL.].

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Ch a pter 3

The Visible Order of Student Lecture Notebooks

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ssessing the manuscript holdings of the BnF in 1874, the institution’s new general administrator Léopold Delisle (1826–­1910) described with disfavor the collection of manuscripts from the Grand Couvent des Cordeliers (recall that Meurisse taught at this monastery), which the library had inherited after the Revolution: The archival documents of the Cordeliers, composed of 151 manuscripts . . . conserve barely the trace of the rich collection of manuscripts that must have existed in this house between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. . . . Wretched notebooks of students make up most of the archival materials.1

det ail of fig ure 92

Although Delisle was justified in mourning the loss of the Franciscan monastery’s medieval manuscripts, which would have been a significant addition to the BnF’s collection, modern readers should hesitate before following him in dismissing the student notebooks that remained in the library.2 These manuscripts, most of which date from the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, present extensive evidence of modes of teaching in early modern Paris.3 The notebooks contain hand-­drawn illustrations, in addition to printed imagery inserted between pages, and thus provide an untapped resource for the development of a more thorough understanding of the use of visual materials in philosophy teaching of this period. Whereas chapters 1 and 2 focused on the uses of philosophical visual representations in printed documents, this chapter and the next turn to the functions of images integrated into manuscript sources. I present the first analysis of the visual representations in the Paris philosophy notebooks. I also address the drawings, prints, calligraphic lettering, and collages found both in the notebooks of philosophy students from the University of Leuven and (in chapter 4) in the alba amicorum produced by students traveling across the European continent.4 The present examination demonstrates how the study of printed visual representations and the activity of drawing became central components of philosophical training in the early modern period. For these students and their professors,

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visual representations served as critical tools in the organization and the exploration of difficult questions. As this chapter is the first to deal with drawn materials, I will begin with a brief excursus on theoretical uses of this practice in the Renaissance. The next section provides an important context to understanding the texts and images in the notebooks, describing the teaching of philosophy and the format of lectures in Paris and Leuven in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The chapter then presents an overview of the functions of the prints and drawings found in Paris and Leuven student notebooks. In this chapter, I focus less on the question of how images are organized (i.e., the rise and demise of the plural image) and more on the question of how images structured students’ engagement with philosophical lessons. In plural images text is typically embedded within visual representations; in lecture notebooks we find precisely the reverse: visual representations are embedded within written representation. Just as texts help to arrange plural images methodically, visual representations function to arrange manuscript texts in order. Much research has been done on textual modes of ordering information; in this chapter, I uncover visual strategies employed by students to manage information. Some of the images in lecture notebooks can be read as traces of the activities of students during lectures, whereas others must have been produced and integrated with written notes after the lectures were over. Like illustration in medieval illuminated manuscripts, images in these notebooks indicate where new topics start and also create vivid and concrete images that helped students commit ideas to memory. Philosophy lecture notebooks lie at the core of the educational enterprise of early modern students. As the text in these notebooks was for the most part written down from dictation, the place where we can discern a generative activity on the part of the student is in the making, gathering, and display of visual representations. In these documents a greater amount of liberty is afforded to students in the case of visual representation than in that of discursive representation, where students are expected to reproduce standard formulations of philosophy. We must see the limitations of the discursive knowledge in these manuscripts in order to appreciate the exciting features of their visual representations, which show students engaging with the philosophical materials in a freer and more imaginative fashion.

On the Use of Drawing What were the functions of drawings? What can early modern art theory tell us about the philosophical uses of drawings? The complex and much-­discussed notion of disegno can be translated as “drawing,” but among Italian Renaissance art theorists it also assumed a more general, philosophical meaning as “design,” conjuring up the very mental conception of an artwork.5 Giorgio Vasari (1511–­1574), in the introduction to the second edition of his Lives of the Most Excellent Italian Architects, Painters, and Sculptors from 1568, characterizes disegno, in a famous and often-­cited definition, as a fundamental idea that provides a theoretical link among the three art forms of painting, sculpture, and architecture:

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For disegno, father of our three arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting, proceeds from the intellect, drawing from many things a universal judgment similar to a form or idea of all things of nature, which is most singular in its measurement, for not only in bodies of humans and of animals, but in plants also and in buildings and sculptures and paintings, design is aware of the proportion of the whole to the parts, and of the parts to each other and to the whole. And from this knowledge a certain conception and judgment is born, such that there is formed in the mind something that can be expressed with the hands, which is called disegno, so that one may conclude that this disegno is none other than a visible expression and declaration of the concept that there is in the soul, and of that which is also imagined in the mind and made in the idea.6 The genesis of visual art is not a visual experience but an intellectual one. As is often noted, Vasari’s definition draws on Aristotle’s notion of a “universal judgment,” as well as referring to the Platonic vocabulary of forms.7 Aristotle and Plato both posited that knowledge or knowing something involved grouping things together under a single heading, or finding commonalities between things through universals. Aristotle notes in the Posterior Analytics, “Every definition is always universal,” and in the Poetics he writes, “Poetry is something more philosophic and of graver import than history, since its statements are of the nature rather of universals whereas those of history are singular.”8 Vasari’s account of disegno explicitly associates artistic production with the work of poets and philosophers, who gain understanding of things by virtue of seeing how they are grouped together under universals. It is the intellectual capacity to recognize the relationship between parts and wholes in humans, animals, buildings, sculptures, and paintings that enables an artist to capture the universal in an image. Visual representation is successful in its office of providing us with universal forms of knowledge only when it offers us images of things in their proper proportion.9 The universal judgment consists of becoming aware of the proportion of parts to the whole. Whereas Vasari accentuates the intellect’s capacity to think of the proper proportions of natural and artificial entities, the designers of plural images of philosophy are not interested in inventing the ideal forms of compositional unity that Vasari believes are necessary for images to be genuine conveyors of knowledge. On the contrary, a defining feature of the plural image is that it consists of a series of individual parts that are bound together, but not integrated to capture the representational qualities of a cohesive world. As explained in the introduction, these plural images are structured by the relationships of the philosophical ideas they are visualizing. Although early seventeenth-­century French plural images function as instruments of knowledge, they do not transmit knowledge in the way that Vasari believes that representation ideally should. In France, it is only philosophical thesis prints produced later in the seventeenth century—­such as the broadside designed and made by Chauveau in 1652—­that show (or perhaps attempt to show) the ideal relation of parts to the whole that Vasari locates at the origins of visual art as a form of knowledge (see fig. 9).

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figure 92

Cellini, project for a seal of the Accademia del Disegno, 1563–­69. Pen and brown ink, with brown wash, over traces of black chalk, 13.1 × 8.7 in. (33.2 × 22.2 cm). BM, London.

The notion of disegno was at the core of the first official academy of art, the Accademia del Disegno, which was founded on January 31, 1563, in Florence. It counted Vasari as well as the sculptor, goldsmith, and medalist Benvenuto Cellini (1500–­1571) among its members. Between 1563 and 1569 Cellini created a series of drawings for the seal of the new academy that offer critical insights into his take on the notion of disegno. Four of his five drawn proposals for the seal display a multibreasted Nature.10 In the drawing held

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today by the BM in London, a winged Diana of Ephesus (Artemis Polymastia) is identified as the Iddea della Natura—­meaning both the goddess (dea) and the idea (idea) of Nature (fig. 92). She is situated within a diamond-­shaped frame.11 In an explanatory essay below the drawing, Cellini compares the activities of the goddess to those that proceed from disegno, which he identifies as the source of both the visual arts and the actions of man: Having considered how great these arts of ours are which proceed from design, and that man can do nothing perfectly without having recourse to design, from which he always gets his best guidance, and convinced that with lively and incontrovertible reasons I could persuade all men of the truth that since design is truly the origin and principle of all the actions of man and that since the true Goddess of Nature was represented by the ancients with many breasts in order to signify that she alone nourishes everything as the unique and principal ministress of God—­who sculpted and created the first man from earth in the image and likeness of himself—­it follows that those who profess the arts of design could have for their seal and emblem nothing either in greater conformity to the truth nor more proper to their practices than the said Goddess of Nature.12 Cellini sees disegno as a tool for ordering human endeavors toward virtue.13 Man cannot act virtuously without disegno. Mental and external designs enable us to understand how to behave. In the sketch, the goddess is flanked on one side by a serpent, identified with prudence and with Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici (1519–­1574), and on the other by a lion, denoting strength and the city of Florence. Two trumpets emerge from her armpits; an annotation explains, “The trumpet of our fame comes from the [work of our] arms” (la Tromba della nostra Fama viene dalle Braccia).14 It is through the endeavors of artists’ arms and hands that they will achieve renown. One of the most fascinating elements of the BM sketch are the alphabets near the goddess’s feet, outside the diamond that frames her. The upper letters are standard Roman capitals, and the characters below mimic the shapes of Roman letters through tools used to create artworks. Cellini explains: The Egyptians having made an alphabet of characters and letters in their ways, and the Greeks another, which was different, and the Hebrews, theirs, different yet again from the others, as is that of the Latins as well, and thus all the other nations, it would be something imaginative and praiseworthy if we, too, had one different from the rest, for which reason I have made the one that you see beneath our emblem, composed of all the tools that are used in practicing these most noble and useful arts of ours.15 In another study for the seal held today by the Archivio Calamandrei in Florence, Cellini identified the artists’ letters as hieroglifici, likening them to pictographic writing. Yet the letters in Cellini’s new alphabet are not designed to convey ideas in the way that a pictographic script might, but rather to resemble the forms of Roman characters.16 The visual

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arts resulting from the use of the tools making up the shapes of the letters have the capacity to function as a sort of pictographic language. The BM and Archivio Calamandrei sketches symbolize the visual arts as a kind of writing, as a vehicle for the communication of ideas. Arts based in disegno, Cellini suggests, function as a visual language to impose an order on things by classifying experience.17 Furthermore, the letters remind us that this is a seal for an art academy, an educational establishment. Just as humanist students must master the letters of the alphabet, so must the students of the Accademia del Disegno learn to use these tools, which signify something like craft literacy.18 The comparison between learning to write and learning to draw is already evident in the following suggestion by Leon Battista Alberti (1404–­1472): I would have those who begin to learn the art of painting do what I see practiced by teachers of writing. They first teach all the signs of the alphabet separately, and then how to put syllables together, and whole words.19 Erasmus also highlights the affinities between drawing and writing, when he advocates teaching children to draw in order to improve their calligraphy skills; in addition, he reminds readers that painting was formerly considered to be a liberal art that slaves were forbidden to learn.20 These examples show how throughout the Renaissance drawings were often characterized as instruments of communication, akin to writing.21 The utility of drawing is stressed in early modern guides to conduct and education, as it had been in Aristotle’s Politics. In Il Cortegiano, for instance, Baldassare Castiglione (1478–­1529) recommends that the courtier master the art of drawing, which he writes is inherently worthy, in addition to being useful.22 John Locke (1632–­1704) likewise, in his influential treatise Some Thoughts Concerning Education, recommends learning to draw: A thing very useful to a Gentleman in several occasions; but especially if he travel, as that which helps a Man often to express, in a few Lines well put together, what a whole Sheet of Paper in Writing, would not be able to represent, and make intelligible. How many Buildings may a Man see, how many Machines and Habits meet with, the Idea’s whereof would be easily retain’d and communicated, by a little Skill in Drawing; which being committed to Words, are in danger to be lost, or at best but ill retained in the most exact Descriptions?23 Drawing was valued as a powerful and expedient instrument of both communication and memory, at times more powerful than words. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries numerous pedagogical manuals were created to present drawing techniques to amateurs. François Jollain (1641–­1704), a publisher whose prints were integrated into the lecture notebooks of students in Paris, also published L’art de dessiner (1686), an updated edition of the famous drawing manual by Jean Cousin (1500–­before 1593), L’art de portraicture (1595). An earlier revised edition of Cousin’s manual from 1642 included the subtitle La vraye science de la pourtraicture descrite et demontree par Maistre Iean Cousin, Peintre & Geometrien tres-­excellent, which frames drawing as a scientific activity that results in knowledge, something that Jollain

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figure 93

van Schooten the Younger, image drawing an analogy between the behavior of light and a tennis ball, from Descartes’s La Dioptrique (Leiden: Maire, 1637). Engraving printed on paper, 8 × 6 in. (20.3 × 15.1 cm). BnF, Réserve des livres rares, Paris [RES M-­R-­76].

attempted to do even more explicitly in his 1685 edition.24 In his preface to the reader of the 1685 edition, he refers to his drawing as a “science” (science) and expresses his desire “to be useful to the public” (d’être utile au Public) by teaching them the rules of the art of drawing, as well as the rules of viewing or “easy rules to discover the beauty of the works of those who excel in figures” (des regles faciles pour découvrir la beauté des Ouvrages de ceux qui excellent dans la Figure).25 The manual begins with an advertisement concerning geometrical features of drawing. In this manner Jollain bases drawing on the study of geometry, a method that recalls Descartes’s manner of grasping the world through the geometrical features of body.26 The engravings by Frans van Schooten the Younger (1615–­1660) for Descartes’s publications function as instruments that show readers what in Descartes’s view is “clear” in our understanding of bodies. In one passage, for instance, in La Dioptrique Descartes draws an analogy between the behavior of light and that of a tennis ball, and the accompanying illustration juxtaposes a verisimilar tennis player in seventeenth-­century garb with geometrical shapes (fig. 93).27 The geometrical construction in this and other Cartesian illustrations abstracts out a mathematical structure from the world, which is akin to what Jollain aims to do in his manual. Based on the conception of drawing’s intellectual function, therefore, students, by drawing in their notebooks and by studying visual representations, engaged in the pursuit of knowledge.

Philosophy Training in Paris and Leuven Curricula

For students at the Universities of Paris and Leuven, philosophy was an essential part of intellectual development: a degree in the subject from the Faculty of Arts was a prerequisite before they could enter the higher faculties of law, theology, or medicine. In the mid-­ seventeenth century about four hundred students began philosophy studies in the Leuven Arts Faculty each year.28 Philosophy students were usually eighteen to twenty years old, but they had to be at least fourteen to pass their first exams.29 Students enrolled in the Leuven

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opposite  figure 94

Ink drawing, in the notebook of van den Merssche. 7.8 × 6 in. (19.7 × 15.1 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [II 168, fol. 109r].

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Faculty of Arts were required to live in one of the university’s four schools of instruction, or pedagogies (paedagogia), known as the Lily, the Castle, the Pig, and the Falcon.30 Each pedagogy had four philosophy professors, who lived in their pedagogies and taught the two-­year curriculum consisting of courses in logic, natural philosophy, metaphysics, and moral philosophy.31 The students lived and attended lectures in their pedagogies, and rivalries among the pedagogies often became the subject of illustrations in their notebooks. A philosophy notebook written in 1648–­49 by Franciscus van den Merssche, a member of the pedagogy of the Pig, for example, contains an ink drawing in which a pig, returning from a hunt, triumphantly carries home the spoils of his conquest, a lily, a falcon, and a castle, as a trumpeter’s fanfare announces his arrival (fig. 94).32 The inscription reads, “The pig had gone out to hunt through the thick of the forest. He brought back lilies, a falcon, and the castle, which he captured.”33 The fill-­in-­the-­blank or “factotum” title page of van den Merssche’s notebook also emphasizes his affiliation with the pedagogy of the Pig; the mascot appears near the top of the image, under the words “Porcus alit doctos” (The pig nourishes the learned men) (fig. 95).34 Presumably the inscription is referring to intellectual nourishment, but this may also be a joke based on the fact that pigs provide nourishment of the culinary variety. These references to colleges offered students forms of self-­identification. In Paris the philosophy curriculum also consisted of logic, natural philosophy, moral philosophy, and metaphysics.35 By the seventeenth century, it was standard for philosophy courses to take place outside the University of Paris, in the collèges de plein exercice or in the monastery schools that were legally affiliated with the university.36 The Grand Couvent was one of the most influential mendicant schools in Paris. Its statutes of 1502 prescribed three philosophy lecturers, though in 1622 Benigno da Genova, the minister general of the Franciscans, decreased this to two.37 The number of students in philosophy courses at the Grand Couvent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries could vary between sixteen and forty-­six.38 In 1533 Paul Pisot from Parma decreed that youths at the Grand Couvent should study the philosophical subjects for three years; again in 1622, Benigno reduced this to two.39 Pisot’s statutes also specified that youths had to be at least fifteen years old in order to enroll in the Grand Couvent.40 Members of the Franciscan order actively promoted the interpretations of Aristotelian philosophy developed by the Franciscan Duns Scotus, and in 1593 the Franciscan general chapter of Valladolid ordained that only his writings should be followed.41 The Grand Couvent did not strictly adhere to these regulations, however, and still allowed pupils to study the thinking of St. Bonaventura (c. 1217–­1274), even establishing a professorial chair dedicated to his ideas in 1598.42 The Grand Couvent became stricter in 1618, when its statutes asserted that theologians may not “teach, dictate, or defend theses contrary to the thought of Scotus.”43 As noted in the previous chapter, at this point the lectures given at the Grand Couvent closely resembled those offered in other colleges associated with the University of Paris, where Scotist-­leaning scholastic Aristotelianism dominated the curricula.44

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opposite  figure 95

Title page of van den Merssche’s notebook. 7.8 × 6 in. (19.7 × 15.1 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [II 168, fol. 1r].

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Lecture Notes Philosophy lectures lasted approximately an hour to an hour and a half.45 The lecturer, standing at a rostrum, began by reading a passage from the work of an authoritative author, such as Aristotle. Meanwhile, the students, seated on benches in front of the teacher, read along from manuscript or printed copies of the text. The professor would then present an exegesis on the reading; this constituted the most crucial and extended segment of the lecture, and was recited at dictation speed so that students could record it, generally verbatim. It is primarily this portion of the lecture that fills the students’ notebooks. The exegesis was not always original, however: professors in Leuven often read to the class what they had written in their own notebooks as students.46 Whereas the texts in notebooks are often uniform, the prints and drawings integrated into these manuscripts have an improvisatory character. Both talented artists and students who were not gifted at pictorial representations littered their notebooks with images. It is clear from these transcriptions that the act of copying the teacher’s words was considered a useful didactic practice; indeed, the statutes of the University of Paris mandated that students had to take lecture notes to receive degrees.47 A student could be released of this duty only if he presented a medical certificate that specified an injury or other health condition that would impede writing, but even in such a circumstance the student was required to hire a copyist.48 The lecturer’s exegesis was typically divided into a sequence of quaestiones (questions). Lecturers would either simply present responses to these questions or follow the tradition of the scholastic quaestio disputata (disputed question), interpolating several objections and responses to the questions and conclusions. In the final portions of lectures, teachers would ask their students questions to verify that they had followed their explanations.49 Questions also serve as important structural devices in early modern philosophy textbooks.50 Students made use of the questions, objections, responses, and conclusions they had recorded from lectures and textbooks to prepare for disputations. Two pages from the notebook of a student named Stéphane Godard illustrate how questions were integrated into a philosophy lecture, and how this structure often dictated the organization and use of visual ornamentation in the notebook (figs. 96 and 97). Toward the center of the left page are the words “Quaestio unica” (Sole question), beneath which a question is posed and then followed by two responses: “Conclusio 1a” (First Conclusion) is situated at the bottom of the left page, and “Conclusio 2a” (Second Conclusion) at the top of the right page. After presenting these, the teacher proceeded to another chapter and quaestio, inscribed near the center of folio 2r. Godard draws frames around the titles of his subsections as well as embellishments in the form of urns, flowers, trees, figures, and dogs. This imagery and decoration organizes his argument by clearly marking out its components. Although the subjects of the drawings do not appear to relate directly to the particular passages of text they introduce, the images do give structure to the lecture notes more generally by introducing the notion that learning the material contained within the notebook is analogous to embarking on a journey through a parkland, passing by the animals, sculpture, foliage, gardeners, and architecture that are found in the landscape, and which frame each new section of the philosophical material

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figures 96 and 97

Pages with quaestiones, in the notebook of Godard. Measurement for each page is 7.3 × 4.7 in. (18.5 × 12 cm). BnF, Département

along the way. The metaphor of the pursuit of knowledge as a trip through a garden or landscape was noted in the previous chapter as well as in chapter 1 in relation to pedagogical images of the Tabula Cebetis. In the section that follows, I introduce further strategies that visual representations employed to structure the parts of student notebooks.

des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18466, fol. 1v and 2r].

Ordering Strategies of Notebooks The Notebook as Collection

In the seventeenth century it became possible for students in Paris and Leuven to purchase prints published on loose leaves from local printers, allowing them to incorporate printed images among their manuscript notes.51 Prints were either pasted onto the notebook pages or bound with them. Because the handwriting typically remains straight and consistent even at the extreme edges of each page, it appears likely that students took their notes on loose leaves, which they later bound together, often with printed images.52 The names of the publishers Hieronymus Thielmans, Lambert Blendeff (c. 1650–­1721), Michael Hayé, Petrus Denique (1683–­1746), and Charles-­Henri Becker are inscribed on many of the prints integrated into the Leuven student notebooks.53 Among the names of the Parisian publishers annotated on sheets purchased by students are Messager, Jollain, Jean Ganière (c. 1615–­1666), Guillaume Vallet (c. 1634–­1704), Henri Bonnart (1642–­ 1711), Jean François Cars (1661–­c. 1738), and Gabriel Martin (c. 1679–­1761).54 1 26

c h a pt e r t h re e

These publishers were exceedingly creative in their reappropriation and manipulation of existing copperplates for this emerging market of philosophy students: for instance, Hayé purchased in Antwerp the copperplates that had been used to create the Lux Evangelica (Evangelical light) by the Jesuit Hendrik Engelgrave (1610–­1670) and Sebastianus a Matre Dei’s Firmamentum symbolicum (Symbolic firmament), and he sold prints of these emblematic plates to students at the university from the late 1660s onward.55 Hayé, who was a member of the Antwerp Guild of Saint Luke, matriculated at the University of Leuven on August 28, 1666.56 In 1622 it became mandatory for all printers, bookbinders, and booksellers to matriculate at the university.57 From around 1677 Hayé printed Engelgrave’s plates with titles that pertained to topics discussed in the Leuven philosophy curriculum. Hayé’s prints based on Engelgrave’s emblems continued to be integrated into the notebooks of Leuven students until around the time of the university’s suppression in 1797. In addition to containing engravings and etchings, many Leuven and Paris student notebooks include drawn copies of the prints sold by these publishers, as well as original sketches.58 Drawings already appear in the notebooks of students from Leuven in the late fifteenth century.59 Students practiced copying and drawing to improve their draftsmanship and pay homage to their favorite prints. Furthermore, they established connections between the art they favored and the ideas they were studying, in ways that would enhance the images and the texts, and would create new meanings through their combination. Just as the activity of copying down the lecturer’s words was understood to be a way of learning the basic concepts of philosophy, the activity of copying an artwork was a method of learning how to become a draftsman; in these notebooks, students engaged in both of these similar forms of training in separate disciplines in a way that allowed them to come up with their own philosophical interpretations through the act of copying text and image. The rich collections of images in these documents reveal that notebooks (as well as alba amicorum, as we will see in chapter 4) became important sites for students to develop and to maintain print and drawing collections. The visual representations integrated into Leuven and Paris students’ notebooks provide insights into collecting practices as well as modes of teaching and learning. They show how, as we saw in chapter 1, in the early modern era collecting developed into a popular phenomenon that was no longer limited to the wealthy and members of the ruling elite. After their courses had ended, some Leuven students lent or sold their notebooks; other students kept the notebooks for themselves and their families as heirlooms.60 To Frame Manuscripts One of the most important ways in which visual representations structured notebooks was by framing them, in other words by marking both the beginnings and conclusions of manuscripts. Title pages printed with empty spaces (usually cartouches), in which a student could inscribe the title of his course, its date, and his name as well as the professor’s, were available for purchase in both Leuven and Paris.61 Some students purchased several factotum title pages with empty spaces to introduce subsections in their notes. The 1670 natural philosophy notebook of Henricus Joannes van Cantelbeke, a student 1 27

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

figure 98

Factotum title page of van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.7 × 5.9 in. (19.6 × 15 cm). KU Leuven [MS 210, fol. 1r].

from Antwerp who was a member of the pedagogy of the Lily, includes a factotum title page printed by Hayé, showing medallion portraits in the bottom left and right of Plato and Aristotle (fig. 98).62 In each of the top three medallions van Cantelbeke has distributed two letters of the word “LILIVM ” (lily), in reference to his pedagogy affiliation. This standard factotum title page is followed by a second “fill-­in-­the-­blank” print that offers an elaborate frame to van Cantelbeke’s introductory inscription on his course notes.63 Van Cantelbeke was an exceptional print collector and a talented draftsman in his own right. Another six of his dictation notebooks survive in the Central Library of the KU Leuven; both his ingenious use of printed imagery and his drawings are discussed in subsequent sections of this chapter and the next. The iconography of factotum title pages purchased by students in Leuven and Paris indicates shifts in philosophical allegiances in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.64 The title page of the philosophy notebook of Aubin de Chevaigné, who studied in 1704 at the Grand Couvent, features an ornamental printed plural image, in the center of which de Chevaigné added a calligraphic inscription recording his name, the name of his teacher, and the year of the course (fig. 99). Above de Chevaigné’s inscription the personified Philosophia (Philosophy) triumphs over Ignorantia (Ignorance) to her left and Invidia (Envy) to her right, as she sits above them on her throne, with a torch in her right hand that threatens to burn the shoulder of Ignorance. A medallion at the center of an arch above Philosophy shows Adam, flanked by angels playing trumpets. Beneath the angels

1 28

c h a pt e r t h re e

left  figure 99

Factotum frontispiece to the notebook of de Chevaigné, from 1704. 8.9 × 6.5 in. (22.5 × 16.5 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18442, fol. 1r]. right  figure 100

Factotum frontispiece to the notebook of Couvreux. 8.9 × 6.5 in. (22.5 × 16.5 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18443, fol. 1r].

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on the columns supporting the arch are more medallions with portraits of philosophers. These continue along the bottom of the print, beneath de Chevaigné’s writing, where the Dominican Thomas Aquinas is portrayed between the Franciscan philosophers William of Ockham (c. 1287–­1347) and Duns Scotus, all of whom are to the left of Descartes. This factotum title page presents a more inclusive philosophical approach than is found in title pages that promote the theories of Aristotle and other ancient Greek thinkers only. It is symptomatic of the changes in philosophical teaching that had taken effect by the early eighteenth century. Even in the Grand Couvent, which had an institutional policy of promoting Scotist Aristotelianism, the new philosophies had made their mark. In contrast, the title page of the 1690 notebook of the Grand Couvent philosophy student Georges Couvreux features portraits of only Greek and Roman philosophers (fig. 100). The title page of a notebook created in 1677–­78 by Georgius Jodoigne, a student in the pedagogy of the Falcon at the University of Leuven, shows Descartes’s influence in this university as well (fig. 101). This title page again presents medallion portraits of Aristotle and Plato in the bottom left and right, and an engraving of a falcon has been pasted into the top central medallion.65 In the medallion to its left, Jodoigne inscribed the words “CarthesIVs MagnVs phILosophIa DVX” (Descartes, the great leader in philosophy), a chronogram for the year 1678 that highlights his admiration for the modern philosopher.66 In addition to integrating factotum title pages, the early pages of notebooks belonging to students at the Grand Couvent and the Leuven pedagogies sometimes incorporated

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

left  figure 101

Factotum frontispiece to the notebook of Jodoigne. 8.3 × 5.9 in. (21 × 15 cm). KU Leuven [MS 250, fol. 2r]. right  figure 102

Engraving of the house of Wisdom, in the notebook of Willems. 8.3 × 6.3 in. (21 × 16 cm). KU Leuven [MS 259, fol. 2r].

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portraits of famous philosophers, rulers, or personifications of the discipline of study to be discussed in subsequent pages; students at the Grand Couvent also included introductory images showing saints (usually St. Francis), the Madonna and Child, or other religious scenes.67 An original introductory image is found in a philosophy notebook made in 1659–­60 by Martinus Willems, a member of the Leuven pedagogy of the Pig. On the page before a printed factotum title page, Willems’s notebook presents an engraving by Jan Galle (1600–­1676) of a circular building marked as the house of Wisdom (fig. 102).68 By situating this image at the beginning of his notes, Willems draws a comparison between the organization of his notebook and the architectural structure of the house of Wisdom: opening his notebook and turning its pages becomes analogous to entering the house of Wisdom and moving through its rooms in pursuit of knowledge. The house of Wisdom is also represented in the Typus (see fig. 87). In both the broadside and the notebook, students conceive of wisdom in association with an exalted constructed space. Students also often purchased prints to place at the ends of their notebooks or at the ends of sections within their notes. In Leuven notebooks, for instance, it is common to find a print or drawing showing a newly constructed home with a shrub on its roof, positioned there in celebration of the roof ’s recent completion, accompanied by the motto “Work is rewarded in the end” (Fine coronato nobilitatur opus) (fig. 103).69 The students were associating the process of learning the philosophy dictated in the preceding pages of their notebooks with the activity of building.70 This association is already embedded in the Latin word aedificare, meaning “to build” or “to instruct by teaching” and the source of the English word “edifying.”

c h a pt e r t h re e

left  figure 103

Engraving showing a newly constructed home, in the logic notebook of Jodoigne from 1677–­78. 8.3 × 5.9 in. (21 × 15 cm). KU Leuven [MS 250, fol. 344r]. right  figure 104

Drawing of the columns of Hercules, in the notebook of van Cantelbeke. 7.8 × 6.3 in. (19.8 × 16 cm) KU Leuven [MS 205, fol. 147r]. This image is also repro­ duced in color on the final page of the book.

overleaf  figure 105

German, Map of the World, c. 1480. Colored woodcut, 15.1 × 11.3 in. (38.4 × 28.8 cm). National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.

131

Near the end of his logic notebook made in 1669–­70, van Cantelbeke placed a drawing of a pair of columns with a banderole inscribed “Non plus ultra” (Nothing further beyond) (fig. 104). These are the columns that Hercules was thought to have erected at the Straits of Gibraltar, or the end of the known world, as a warning to sailors not to venture into uncharted waters.71 The columns of Hercules were often illustrated in mapmaking: for instance, in a German colored woodcut from c. 1480 that claims to represent the entire world, the columns mark the Straits of Gibraltar in the west at the bottom of the print (fig. 105). In addition to marking the point beyond which no further philosophy appears in his notebook, van Cantelbeke’s drawing was a knowing and witty reference to Emperor Charles V (1500–­1558), whose printed portrait appears on the facing page (fig. 106), and who had chosen as his personal device an image of the columns of Hercules with the words “Plus Ultra” (Further Beyond), to signify his aim to go beyond the ends of the known world and expand the reach of his power. The use of the columns of Hercules also has a precedent in the Typus, on which they appear with the words “Non plus ultra” in the water beside the house of Wisdom (see fig. 87). Chéron and Gaultier designed their philosophical plural image to be read in a generally linear progression that concludes at the top of the page; the columns, at the upper right of the broadside, are depicted at the end of the students’ philosophical journey. Chéron, Gaultier, and van Cantelbeke present the columns as markers of the ending of studies of logic. Perhaps even more is implied by these columns: that the doctrine of logic is completed and nothing can be added to it; that whosoever ventures beyond Aristotle will drown.

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

left  figure 106

Portrait of Emperor Charles V, in the notebook of van Cantelbeke. 7.8 × 6.3 in. (19.8 × 16 cm). KU Leuven [MS 205, fol. 146v]. right  figure 107

Colored pen drawing of procession, pasted into the notebook of van Cantelbeke. 7.7 × 6 in. (19.5 × 15.2 cm). KU Leuven [MS 208, fol. 184v].

Another concluding image appears in van Cantelbeke’s natural philosophy notebook of 1669–­70, in which he pasted a colored pen drawing showing a university procession and inscribed the word “Finis” (End) (fig. 107). The drawing likely represents the university’s rector and other officials, processing through the streets of Leuven at a degree ceremony after the end of studies. With concluding images like this one, as well as a range of other prints and drawings that opened and closed philosophy course notebooks, students experimented with different frameworks through which to structure their studies across the pages of their notebooks, likening their notes to the architecture of houses of Wisdom and newly built homes, to gardens, landscapes, and university towns through which they could process. The students ornamented beginnings and endings to set up analogies framing their notebooks as spaces that one could enter and move through toward a particular destination in pursuit of knowledge. To List Propositions The thesis print, another genre often integrated into the notebooks of philosophy students in Paris, helped to put in order the contents of notebooks by highlighting critical aspects of philosophy lessons.72 Students at the Grand Couvent glued thesis prints into their notebooks and folded them to the size of the book’s pages in such a way that the broadsides could be opened and consulted when the notebooks were in use in preparation for disputations. Their frequent inclusion in early modern notebooks suggests that the theses discussed in disputations were closely related to materials presented in lectures. Five thesis prints, for instance, have been inserted into the 1665 notebook of Pierre de Maupeou,

133

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

who attended a philosophy course at the Jesuit Collège de Clermont, known in the late seventeenth century as the Collège-­Louis-­le-­Grand.73 These broadsides list crucial propositions in columns that are organized into philosophical subjects; in this way, they arrange clearly and on a single sheet of paper important topics for students to focus on as they reviewed their lecture notes. The illustrative upper portions of thesis prints have been removed from many of those inserted into student notebooks held by the BnF.74 It is probable that the students truncated the prints because they believed that the top portions of the broadsides were of little didactic value and could be removed so that the prints would fit better into their notebooks. In some instances, the upper areas of the thesis prints might also have been purchased or taken by print collectors. All of the truncated thesis prints cited in note 74 were produced well after the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier—­the earliest dates from 1644 (MS 18450); we see here evidence in support of the theory that after the 1630s, the illustrative portion of thesis prints in France tended no longer to serve a didactic function. Rather, it was only the broadsides’ printed columns of theses that were deemed pedagogically useful. These lists of theses highlighted for students the propositions they should focus on in their studies. To Emphasize Divergent Views Thesis prints were not the only documents that helped to structure notebooks by directing attention to particular passages and ideas. Among the most intriguing genres of visual representation that operated in this way are those relating to the writings of revolutionary early modern natural philosophers. By integrating these prints and drawings into their notebooks, students emphasized the importance of the “new” philosophies. Notebooks of Leuven students from around the last quarter of the seventeenth century and later often feature prints based on illustrations that appeared first in Descartes’s writings or in Cartesian textbooks.75 For instance, the notebook for a 1686–­87 philosophy course taken by Balthasar Cox, a student in the pedagogy of the Lily, contains an engraving of the human heart published by Blendeff on the basis of an engraving for Descartes’s physiology treatise, Renatus Des Cartes de homine, made by Florent Schuyl (1619–­1669) (figs. 108 and 109).76 Both the original engraving and Blendeff ’s copy include flaps that can be raised in order to allow readers to explore the deeper recesses of the heart. A similar hand drawing of a heart with folding flaps appears in a notebook made in 1675–­76 by Michael van den Biesche, a student in the pedagogy of the Pig (fig. 110). This copy appears to be based on Blendeff ’s print, as it also includes the title “COR HUMANUM ,” which was absent in the original illustration in the textbook.77 In chapter 1 we saw how Vesalius made use of prints of ideal bodies to persuade students and colleagues of his anatomical views. These prints and drawings after Schuyl’s illustration would have likewise functioned to make Descartes’s theories on the heart appear in a convincing light. As students raised the flaps in the engraving, they could imagine that they themselves were conducting an anatomical dissection, in which they were recognizing Descartes’s account of the heart’s structure. Students in Leuven and Paris also purchased prints of the Ptolemaic, Tychonic, and Copernican systems of the universe that enabled them to compare the different schemes

1 34

c h a pt e r t h re e

above left  figure 108

above right  figure 109

Cor humanum, in the notebook

Human heart with flap lifted

of Cox, 1686–­87. 8.4 × 6.5 in. (21.4

by Schuyl, in Renatus Des

× 16.5 cm). KU Leuven [MS 211,

Cartes de homine (Lyon: Peter

fol. 65r].

Leffen and Francis Moyaerd, 1662), fig. 1, fol. 9. Engraving printed on paper, 6.3 × 6.9 in. (16 × 17.5 cm). HAB, Wolfenbüttel [A: 237.11 Quod. (3)]. below right  figure 110

Cor humanum with a flap raised, in the notebook of van den Biesche, 1675–­76. 8.1 × 6.3 in. (20.5 × 16 cm). KU Leuven [MS 261, fol. 102ra].

left  figure 111

Print of the Copernican system, in the notebook of Hermans, 1663–­ 64. 8.3 × 6.2 in. (21 × 15.8 cm). Maurits Sabbebibliotheek, Collectie Grootseminarie Mechelen [MS GSM cod. 102, fols. 379r]. right  figure 112

Drawing of the Copernican system, in the notebook of van den Biesche, 1675–­76. 8.1 × 6.3 in. (20.5 × 16 cm). KU Leuven [MS 261, fol. 607r].

with ease. These three systems started to be discussed in philosophy lectures in Leuven with the more open curricula of 1658.78 In Paris between 1640 and 1690, professors slowly began to integrate new astronomical work into their treatment of Aristotelian cosmology.79 In this period the system of Tycho Brahe (1546–­1601) came to supplant Ptolemy’s in Paris lectures because it, unlike the Copernican system, preserved the idea of the earth’s immobility, which was a crucial biblical and Aristotelian assumption.80 Prints of all three systems are integrated into a notebook from 1663–­64 of Antonius Hermans, a Leuven student at the pedagogy of the Pig, in engravings published by Thielmans (fig. 111).81 In van den Biesche’s notebook, there are drawn copies of Thielmans’s engravings of the cosmos (fig. 112).82 These drawings are unsigned but are likely to have been made by van den Biesche himself for his own personal edification. Such images associated with new philosophies reveal that prints and drawings were important to the training of students in the face of philosophical changes. Students could see all three modes of organizing the universe side by side, making it easier for them to understand and to compare the different systems, which were also discussed verbally. To Mark Section Breaks, to Inspire Religious Meditation, and to Amuse Ornamental illustrations function as a device for introducing a more comfortable rhythm of reading and engaging with philosophical materials that draws attention to certain things and also encourages students to take breaks (see figs. 96 and 97). We can find further instances of visual representations flagging the subsections of a notebook in the drawings based on seventeenth-­century prints that ornament the 1663 notebook of Ludovicus van Colen, who studied philosophy at the pedagogy of the Falcon.83 For instance, on folio 6r, a calligraphic T is surrounded by drawings of two dogs and two monkeys, copied after engravings by Adriaen Collaert (1560–­1618) (fig. 113).84 These drawings are clumsy and were probably all made by van Colen himself. Often in addition to marking the end or beginning of a section of notes, prints and drawings provided students with the opportunity to pause and to engage in religious 1 36

c h a pt e r t h re e

left  figure 113

Decorative drawings, in the 1663 notebook of van Colen. 8 × 6.2 in. (20.2 × 15.8 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [II 1249, fol. 6r]. right  figure 114

Sketch of a Franciscan monk, in a notebook from c. 1639. 8.1 × 5.5 in. (20.5 × 14 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18441, fol. 65r].

137

meditation. By encouraging spiritual reflection, these meditative prints also worked to accentuate section breaks in the notebook. The drawings and calligraphy included in the notebooks from Leuven are in general more elaborate than those from the Grand Couvent, but the students in the Franciscan monastery still tried their hand at illustrating their notes. In particular, Grand Couvent students often created drawings or purchased prints of Franciscan friars or St. Francis. One philosophy student’s notebook created during a course at the Grand Couvent from around 1639, for example, contains an ink drawing of a Franciscan friar holding a cross and a crown of thorns; the drawing is positioned after the end of a section in the manuscript (fig. 114).85 A speech bubble contains the phrase “O crux ave spes unica” (O hail the cross our only hope). Similarly, a print representing St. Francis of Assisi is found before the beginning of a section in the philosophy notebook of Brother Aubin de Chevaigné, who studied at the Grand Couvent in 1704.86 The print depicts St. Francis kneeling before a small crucifix, holding a skull in his right hand, with the stigmata on his left hand. The engraving, one of several prints bound into de Chevaigné’s notebook, functions to tie the study of philosophy to religious meditation. Among the illustrated Leuven notebooks, that of Franciscus van den Merssche mentioned earlier in this chapter contains exceptionally intricate drawings on religious and philosophical themes that also strengthen the manuscript’s divisions into parts. As these are unsigned, it is uncertain that they are by van den Merssche; they might have been created by an amateur artist friend of his, or perhaps by a professional.87 The notebook’s most elaborate image portrays Adam and Eve’s fall from grace (fig. 115). Eve, on the left page, t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

figure 115

Adam and Eve, in van den Merssche’s notebook. 7.8 × 6 in. (19.7 × 15.1 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [II 168, fols. 2v and 3r].

opposite  figure 116

Calligraphic lettering, in van den Merssche’s notebook. 7.8 × 6 in. (19.7 × 15.1 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [II 168, fol. 7v].

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stands in contrapposto and grasps for the apple, while Adam, on the facing page, sits and raises the apple toward his mouth.88 A banderole behind Eve features the biblical inscription “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”89 Throughout van den Merssche’s manuscript notebook, the handwritten lecture notes are interpolated with calligraphic lettering.90 The calligraphy on the page on which Eve is shown reads, “In universam Ar[is]t[otel]is Phy[sic]am.” On folio 7v, the letter P in the word “Praefatio” is elegantly written and decorated with drawn birds, dogs, a man, a sea creature, vegetation, and various spirals and motifs (fig. 116).91 In these examples, calligraphy and imagery function to draw attention to new sections in the notebook. Visual representations often emphasize section breaks by operating as forms of entertainment and amusement. On folio 132r of van Colen’s notebook, for instance, is a drawing of Orpheus taming wild animals with music that is based on Adriaen Collaert’s engraving of this subject.92 Van Colen identifies himself as the artist of this illustration, writing, “Ludovicus van Colen fecit” (Ludovicus van Colen made [this]) near the center of the engraving’s bottom area. In creating and later viewing this drawing, van Colen could have momentarily distracted himself from his academic work. On folio 183r is another drawing showing the world turned upside down that is loosely based on the unattributed Topsy-­Turvy World, published by Carolus Collaert (1598–­1654) (fig. 117).93 We can again imagine how in making this sketch of animals behaving like people, van Colen could have enjoyed a momentary respite from his studies.

c h a pt e r t h re e

left  figure 117

Drawing of the world turned upside down, in the 1663 notebook of van Colen. 8 × 6.2 in. (20.2 × 15.8 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [II 1249, fol. 183r]. right  figure 118

Callot etching from the Balli di Sfessania integrated into a section on division, in van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.8 × 6.1 in. (19.9 × 15.5 cm). KU Leuven [MS 204, fol. 87r].

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Callot and the Notebooks of Henricus Joannes van Cantelbeke For especially sophisticated images designed to mark sections and provoke delight, we can turn to the seven dictation notebooks of Henricus Joannes van Cantelbeke, who avidly collected and copied etchings by Jacques Callot. The images in his notebooks also function as a means to develop new interpretations of philosophical ideas. In a way his notebooks represent the culmination of the tradition we have been studying in this chapter. He is a figure who thinks about philosophical ideas by using visual representations, while also being a discerning collector and a talented draftsman. Van Cantelbeke’s images are taken from three series of etchings by Callot: Balli di Sfessania (c. 1621–­22), Capricci di varie figure (1617–­22), and Varie figure gobbi (1616).94 Within his seven notebooks he played with the display of his collection of Callot prints, which he often copied in his own hand or cut up and pasted into his notes in the manner of collage, creating original compositions in which he juxtaposed Callot’s characters with philosophical ideas. In one of his logic notebooks from 1669, van Cantelbeke pasted an etching from the Balli di Sfessania series of two masked men, who are identified by Callot as the commedia dell’arte characters Scaramuccia and Fricasso (fig. 118).95 In integrating this print into his notes, van Cantelbeke detached the reference to their names and affixed the print near the beginning of a section titled “De Divisione” (Concerning division). Because the figures have their backs to each other, as opposed to being united together in battle, they offer a whimsical interpretation of the concept of division. This important component of Aristotle’s logic was represented in a variety of ways in philosophical images. Another visualization of this

c h a pt e r t h re e

left  figure 119

Callot etching from the Balli di Sfessania integrated into van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.8 × 6.1 in. (19.9 × 15.5 cm). KU Leuven [MS 204, fol. 91r]. right  figure 120

Detail with flag from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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idea can be found in the Descriptio: as noted in the previous chapter, here Division tears a piece of paper in two, an act that represents division (see fig. 74). In the same logic notebook van Cantelbeke juxtaposes an etching of a standard-­bearer from Callot’s Capricci di varie figure with the words “De Signis” (Concerning Signs) (fig. 119).96 Another such instance of a flag symbolizing a sign appears in a detail of the Typus, in which a flag above a door is combined with an inscription stating that a sign’s meaning is socially generated: “Et Signum ex instituto” (And the sign according to agreement) (fig. 120). The use of visual iconography in combination with text to explain the fundamental notion of signification in fact shows how many of the images in the notebook and broadside work at a most basic level. The inscription explains in a simple manner the signifying nature of the imagery found throughout these philosophical training documents, and the flags themselves serve as a concrete visual reminder of the message in the inscription. In his natural philosophy notebook of 1670, van Cantelbeke pasted in two Callot etchings to present an example of movement in location for a section of notes on this topic titled “De motu locali” (Concerning movement in relation to place) (fig. 121). A dwarf, taken from an etching in the Varie figure gobbi, is on the attack, poised with two swords pointed toward a man fleeing to the right who is excerpted from a reversed copy of an image in Callot’s Capricci di varie figure.97 By drawing the ground beneath their feet, van Cantelbeke puts these two images originally from two different series of etchings into the same space, showing movement in a particular location. Through humorous illustrations such as this one, van Cantelbeke also created mnemonic devices that would allow him to recall particular ideas through their association with vivid imagery.

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

opposite  figure 121

above  figure 122

Callot etchings from the Varie

Callot etching of Riciulina from

figure gobbi and the Capricci di

the Balli di Sfessania integrated

varie figure pasted into van Can-

as the goddess Fortuna into van

telbeke’s notebook, in a section

Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.7 × 5.9

on movement in location. 7.7 ×

in. (19.6 × 15 cm). KU Leuven

5.9 in. (19.6 × 15 cm). KU Leuven

[MS 210, fol. 29r].

[MS 210, fol. 71av].

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The notebook contains another collage, positioned next to a discussion titled “De fortuna et casu” (Concerning Fortune and Chance) (fig. 122). Van Cantelbeke creates a personification of fortune by excising the image of the commedia dell’arte character Riciulina from an etching in Callot’s Balli di Sfessania series.98 Van Cantelbeke associates her with the attributes of the inconstant goddess Fortuna, drawing a globe under her feet and providing her with a voluminous sail, which is subordinate to the changing directions of the wind.99 In chapter 4 we will encounter the goddess again in alba amicorum. In addition to creating collages of fragmented prints and drawings, van Cantelbeke produced his own drawings after Callot’s etchings that likewise worked to amuse, to instruct, and to mark divisions in the notebook. For example, van Cantelbeke decorated a page of his logic notebook of 1669–­70 that introduces its “Tractatus secondus” (Second treatise) with a drawing after the title page illustration of Callot’s Balli di Sfessania (fig. 123).100 The image shows a stage with masked musicians performing on a lute, a tambourine, and a hurdy-­gurdy, while a man and a woman furtively watch from backstage. In one of his logic notebooks from 1669, van Cantelbeke draws another hurdy-­gurdy player copied from an etching in Varie figure gobbi (fig. 124).101 This musician plays a duet with a bagpiper based on another etching in the same series.102 The drawing appears on a page that faces a new section in the notes titled “Quid Enuntiatio Dubia” (What kind of uncertain propositions). In the Descriptio Meurisse and Gaultier depicted deceptive arguments by analogy to musical performance: they represent two sophists, who produce syllogisms that result in error, in an image of two kneeling flautists (see fig. 85). An inscription characterizes sophists as professional deceivers, perpetually performing: “The goal of sophists is to deceive: in order to bring this about they try to lead the respondent to five goals, namely, refutation, fallacy, paradox, solecism, and false reasoning.”103 Meurisse and Gaultier illustrate figures engaged in performance to emphasize that sophists are more concerned about how they seem than about how they are. The flute in particular had been viewed suspiciously since antiquity: Plutarch, for example, explains that Alcibiades criticized flute playing because it distorts the face of the

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

figure 123

van Cantelbeke’s drawing after the title page illustration of Callot’s Balli di Sfessania, in van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.8 × 6.3 in. (19.8 × 16 cm). KU Leuven [MS 205, fol. 79v].

musician and prevents rational discourse by obstructing the mouth; presumably the same could be said about the bagpipe.104 In Il Cortegiano the diplomat Federico Fregoso cites Alcibiades’s distaste for the flute and discourages the playing of wind instruments in general.105 Above all, van Cantelbeke’s drawing adds a touch of whimsy and levity to his notes in introducing a new section, but it is possible that this association between wind instruments and the thwarting of thought explains why he placed this musical performance near a philosophical discussion of improbable propositions. eE

figure 124

Drawing after characters from Callot’s Varie figure gobbi, in van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.8 × 6.1 in. (19.8 × 15.5 cm). KU Leuven [MS 209, fol. 101v].

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This overview of the ubiquity and variety of prints, drawings, and calligraphic lettering in notebooks made by philosophy students from Paris and Leuven reveals that images and the activity of drawing were an important component of early modern philosophy education and thinking. Students collected and drew visual representations in their notebooks to pass time and commit key notions to memory. My analysis has exposed the ways in which visual representations operated to order these manuscript sources. Commonly drawings, prints, and calligraphic lettering highlight the beginnings and endings of sections in manuscripts, and of entire manuscripts. In the process they also enabled students to engage in religious meditation and to indulge in brief, humorous diversion from their studies. Furthermore, they drew attention to important or divergent philosophical ideas and were tools in a student’s process of interpretation, a topic that I unpack in greater depth in the chapter that follows. These images enriched the overall notion of philosophical learning by casting the curriculum, through the space and structure of the notebooks, as an imaginative space—­gardens, buildings, or landscapes to be traversed in pursuit of knowledge. Through the creative processes of drawing, print collecting, and collage, students organized individual philosophical concepts in ways that used metaphor, analogy, allegory, and other methods to create meaning through the juxtaposition of text and image.

t h e vi si bl e orde r o f s t u d e n t le c t u re n o t e b o o k s

Ch a pter 4

Visual Thinking in Logic Notebooks and Alba amicorum

H

ow did images in manuscript sources serve as critical tools in the exploration of difficult theories for students, professors, and scholars? And how did the process of artistic creation become a mode of philosophical thinking? In this chapter, I demonstrate that lecture notebooks, as well as contemporaneous alba amicorum, incorporate visual materials as a mode of philosophical thought in itself. I am discussing the visual representations of lecture notebooks and friendship albums in the same chapter, as both these bound manuscript sources functioned as a locus in which students could manipulate visual materials to reflect on philosophical questions in their own voices and with a certain amount of freedom. Furthermore, I aim to show the iconographic overlaps among the prints and drawings found in these sources.

To Think through Spatial Constructs The Square of Opposition

det ail of fig ure 129

One frequent diagram in early modern student notebooks that used the space of the page to conceive of logical relationships is the square of opposition, a figure that was first presented in the second-­century ce text On Interpretation, attributed to Apuleius of Madaura.1 Traditionally, this diagram functioned as an illustration of the logical relations among four different propositions. One of these propositions, known as a universal affirmative, is in the form “Omne X est Y” (Every X is Y). A second, called the universal negative, is in the form “Nullum X est Y” (No X is Y). A third, named the particular affirmative, is in the form “Quidam X est Y” (Some X is Y). The fourth categorical proposition is the particular negative, whose form is “Quidam X non est Y” (Some X is not Y). A print of a square of opposition bound into the 1703 notebook belonging to a Franciscan student at the Grand Couvent named Jouvenet offers a standard example of this diagram (fig. 125).2 Moving clockwise from the upper left corner of this diagram, we find the following four propositions, each in a different form: “Omnis Homo est Justus” (Every man is just), followed by “Nullus Homo Est Justus” (No man is just), and then “Quidam

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figure 125

Print of a square of opposition, bound into a notebook by Jouvenet, dated to 1703. 8.9 × 6.7 in. (22.5 × 17 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18446, fol. 23v].

Homo non est Justus” (Some man is not just), and “Quidam Homo Est Justus” (Some man is just). The names of the logical relations among these four propositions are marked on lines that connect them to one another. Aristotle outlines the contradictions between the categorical propositions in chapters 6 and 7 of On Interpretation; he also presents the propositions “Every man is just” and “No man is just,” which are used in this 1703 print.3 The term “Contrariae” (contraries) is marked on the line connecting the propositions “Every man is just” and “No man is just”; these propositions are contradictory because it is impossible for both to be true. The word “Contradictoriae” (containing contradictions) appears for the same reason on the diagonal line connecting the propositions “Every man is just” with “Some man is not just,” and “No man is just” with “Some man is just.” The central syllable “Dic” in “Contradictoriae,” in larger print, is encircled at the intersection of the two 1 48

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left  figure 126

Three squares of opposition bound into the notebook of Brother Couvreux. 8.9 × 6.5 in. (22.5 × 16.5 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18443, fol. 190r]. right  figure 127

Square of opposition drawn into a notebook from around 1644. 7.7 × 6.3 in. (19.5 × 16 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18459, fol. 162v].

diagonal lines and their inscriptions. “Dic” is the present active imperative of the verb “to say”; perhaps these three letters serve to emphasize the scholastic notion that propositions were spoken assertions. The term “Subcontrariae” (subcontraries) is written on the line linking the propositions “Some man is just” and “Some man is not just,” because although both these propositions can be true, they cannot both be false. “Subalternae” (subalterns) is inscribed on the line connecting the propositions “Every man is just” and “Some man is just,” because the truth of the universal proposition implies the truth of the particular proposition beneath it. Similarly, the word “Subalternae” is marked onto the line connecting the propositions “No man is just” and “Some man is not just,” because the truth of the universal proposition necessitates the truth of the particular one. The notebook of Brother Georges Couvreux, the student of a teacher named Antoine Mercier, contains an impression of the same print representing the square of opposition that appears in the 1703 notebook by Jouvenet.4 Couvreux’s notebook contains another print depicting three squares of opposition that illustrate contradictions among modal propositions, or propositions in which the predicate affirms or denies the subject either necessarily, contingently, or impossibly (fig. 126). In the uppermost diagram is a square of opposition with variations on the necessary proposition “homo est animal” (man is an animal). The middle diagram illustrates a square of opposition based on the contingent thesis “homo currit” (man runs). The lowest square of opposition is based on the impossible proposition “homo est lapis” (man is a stone). This three-­part illustration exemplifies some of the ways in which variations on squares of opposition were presented in early modern philosophy notebooks.5 In addition to the printed squares of opposition discussed above, there are drawn copies of this logical diagram interspersed throughout the notebooks of early modern philosophy students.6 In 1644, for instance, one anonymous philosophy student drew into his notebook a traditional square of opposition constructed around the contingent proposition “homo est doctus” (man is learned) (fig. 127).7 He went on to draw six more complicated squares of opposition into the subsequent pages of his notebook; this student 1 49

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evidently found it useful to use the space of the page to order his thoughts on logic.8 A philosophy student from the Grand Couvent named Pierre Thieriat drew a square of opposition built around the proposition “homo est doctus” in his notebook in 1641.9 The frequency of squares of opposition suggests that the act of drawing this diagram across the space of the page was viewed as a useful didactic exercise that would help students to think through and to remember how categorical propositions were related to one another. We also find squares of oppositions in other genres. For example, the diagram is represented in the upper left quadrant of the Logicae universae typus (fig. 128). Colutius’s print depicts a standard square of opposition on a flag that hangs from a pole on the left side of the second highest level of the defense tower. The diagram is built around the contingent proposition “homo albus est” (man is white), which appears in Aristotle’s On Interpretation.10 Another example appears in a manuscript copy of a philosophy textbook, titled Spatiosus campus philosophiae, created around 1767 by Christophoro Gomez of the Mercedarian order in Mexico.11 A stained-­glass window from 1521 in Eton College, England, shows how the square of opposition was used in student training (fig. 129).12 The window is likely to have been created by the Flemish stained-­glass artist Galyon Hone (fl. c. 1517–­51), who worked on painting and mending glass at Eton between 1517 and 1526 and in 1520 was made the king’s glazier.13 In this window the square of opposition is represented in two books or notebooks that lie open before a teacher and his student. The student glances toward his teacher and points to his hand as he attempts to commit to memory what he is learning about the logical relations among the four propositions represented in the diagram.14 The square of opposition was an extremely popular form of philosophical visual representation among teachers and their students, who used the diagram in their notebooks, pedagogical broadsides, classrooms, and even the windows of educational establishments. The square of opposition—­like the tree of Porphyry, explicated in the section that follows—­presents complex logical relations in easily understood and remembered forms. These diagrams

figure 128

Detail with square of opposition, in the Logicae universae typus, 1606. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA6].

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figure 129

Stained-­glass window showing teacher and student with squares of opposition in Eton College, England.

are akin to plural images, insofar as they too are organized by conceptual relationships, as opposed to aiming to re-­create a single, verisimilar spatiotemporal slice. They map theoretical relationships onto the space of the page, and in creating and viewing these diagrams, students and teachers were using the space of the page to think. The Tree of Porphyry Porphyry explains that a number of different species can be subsumed under the same genus; species is therefore a subcategory of genus.15 He further specifies that there is a “most general” genus, which cannot have a superordinate genus above it, and a “most special” species, which cannot have a subordinate species underneath it.16 This spectrum of genus and species was represented in the form of an abstract schematic chart, or in the shape of a tree or espaliered vine called the “tree of Porphyry,” in commentaries on the Isagoge from the fifth century ce onward.17 One example of the tree of Porphyry appears in an engraving published in Paris by François Jollain and bound into the notebook of Jouvenet (fig. 130). The diagram represents the relationship between the most general genus “Ens” (being), which appears at the top of the trunk, and the most special species “homo” (man), located near the bottom of the trunk. Directly below the word “homo” is

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opposite  figure 130

Print of the tree of Porphyry bound into a notebook that is dated to c. 1703 for the course of Ruffier. 8.9 × 6.7 in. (22.5 × 17 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18446, 10v].

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a circle containing the name “Petrus,” to indicate an individual member of the species of man. This diagram shows that the items on the trunk between the most general genus and the most special species can be identified as either genera or species.18 For instance, one could characterize “Vivens” (living body) as the genus of the species “Animal” (animal), or as a species subordinate to the genus “Corpus” (body). This trunk is annotated with the words “Linea Directa” (direct line). Porphyry defines difference as the characteristic of a species that serves to separate it from others in the genus.19 The difference of rationality, for example, sets man apart from other species of animals.20 In Jollain’s print the words “In Rationale” (in rationality) and “In Irrationale” (in irrationality) are written in circles on the lowest branches to the left and right, in order to show that the genus of animal is divided into rational and irrational beings. The word “Dividitur” (it is divided) is inscribed on the lines leading from “animal” to “in rationality” and “in irrationality,” indicating that differences divide genera. In addition to being divisive, however, differences are also constitutive. That is, when a species is defined by the combination of a genus and a certain difference, the difference is said to be constitutive of that species. For instance, the genus “animal” combines with the difference “with rationality” to constitute or define the species “man.” Thus Jollain’s print includes the word “Constituit” (it constitutes) on the diagonal line connecting the words “In Rationale” and “Homo.” The vertical line in Jollain’s print that connects all of the differences on the left is annotated “linea Collateralis” (collateral line), because the line runs parallel to the “direct line,” the central tree trunk. Jollain’s print exemplifies a standard visualization of Porphyry’s ideas, although whereas in Jollain’s diagram the category of substance appears directly below the genus of being, many other images of the tree of Porphyry represent substance as the most general genus on the top of the tree’s central trunk.21 Printed and hand-­drawn trees of Porphyry are found in numerous early modern philosophy notebooks, because students relied on the careful arrangement of Porphyry’s concepts across the space of the page to think through and grasp logical concepts. In the notebook belonging to Aubin de Chevaigné, mentioned in chapter 3, a printed tree of Porphyry shows the most general genus “being” (fig. 131). De Chevaigné’s first name is marked around the tree’s trunk, and his full name is written into a banderole near the top of the tree. The image portrays eight men standing on either side of the tree, actively gesturing toward it as they discuss its content. The man immediately to the left of the tree holds a book under his right arm and points to the branches above him with a stick; this figure depicts how scholars from the period interacted with visual aids, using pointers to direct attention to the relationships of particular details of the systems across the space of the page. A humorous illustration of students interacting with a tree of Porphyry is drawn in a notebook dated 1635 that belonged to Brother Philibert Petrot, a student of Etienne Bosquevert at the Grand Couvent (fig. 132).22 Petrot is likely to have drawn the Porphyrian substance-­tree himself, in an effort to learn, remember, and interpret the structure and content of Porphyry’s ideas. In the upper right corner of the image, Petrot depicts a Franciscan friar pruning the tree’s branches, below an inscription that identifies him as Heliotte. Beneath him, in the lower right corner of the drawing, another

vi su a l t h i n k i n g i n lo g ic n o t e b o o k s a n d a lb a a m ic o r u m

right  figure 131

Tree of Porphyry bound into the notebook of de Chevaigné in 1704. 8.9 × 6.5 in. (22.5 × 16.5 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18442, fol. 112v]. opposite  figure 132

Tree of Porphyry drawn into the notebook of Petrot. 7.7 × 5.7 in. (19.5 × 14.5 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18461, fol. 140].

Franciscan, whose name appears to be Dutoux, faces the tree; he is shown in a comical fashion with an awkwardly broad smile and little dots on his nose that presumably represent moles, pimples, or some other skin blemish. Across from him, in the lower left corner, a third Franciscan friar, identified as Odry, gathers fruits from the tree to place inside the basket that he holds in his right hand. The names Helliotte (sic), Dutoux, and Odry are also listed as “the names of the men who will study philosophical things with me.”23 Petrot thus alludes to the collaborative aspect of his education, as he portrays his classmates engrossed in symbolic activities of tending the tree of Porphyry as they might tend to their studies and harvest knowledge, while he also teases them with gentle visual barbs. Furthermore, in showing Petrot’s peers in intense interaction with the tree, the image suggests that students engaged closely with their visual aids. A drawing in a notebook from around 1639 similarly represents figures interacting with the Porphyrian tree (fig. 133). To the left of the trunk stands a man in a blue and brown robe with his left arm lifted toward the tree above him. He debates with the Franciscan friar whose extended arms and fingers suggest that he is intent on communicating several points to the man across from him. Decorative, colorful, and varied flowers along the sides and top of the tree might allude to the metaphorical blossoming of a diversity of knowledge that occurs during philosophical education. To the right of the 1 54

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left  figure 133

Tree of Porphyry drawn into du Moustier’s philosophy notebook, possibly from 1639. 8.1 × 5.5 in. (20.5 × 14 cm). BnF, Département des Manuscrits, Paris [Fonds Latin 18441, fol. 67r].

below left  figure 134

Callot etching of urinating and defecating man from the Capricci di varie figure integrated into van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.8 × 6.2 in. (19.8 × 15.8 cm). KU Leuven [MS 206, fol. 7v]. below right  figure 135

Tree of Porphyry, in van Cantelbeke’s notebook. 7.8 × 6.2 in. (19.8 × 15.8 cm). KU Leuven [MS 206, fol. 8r].

figure 136

Print with tree of Porphyry by Kilian. Engraving on paper, 11.9 × 15.4 in. (30.2 × 39 cm). Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg [Kilian B. 74].

friar the student has depicted a monastery, to emphasize the figure’s institutional background. This illustration of two individuals conversing before the didactic visualization of Porphyry’s ideas suggests once again that philosophy students valued debate and engaged actively with pedagogical diagrams in order to discuss the details of how they arranged concepts across the space of the page. Some student notebooks contain several drawings of the Porphyrian tree. For instance, in a notebook belonging to Grégoire Le Tourneur, who was studying in the Grand Couvent in 1696, are two hand-­drawn trees of Porphyry.24 The first of these is a substance-­tree, whereas the second presents “being” as the most general genus; otherwise, the intellectual content of the two diagrams is equivalent. It is likely that Le Tourneur drew the diagram twice because of the educational value ascribed to drawing as a means of learning and remembering philosophical ideas.25 Trees of Porphyry are also common in notebooks of students from Leuven. In one of the 1669 logic notebooks of Joannes van Cantelbeke, a tree of Porphyry appears across from an etching of a man defecating and urinating outdoors from Callot’s series Capricci di varie figure (figs. 134 and 135).26 By juxtaposing the image of this man who “divides” his nourishment through digestion and evacuation with the Porphyrian tree across from him, van Cantelbeke depicts two different forms of division and adds some lowbrow humor into what might otherwise have seemed a tedious section of his lecture notes. Porphyrian trees can also be found in other pedagogical genres. For instance, a tree of Porphyry is positioned in the center of an engraving by Bartholomäus Kilian (1630–­1696), based on a design of Karel Škréta (fig. 136). This is one of three engravings that may once have illustrated a now-­lost thesis booklet by Ferdinand Christoph von

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figure 137

Detail showing the personification of difference from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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Scheidlern.27 The substance-­tree in Kilian’s engraving is annotated as most Porphyrian trees are, for example with the word “substantia” inscribed near the top of the tree trunk. Another printed Porphyrian tree is integrated into the Mexican manuscript copy of the Spatiosus campus philosophiae.28 In the Mexican manuscript, Kilian’s engraving, and the philosophy student notebooks discussed above, the Porphyrian system is represented in the traditional manner, as a tree diagram. These representations allow students to rely on spatial relationships to think through ideas. We can gain a sense of how strongly students had absorbed the spatial arrangements of Porphyry’s tree from the decision of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier to reference the diagram’s form without representing it directly. In the Typus, for instance, difference is personified by a woman who points upward with her right hand and downward with her left (fig. 137).29 As differences are both divisive and constitutive, in pointing upward Difference echoes the diagonal lines of the Porphyrian tree that illustrate the division of genera (see fig. 130). Difference points downward with her left hand in order to allude to the diagonal lines of the Porphyrian tree that illustrate how genera and differences constitute species (see figs. 137 and 130). By using her arms as the lines in the tree of Porphyry, Difference is able to capture the two central features of this predicable. Chéron and Gaultier pay homage to the shape of the Porphyrian tree in their engraving, relying on their students’ having employed spatial mechanisms to think through Porphyry’s concepts. No Porphyrian tree appears in the Descriptio of Meurisse and Gaultier either, but once again the spatial arrangements of this iconography form the conceptual basis of a very different image.30 Arriving at the garden’s entrance are seven bearded men, followed by six women, who in turn are trailed by five boys (fig. 138). The men are identified as personifications of genera and species, with the inscription “Genera and Species advance on the direct road.”31 Meurisse and Gaultier have represented both genus and species as a single group of men, however, because, as noted earlier, Porphyry explains that the items situated between the most general genus and the most special species can be identified either as genera or as species, depending on how they are considered. In reference to the commonplace annotation on the trunk of Porphyrian trees, “Linea Directa” (Direct Line) (see fig. 130), the personifications of genera and species are characterized as advancing “on the direct road.” It is evident, therefore, that the Descriptio’s representations of Genera and Species allude to the spatial organization of standard trees of Porphyry. An inscription above the women marks them as personifications of “Differences on the collateral road,” in reference to the vertical line marked “Linea Collateralis” on the left side of trees of Porphyry (see fig. 130).32 Therefore even in the absence of a tree, the student’s knowledge of this common diagram, which appeared in so many student notebooks and pedagogical prints, is assumed in the Descriptio’s design. A more complex visual representation is supposed to trigger the student’s memory of a basic diagram, which in turn triggers his memory of the subject matter. As in all other examples discussed in these chapters, the subject matter might have been presented only verbally; but the choice was made to pre­ sent it visually because this way it can be grasped and memorized with greater ease. The concept of differentia is personified by a group of women, because women in early modern Europe traditionally assumed subsidiary roles, in which they provided assistance to

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figure 138

Detail with allusions to the Porphyrian tree from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

men, just as the differentiae provide assistance in distinguishing among species, while the primary action was believed to be undertaken by men, just as the primary classificatory forces are the genera and species. By personifying differentia in this way, Meurisse and Gaultier offer a richer interpretation of Porphyry’s ideas than is found in the traditional tree diagram. In Porphyrian trees individuals are represented at the lowest part of the image (see, for example, the name of the individual Petrus, inscribed at the foot of Jollain’s tree, fig. 130). Individuals form the foundation of superior categories, because if all individuals of a particular species disappeared, then that species itself would also disappear. This part of the tree is also referred to obliquely in the Descriptio, in which the group of boys who follow the women and men are identified as “Individuals,” with an inscription that reads, “Individuals, as the bases of superior categories, have the lowest place.”33 These boys are the offspring of the men and women, because, as noted above, genera combine with differences to constitute or create species, including individual members of a species. The representation of these men, women, and children at the bottom of this philosophical plural image interprets the concepts of genus, species, difference, and individuals, prompting the student to remember the spatial structure of the tree of Porphyry while offering a new and rich visual commentary on the relationship among these concepts by analogy to familial bonds and the relationship between the sexes in early modern Europe.34 The Descriptio detail is therefore a fitting example to discuss as we transition to the next section, which introduces other examples of visual representations that functioned as commentaries in this period.

To Think through Visual Commentaries The Commentaries of Logic Notebooks

Numerous visual representations that operate as commentaries can be found in a notebook belonging to Wilhelmus Gerardus van Campen, a philosophy student at the pedagogy of the Castle in Leuven. Although these prints are not always signed, it is likely that

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figure 139

Engraving of arguing men, in notebook of van Campen. 7.9 × 6.1 in. (20 × 15.4 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [21907 D, fol. 122v].

all or most of them were published by Michael Hayé, whose reappropriation of emblems in Engelgrave’s Lux Evangelica and a Matre Dei’s Firmamentum symbolicum was noted in chapter 3. Hayé’s use of these emblems is well known, but the sources of some of the other prints sold in his shop remained (until now) unidentified. The intriguing images offered for sale in his and other printing shops highlight the varied ways in which prints were exchanged internationally and manipulated for didactic ends. One striking example in van Campen’s notebook is an unattributed engraving entitled De Argumentatione (concerning arguing), in which a group of men engage in animated discussion (fig. 139).35 This print is a copy of The Dispute with the Doctors by Hans I Collaert (1571–­1633).36 In the image, which depicts a scene in Solomon’s Temple, the twelve-­year-­old Jesus kneels in the midst of a group of Jewish doctors with whom he conducts a learned debate. The three men in the foreground are stunned by the boy’s intellect: one appears to raise his eyeglasses to his face to get a closer look at the boy. The top and the left and right sides of Collaert’s model have been cropped in this new edition, and the text at the bottom has been replaced by the words “De Argumentatione” and the name of the publisher Hayé. Van Campen employs this engraving’s representation of argumentation as a gloss on the facing section about argumentation, titled “Liber Tertius. De Tertia Mentis Operatione. Et Primo de Argumentatione Generaliter” (Third Book. Concerning the Third Operation of the Mind. And First Concerning Arguing Generally). The image would have helped van Campen organize his notes by marking the location of this new section; in addition, the print, more than an illustrative bookmark, enriches the textual exploration of argumentation. As philosophy students could be as young as fourteen, many were close in age to Jesus when he disputed with the doctors. By including this print of Jesus’s meeting in the temple in his philosophy notebook, van Campen associates argumentation—­of the sort he would practice in formal disputations—­with Jesus’s own argumentation, and connects philosophical reasoning with the roots of Christianity.37 1 60

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figure 140

Engraving on universals, in notebook of van Campen. 7.9 × 6.1 in. (20 × 15.4 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [21907 D, fol. 69r].

This image of Christ disputing in the temple would serve as an example of articulateness and learnedness that the student could aspire to, even at a young age. On folio 69r of van Campen’s notebook is an engraving of the Last (or universal) Judgment based on Adriaen Collaert’s Inde venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos (From thence he shall come to judge the living and the dead) (fig. 140).38 In creating this copy of Collaert’s work, the anonymous engraver cropped the left and right sides of the original image, and added the inscription “De universali” (concerning universals). Van Campen positioned the print to face a passage in his notebook given the same title. In the center of the top half of the image, Christ judges the living and the dead, sending people to hell and to paradise. The Virgin Mary and St. John the Baptist kneel beside him, mediating on behalf of humanity, while angels play trumpets. Crowds of souls fill the bottom of the print; they represent the living and the dead who are judged on the day of reckoning. A nude man stands in contrapposto in the foreground with his back to the viewer, who is invited to identify with this figure. The engraving, with its religious subject matter and its depiction of large masses of figures, offers a visual explication of the notion of universality, as Christians believe that the Last Judgment will affect all people. Several prints inserted into the notebook of van Campen and other students at the University of Leuven closely resemble details from the Descriptio that offer visual commentaries on particular ideas in logic. Publishers copied these small images from the engraving, and students then reintegrated them into their notebooks, which functioned as surrogates for the conceptual frameworks previously offered by the plural image. This practice is in itself an indication that the Descriptio was considered useful pedagogically, and that it was not purely an ornamental-­display piece. One rather gruesome visual commentary that is repeated in a notebook is drawn from the Descriptio’s bottom right corner, where a man stands with a wooden leg and a woven basket containing human limbs (fig. 141). This figure approaches the entrance of the walled garden with the assistance 161

vi su a l t h i n k i n g i n lo g ic n o t e b o o k s a n d a lb a a m ic o r u m

above left  figure 141

Detail on division of a whole into its parts from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. below left  figure 142

Detail showing limbs from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 143

Man with walking stick, engraving bound into a notebook created in 1683–­84 by van Campen. 7.9 × 6.1 in. (20 × 15.4 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [21907 D, fol. 48v].

of a walking stick, under the words “The physical and integral parts are related reductively to the categories.”39 The image visualizes the following passage in Boethius’s De divisione: “For you would divide a human body into the parts that are peculiar to it, the head, hands, chest, feet, or in any other way that makes a correct division in respect of the proper parts.”40 The body parts in the man’s basket, which seems also to hold his left foot, represent an illustration or explication of how a whole human body may be divided into parts. In the bottom half of the Typus, Chéron and Gaultier also show a collection of severed limbs to visualize the division of a whole into parts (fig. 142). The word “Partes” (parts) is inscribed in the middle of this image. Inserted into the notebook of van Campen is a print representing a man with a wooden leg, walking stick, and basket of limbs that is virtually identical to the image in the Descriptio (fig. 143).41 The text in the thesis print and in the notebook copy are also nearly identical.42 Although the notebook’s print is unsigned, it appears likely that it was engraved by Pieter Huybrechts and published by Hayé, both of whose signatures appear on another engraving bound into van Campen’s notebook (fig. 144). The framing and juxtaposition of image and text are nearly identical in these prints: each exhibits an illustration within an oval frame and presents a text in an underlying rectangular space, the left and right sides of which are adorned by curlicues (although the frame in figure 144 is surrounded with garlands, which are not present in figure 143). Because the Descriptio appeared in 1614, well before van Campen’s 1683–­84 notebook, we may surmise either that Huybrechts and Hayé based their engraving on this broadside, or that Huybrechts, Hayé, Meurisse, and Gaultier all based their images on some third, unidentified source. As

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c h a pt e r f ou r

left  figure 144

De equivocis, engraving bound into a notebook created in 1683–­ 84 by van Campen. 7.9 × 6.1 in. (20 × 15.4 cm). BRB, Cabinet des Manuscrits, Brussels [21907 D, fol. 198v]. center above  figure 145

Detail showing equivocally named things from the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231]. center below  figure 146

Detail showing equivocally named things from the Typus, 1622. Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 147

Equivocally named things, in anonymous manuscript on logic, entitled Dialectica sive ad logicam manuducti, c. 1744. 8.3 × 6.5 in. (21 × 16.5 cm). Maurits Sabbebibliotheek [SJ CR434, 43r].

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Hayé’s workshop was situated in the vicinity of the Irish Friars Minor convent in Leuven, it is likely that he received a copy of the Descriptio from his Franciscan neighbors.43 The signed philosophical print in van Campen’s notebook shows a dog, a fish, and a star above the inscription “De equivocis” (Concerning equivocation) (see fig. 144). A dog, a fish, and a star also appear in details of the Descriptio and the Typus (figs. 145 and 146). The Typus shows a dog, a fish, and a star beside the word “Aequivocum” (Equivocal). In the Descriptio they are juxtaposed with the text “Things are equivocally named, when they have a name in common and a different definition of their substance.”44 This definition of equivocation closely resembles Aristotle’s.45 The ancient philosopher gives the Greek word κύων as an example of homonym in his Sophistical Refutations; as his interpreters explained, this word, when translated into Latin as canis, can signify a dog, or a dogfish, or the Dog Star.46 These prints offer visual commentaries on Aristotle’s notion of equivocation. The Descriptio most likely inspired the representations of equivocation printed by Hayé, whose reinterpretation of the 1614 image of equivocation in turn is likely to have served as the model for a drawing of this concept in a manuscript completed in 1744 (fig. 147).47 The anonymous draftsman was evidently copying from the engraving by Huybrechts and Hayé rather than the philosophical plural images of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier, because he includes the trail of the shooting star, which appeared only in Hayé’s and Huybrechts’s work. Another visual commentary from the Descriptio that can be found in the Leuven notebooks is its representation of two houses and a pile of stones under the words “Entia per accidens” (Entities per accidens) (fig. 148). The Typus likewise features the corner of a building foundation with a pile of construction materials, labeled “Entia per accidens” (Entities per accidens) (fig. 149). To understand the significance of these details, we should view

vi su a l t h i n k i n g i n lo g ic n o t e b o o k s a n d a lb a a m ic o r u m

figure 148

figure 149

Detail showing “Entities per acci-

Detail showing “Entities per acci-

dens” and “Entities per se” from

dens” from the Typus, 1622. Rare

the Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet

Book Division, Department of

des Estampes, Brussels [S. IV

Rare Books and Special Collec-

86231].

tions, Princeton University Library.

figure 150

Entia per accidens, engraving bound into a notebook created in 1683–­84 by van Campen. 7.9 × 6.1 in. (20 × 15.4 cm). BRB, Cabinet

them in connection with the image inside the Descriptio’s courtyard, directly across from the “Entities per accidens,” of five young boys described as “Entia per se” (Entities per se). The house, foundation, pile of stones, and construction materials are entities per accidens because they are artificial assemblages of objects. In contrast, because the young boys are substances generated by their own nature, they are characterized as entities per se. Aristotle, in his Metaphysics, presents a house as an illustration of an entity produced by artificial generation, and a man as an entity that comes to be by nature.48 Meurisse and Gaultier depict the entities per se as young boys, because they mature into adulthood through natural generation; the Descriptio’s pile of stones and the Typus’s pile of building materials emphasize that houses, by contrast, are constructed artificially.49 Inserted into the notebook of van Campen is an engraving titled “Entia per accidens,” which similarly illustrates this notion with a pile of stones and a landscape of houses (fig. 150).50 The final visual commentary in the Descriptio that I will mention in this section is the representation of four rabbits and four birds, labeled “Univocals are those things that have a name in common and the same definition of their substance” (fig. 151).51 The ultimate source of Meurisse’s definition is Aristotle’s explanation of univocal naming in the Categories.52 Because we can name birds and rabbits “animals” without changing the definition of “animal,” they are univocally named. Van Campen’s notebook and the anonymous manuscript on logic from around 1744 mentioned above also contain images in which univocally named things are signified by a group of birds (figs. 152 and 153).53 As noted previously, Hayé purchased the emblematic copperplates that had been used to create Sebastianus a Matre Dei’s Firmamentum symbolicum, and Hayé’s print of the birds was created from one of the emblems in this book (fig. 154). It is possible, however, that while the copperplate was taken from a Matre Dei’s emblem book, the idea to associate the image of the birds with univocally named things was also inspired by the visual commentary on this concept in the Descriptio.

des Manuscrits, Brussels [21907

The Commentaries of Alba amicorum I would like now to introduce a few more examples of visual commentaries in another manuscript genre that was popular within university settings in the sixteenth

D, fol. 56r].

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c h a pt e r f ou r

above left  figure 151

above right  figure 153

Detail on univocals from the

Drawing on univocals, in anony-

Descriptio, 1614. BRB, Cabinet des

mous manuscript on logic, titled

Estampes, Brussels [S. IV 86231].

Dialectica sive ad logicam manu-

below left  figure 152

Quid sunt univoca, engraving bound into a notebook created in

ducti, c. 1744. 8.3 × 6.5 in. (21 × 16.5 cm). Maurits Sabbebibliotheek [SJ CR434, 40v]

1683–­84 by van Campen. 7.9 × 6.1

below right  figure 154

in. (20 × 15.4 cm). BRB, Cabinet

Emblem showing birds by Arnold

des Manuscrits, Brussels [21907

Loemans after Joannes Thomas,

D, fol. 197r].

in Sebastianus a Matre Dei’s Firmamentum symbolicum (Lublin: Georg Förster, 1652), 116. Engraving printed on paper, 7.9 × 5.5 in. (20 × 14 cm). British Library, London.

above  figure 155

below  figure 156

Quotation from Aristotle’s Nicom-

Drawing on friendship made in

achean Ethics inscribed into an

1608 in an album amicorum.

album amicorum in 1765. Black

Black ink on paper, 5.1 × 7.1 in.

ink on paper, 4.7 × 7.1 in. (12 × 18

(13 × 18 cm). Koninklijke Biblio-

cm). Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den

theek, Den Haag [75J1, fol. 27r].

Haag [79L18, fol. 134r].

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c h a pt e r f ou r

century through the eighteenth, the album amicorum (known as the Stammbuch in German and the Vriedenboek in Dutch). The philosophical prints and drawings in these albums show that students, scholars, and artists also experimented with visual thinking outside of formal classroom settings. Friendship albums originated in Lutheran Wittenberg and quickly spread throughout Europe.54 They continued to be made in German-­and Dutch-­speaking countries through the early nineteenth century. Some albums consisted of blank bound sheets that owners asked their friends and colleagues to inscribe. Others were made up of ready-­made printed emblems, devices, or portraits of celebrated men with blank spaces in which messages could be added. Students and scholars created these albums as they visited universities on their peregrinatio academica. Part of the reason that prints and drawings, like the Descriptio and the Typus, were able to influence visualizations of philosophy across Europe is that pieces of paper are so easy to transport: students and scholars could easily collect philosophical visual representations as they traveled from one university town to another. Entries in alba amicorum generally featured a dedication and an autograph accompanied by a motto from the Bible, classical literature, or philosophy, and/or by a drawing or print. The genre catered to the early modern fascination with not only collecting, but also the curious: it is common to find, for instance, drawings of costumes from foreign regions in these albums, which, like Apin’s collection of printed curiosities, can be understood as a sort of variation on the cabinet of wonders. In the pages that follow, I focus on different categories of philosophically minded entries that were inscribed into these albums. Because inscriptions in alba amicorum were generally written at times of parting, they provided opportunities for students to meditate on their time at the university. It will not come as a surprise that many entries in these albums offer commentaries on friendship. In the album of the preacher Wilhelmus Chevallerau (1739–­1818), for example, we find an inscription written by A. Pannecoeck in 1765 that presents a quotation on friendship from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (1155a9): “Amicitia prodest etiam iis qui sunt in vigore aetates ad honestas actiones” (Friendship

above  figure 157

below  figure 158

Fortune drawn into an album

Drawing made by de Gheyn II in

amicorum. Engraving and hand-

1616 in an album amicorum. Black

writing on paper, 9.1 × 14.6 in. (23

ink on paper, 3.9 × 5.9 in. (10 × 15

× 37 cm). Koninklijke Bibliotheek,

cm). Koninklijke Bibliotheek,

Den Haag [133C14: B 177, fol. 1r].

Den Haag [133M87, fol. 143r].

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stimulates those in the prime of life to noble actions) (fig. 155). Other album entries present images of monuments to friendship or emblematic scenes showing figures in a state of mutual trust and support.55 In the album of the lawyer, magistrate, and poet Adrianus Hofferus (1589–­ 1644), we find a drawing created in 1608 by Johan Kempius on the theme of friendship, in which a statue of Amicitia (Friendship) is placed at the top of a tower (fig. 156). Quotations by Cicero, Sallust, and others on the theme of friendship are scattered throughout the image. Visual commentaries on chance and luck in life that show the unpredictable goddess Fortuna are another popular subject of alba amicorum entries. As in the collage in van Cantelbeke’s notebook discussed in chapter 3, the goddess is almost always shown balancing on a globe—­to show that she is unstable—­and holding a billowing sail (see fig. 122). We can find her in this guise in three separate drawings in the album of the jurist Buchard Grossmann (fig. 157).56 These entries served as reminders to friends to behave virtuously when confronted by the whimsical goddess. Sometimes Fortuna is also shown with a wheel.57 The iconography of the wheel of fortune is derived from classical and medieval philosophy and denotes the arbitrary character of Fate. In his Liber de intellectu, Charles de Bovelles (1475–­1566) illustrates Fortuna, seated across from Sapientia and holding a wheel.58 A king sits triumphantly at the top of the wheel, while three less fortunate men cling to its sides and bottom. It is also very common to find visual commentaries on mortality and the transience of worldly goods and endeavors inscribed into alba amicorum. These tend to take the shape of popular memento mori, such as skulls, bones, and skeletons with scythes—­to denote life’s being cut off—­or of the more subtle symbols of mortality often found in vanitas still lifes, such as hourglasses and delicate flowers.59 In the friendship album of Ernst Brinck (1582–­1649), mayor of Harderwijk, for example, is a drawing made in red chalk and brown ink by the Dutch painter and engraver Jacob de Gheyn II (1565–­1629) in 1616.60 It shows a celestial body with a skull, hourglass, and devil wings in a star-­filled sky and the inscription “sans reposer” (without rest) that advertises the artist’s unending industry (fig. 158). The sun’s rays illuminate the moon below and to the left.

vi su a l t h i n k i n g i n lo g ic n o t e b o o k s a n d a lb a a m ic o r u m

figure 159

Print of the proverb “Homo bulla” pasted into an album amicorum in 1663. Cutting, glued on paper, 3.5 × 5.5 in. (9 × 14 cm). Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag [133H26, fol. 241r].

figure 160

Drawing showing the “Triumph of Latin Eloquence,” created in an album amicorum, c. 1655. Painted full color illustration on paper, 5.9 × 7.9 in. (15 × 20 cm). Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag [135E48, fol. 9r].

figures 161 and 162

Gouache drawing in an album amicorum. Painted full color illustration cutting on paper, 5.9 × 7.5 in. (15 × 19 cm). Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag [133H27, fol. 72r].

We can include illustrations of the proverb “Homo bulla” (Man is but a bubble) in the category of album entries that comment on the precariousness of human existence.61 The Adages of Erasmus, a collection of ancient proverbs published with commentary in 1508, explains that the maxim indicates the ephemerality of life: The lesson of this proverb is that there is nothing so fragile, so fleeting and so empty as the life of man. A bubble is that round swollen empty thing which we watch in water as it grows and vanishes in a moment of time.62 One representation of this proverb can be found in an engraving pasted into the friendship album of Johannes Jacobus Wernitius from Merseburg by Daniel Schuster in 1663 (fig. 159). The inscription “Sic transit gloria mundi” (Thus passes the glory of the world) accompanies the image of a boy blowing bubbles. Another common type of philosophical imagery in alba amicorum celebrates learning. These representations typically comment on wisdom by showing the goddess Athena, portraits of learned men, or anonymous philosophers and scholars working in studies.63 In the album of Johannes van Aelhuijsen (1626–­1685), the rector of the Latin school in Tiel, for instance, is a colored drawing titled Eloquentiae Latinae Triumphus (Triumph of Latin eloquence) that was created around 1655 (fig. 160). The work celebrates and comments on the virtues of eloquence: Athena sits in a triumphal chariot with the goddess Fame and holds a portrait of Cicero, an exemplar of Latin eloquence. In the same album is another portrait of the goddess with Tiel in the background and at her feet the attributes of learning (an owl and books) and folly (a mask).64 While this brief discussion of alba amicorum has focused on entries in which we find images associated with philosophical ideas and learning, it is crucial to bear in mind that many inscriptions in alba amicorum, as in student notebooks, were not quite so serious but rather were primarily designed to provoke laughter and pleasure. In the album of the theology student Georg Christoph Wagenbronner, for instance, we find a naughty entry created by the professor of medicine Christoph Ludwig Nebel (1738–­1782) (figs. 161 and 162). The gouache drawing shows a woman sleeping under covers in a bed, observed by a jester, while an Amor plays drums that lie on her hips; as we study the drawing more

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vi su a l t h i n k i n g i n lo g ic n o t e b o o k s a n d a lb a a m ic o r u m

left  figure 163

right  figure 164

Detail showing rarefaction and

Detail showing corruption and

the wheel of Nutrition from the

the Elements from the Synopsis,

Synopsis, 1615. BnF, Cabinet des

1615. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes,

Estampes, Paris [AA4].

Paris [AA4].

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c h a pt e r f ou r

carefully, we realize that the drums can be lifted to expose her bare behind.65 Before concluding this exploration of visual commentaries in manuscript sources, I would like to emphasize again how fluidly iconography moved across a range of different genres: it is common to find similar imagery in alba amicorum, illustrated thesis prints, frontispieces, emblem books, and student notebooks. The “Homo bulla” proverb, for example, was particularly fashionable among early modern artists and is also cited in the figuration of rarefaction in the natural philosophy thesis print of Meurisse and Gaultier (fig. 163).66 The Synopsis illustrates this physical concept with the image of a young boy blowing bubbles that simultaneously reminds students of the transience of human life. In this detail from the broadside, we also find a wheel of Nutrition that recalls the popular iconography of the wheel of fortune. By connecting growth to a sort of Fortune’s wheel, Meurisse and Gaultier suggest that as natural bodies grow over time, their circumstances will be subject to the whims of Fortune. Other details from the Synopsis also resemble the iconography I highlighted in alba amicorum. In a section of the broadside pertaining to corruption, we find a skeleton holding a scythe and walking before a corpse lying on a bed of hay (fig. 164). Below this image of corruption are personifications of the four elements, which are visualized in the friendship album of Petrus Hondius (1589–­1610).67 Aristotelian philosophers held that the natural position

of the earth is at the center of the cosmos. Above are the natural positions of water, air, and finally fire. The Synopsis’s Fire, who holds a burning candle and is surrounded by flames, is consequently shown flying above Air, who also flies, with his legs submerged in clouds.68 Below Air is the female personification Water, who leans on an urn from which flows a stream of water containing two swimming fish. Reeds, the traditional headdress of river gods and nymphs, are positioned on Water’s head, and she holds an oar with her right hand. To the right and a little below Water sits Earth. She holds a cornucopia and rests on the ground, leaning against a cow. This visual commentary of Meurisse and Gaultier breathes life into the notion of the elements. eE

In ending this two-­chapter exploration of manuscript sources’ visual representations of philosophy with an account of the iconography of alba amicorum, I aim to broaden our understanding of the ways in which students, scholars, and artists experimented with visual representation as a mode of thinking in this period. Both in classrooms and outside formal classroom settings, philosophical images became tools of thought, instruction, and pleasure. Not everyone, however, believed in the utility of alba amicorum and their inscriptions. In Goethe’s Faust a student asks Mephistopheles to inscribe his friendship album: It is impossible for me to leave before you see my book of autographs. Grant me the favor of a line from you.69 Mephistopheles obliges and writes the Serpent’s promise to Eve: “Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum et malum” (You will be like God, knowing good and evil). Because Mephistopheles is the devil, his instruction is sin. He mocks the student’s good faith and is completely dismissive of the enterprise of creating alba amicorum, as well as of the entire early modern program of study. Instead he aims to lead the student toward temptations of the flesh. Although Mephistopheles and others may have doubted the utility of the early modern modes of transmitting knowledge and thinking that this study examines, these methods dominated educational practices for multiple centuries.

17 1

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Ch a pter 5

The Generation of Art as the Generation of Philosophy

V

isual representations and their technologies of production played a double role in early modern thought: they served as essential tools for the transmission of knowledge to the mind; and, at the same time, they also became dominant metaphors for understanding the activities of the mind. In other words, there was a two-­ way traffic between the production of visual instruments of knowledge, on the one hand, and understanding how knowledge arises, on the other. The study of the manner in which things are brought into existence engaged some of the best minds of the period. Hobbes places generation at the core of his account of philosophy: BY PHILOSOPHY , is understood the Knowledge acquired by Reasoning,

from the Manner of the Generation of any thing, to the Properties. . . . So the Geometrician, from the Construction of Figures, findeth out many Properties thereof.1

det ail of fig ure 1

Just as a geometer derives properties of circles by generating them, the philosopher derives properties of concepts by bringing them into being. It is fitting that during this historical moment in which thinking was understood as a form of artistic production, the act of generating particular concepts materially or mentally—­and often with the assistance of visual aids—­was valued as a way to analyze those concepts. As has often been noted, in the Leviathan Hobbes describes the coming into being of the state in order to grasp its properties. Is it possible that the book’s frontispiece is likewise inviting us to reflect on the state’s generation? In this chapter, I explore this question along with the broader problem of how philosophers and artists conceived of the process of generation through the emergence of clear images and ideas from incoherence and chaos. This notion brings to mind Leonardo’s famous recommendation that artists develop compositional ideas by viewing clouds or paint splashed at random on a wall and seeing what takes shape.2 It is from disorder and confusion that early modern thinkers developed order and understanding.

173

Thinking as the Generation of Visual Representation

figure 165

Dürer and Pirckheimer, detail showing “Ratio,” in the Triumphal Chariot, c. 1518. Woodcut printed on paper. Albertina, Vienna [DG1934/577].

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Dürer’s Line of Thought

Struggling to explain the activities of cognition, philosophers from Plato to Descartes and artists from Cennino Cennini (c. 1370–­c. 1440) to Abraham Bosse continually turned to metaphors of drawing. As explained in chapter 3, Giorgio Vasari and other Italian Renaissance art theorists famously argued that disegno denotes both drawing and mental design. One evocative reflection on the connection between reason and the drawing of lines can be found in a detail of the Triumphal Chariot of Emperor Maximilian I, created by Dürer and his friend the humanist scholar Willibald Pirckheimer (fig. 165). Like so many of the philosophical images seen here, this work was the result of a collaborative enterprise: Dürer and Pirckheimer invented the design; and Hieronymus Andreae (c. 1485–­1556) cut the woodblocks, which were printed onto eight folio sheets (fig. 166). The monumental representation of the chariot of Maximilian was originally intended to be only a section of a larger work that was to include additional chariots, floats, and standard-­bearers created by Hans Burgkmair (1473–­1531) and other artists. The image is over two meters long, and its monumental size makes it impossible to absorb at a glance. This imagined triumph in honor of Maximilian I, the Holy Roman emperor, evokes the

c h a pt e r f i ve

figure 166

Dürer and Pirckheimer, Triumphal Chariot, c. 1518. Woodcut printed on paper, 17.7 × 87.7 in. (45 × 222.8 cm). Albertina, Vienna [DG1934/577].

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scale of live processions that were enacted at this time with extravagant, ephemeral arches, floats, and carts. It is likely that the woodcut was designed to be displayed in city halls and public sites across the Holy Roman Empire; indeed, in 1521 or 1522 Dürer supervised the painting of a fresco copy of his and Pirckheimer’s design in the Nuremberg City Hall. The print’s long rectangular format invites viewers to take in the spectacle before them by walking from left to right, in the direction in which the emperor and his retinue are moving. We too participate in the procession as our eyes and bodies travel. In addition to the shape of the field and the movement implied by its figures, the numerous inscriptions in the print draw us toward the right, as we follow the text as well as the image. Maximilian I is shown in profile; he does not relate to the viewer but instead directs our gaze to follow his. He is seated in the rear of the chariot and is crowned by Victory as well as by the accompanying virtues of Justice, Temperance, Wisdom, and Fortitude, whose laurel wreaths are intertwined. Reason is the charioteer, because the emperor behaves in a considered manner.3 But why does Dürer also include a calligraphic flourish above the head of his charioteer?4 The line traces about five-­sixths of a circle and then breaks free of this geometric form with a series of curlicues.5 But why is it here? What, if anything, does it represent? And why does Dürer include additional calligraphic lines elsewhere in his woodcut? Writing to Emperor Maximilian in 1518, Pirckheimer emphasizes that the work is not an ordinary triumph but “one of philosophy and morality.”6 The image celebrates the achievements of the emperor and comments on the virtues required to maintain political order.7 Because the spans of the arabesques that precede the chariot decrease from left to right, these abstract lines appear to indicate trails in the motion of the wreaths held aloft and twirled by the Virtues as the procession moves forward. One might likewise read the arabesque above Ratio as a representation of the circular motion of the reins in her hands. In this way, Dürer’s abstract lines are similar to the doodle in Tristram Shandy that depicts the path marked by Trim’s cane (fig. 167). Although it is impossible to know what exactly Dürer intended this arabesque to denote, I plan at least to offer some suggestions as to what we as viewers might take away from it. I argue that because this calligraphic mark is abstract and disrupts the image’s illusionistic aims, it compels the viewer to acknowledge and reflect on the presence of the artist within the work. The Triumphal Chariot is dense with overlapping lines that hinder our ability to appreciate the individual marks that make up the image. The calligraphic flourish above Reason allows us to pause and to take pleasure in the elegant handling of the line by Dürer and the block cutter, Andreae.

t h e ge n e ra t i on o f a r t a s t h e g e n e r a t io n o f p h ilo s o p h y

left  figure 167

Laurence Sterne, path of Trim’s cane, in Tristram Shandy, 1759. 6.6 × 3.8 in. (16.8 × 9.7 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. right  figure 168

Leonhard Wagner, Proba centum scripturarum, 1507–­17. Ink on vellum, 7.5 × 11.4 in. (19 × 29 cm). Archiv des Bistums Augsburg [ABA Hs 85 a].

opposite  figure 169

Dürer, decorated page of The Prayer Book of Emperor Maximilian I, 1515. Pen and ink on vellum, c. 7.7 × 11 in. (19.5 × 28 cm). Bayerische Staats­ bibliothek, München [2 L.impr. membr. 64, fol. 42v].

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Arabesques like those of the Triumphal Chariot decorate writing manuals from the period, such as the one produced between 1507 and 1517 by the calligrapher and canon of St. Ulrich’s Leonhard Wagner (1454–­1522), who is regarded by some as the inventor of Fraktur type (fig. 168).8 This writing master collected a hundred different kinds of lettering in his book, which was also dedicated to Emperor Maximilian I. The manuscript texts in his album were designed not so much to be read as to be observed and admired for their penmanship and graphic qualities.9 The pages of Wagner’s writing book feature elegant calligraphic flourishes that resemble those produced by Dürer in the Triumphal Chariot. Other arabesques in both printed and drawn media also appear in The Prayer Book of Emperor Maximilian I that was decorated by Dürer in 1515. On the verso side of folio 42, for instance, we can admire drawn arabesques in purple ink as well as flourishes emerging from black and red printed letters (fig. 169). Jost de Negker (fl. 1500–­1544), who was in charge of the block-­cutting establishment of Emperor Maximilian in Augsburg and who supervised the cutting of woodblocks designed by Burgkmair for the Triumphal Procession, is credited with having invented detachable ornamental flourishes that could be used with movable type; as Joseph Leo Koerner has argued, these devices function to bring the movement of the hand back into the mechanical realm of printing.10 In 1811, Goethe noted in reference to the Prayer Book that Dürer “nowhere showed himself so free, so ingenious [geistreich], so great or so beautiful as in these swiftly executed pages.”11 Scholars have described his hand-­drawn arabesques as vehicles of meditation on creativity and the activity of artistic invention.12 His highly imaginative drawings alternate between abstract and figurative modes of representation. On the page discussed above, the verso side of folio 42, calligraphic flourishes in the top margin metamorphose into a monkey sitting on vines, as our eyes wander down the page and into the left margin (see fig. 169). The nonrepresentational arabesque of the Triumphal Chariot print recalls

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the abstract sections of these capricious inventions of pen on paper of a few years earlier. The nonfigurative lines in both of these works appear to stand for the first steps within a creative process that culminates in the fully articulated image. It has been suggested that the drawings in the Prayer Book were originally designed to be copied in woodcuts and integrated into printed editions of the text.13 Both the flourishes in the Triumphal Chariot, and those of the Prayer Book if they had been translated into the medium of print, encourage viewers to reconnect the mechanical medium of print with the freedom of the artist’s trained hand. In a passage from what is now referred to as the Aesthetic excursus, which was printed as a postscript in book 3 of his Vier Bücher von menschlicher Proportion (Four books on human proportion) of 1528, Dürer famously compares the artist’s mind with a storehouse: he writes, “The mind of artists is full of images that they might be able to produce.”14 Furthermore, he claims that no man can ever make a good artwork unless he detaches an image that has fully arrested his mind.15 The separated images, he writes, “then can no longer be called private but have become art acquired and gained by study which mutually inseminates, grows and becomes fruitful of its kind.”16 The abstract lines in the Triumphal Chariot are unlike any other element in the print and are difficult to interpret. They resemble the arabesques of the Prayer Book, which culminate in figures, like the monkey, and hence embody traces of the artist’s eloquent hand motions that generate verisimilar representations. The inchoate, nonrepresentational lines of the Triumphal Chariot and Prayer Book conjure the potential of visual representations to develop into figurative forms when guided by the hands of skilled practitioners.17 Peter Parshall has observed that the arabesques “in this composition are in general virtuoso flourishes because they float very vulnerable and delicate lines into open fields of excavated blocks.”18 The arabesques highlight not only the dexterity of Dürer’s hand, but also that of the block cutter. Additionally, Parshall notes that these showy gestures “serve the purpose of floating the paper so that it is not sullied during the printing.” In this respect they are similar in function to “bearing type,” or uninked type that was employed by printers in this period to maintain a balanced surface.19 The abstract lines have a technical function, as well as theoretical resonances. This technical function does not obviate the lines’ theoretical associations: Dürer and his block cutter could have used an uninked load-­bearing type to maintain the stability of the paper during printing, but instead opted to show these calligraphic flourishes in the work. Now that we have explored how this line and the other arabesques exhibit the manual dexterity of Dürer and the block cutter, let us consider in greater depth the arabesques’ potential relationship to Dürer’s rational knowledge. While the image of Reason in the Triumphal Chariot serves to highlight that quality in the emperor, I would like to ask whether it also functions as a vehicle for Dürer to reflect on the ways in which thought and learning pertain to the activity of image making. Although the Triumphal Chariot contains other arabesques, it is only the word Ratio that is enclosed by a line in this way. Indeed, one might speculate that the calligraphic flourishes that follow are an exuberant spillover of the one associated with Reason. By integrating the inscription Ratio into the closed circuit of the line, Dürer appears to suggest an affinity between the activities of

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reason and the movements of the draftsman’s hand across the space of the page. To support these conjectures, we can turn to Dürer’s Underweysung der Messung (Manual of measurement), which he wrote in 1525 to give young artists an understanding of mathematics that would prevent them from making mistakes in their work. Toward the beginning of the treatise, Dürer describes the relationship between drawn lines and what the mind imagines:

figure 170

Dürer, page from Underweysung der Messung, 1525. Woodcut

This line is drawn here with a pen, and I mark it “line.” In one’s imagination this line is invisible, but can be understood by means of this straight drawn line. In this manner the inner understanding is demonstrated by external exposition. And for this reason I shall draw all things I describe in this book next to their explanations, so that the young will see visually what is in their minds, and thereby understand things better. Now it should be noted that a line can be drawn in several ways, especially in the following three, which can be put to several uses: first, a straight line; second, a circular line; then another curved line which can be drawn by hand or from point to point . . . whereby its form can be varied.20

printed on paper, 11.5 × 7.8 in. (29.2 × 19.8 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

Below this text Dürer illustrates a line, a circle, and an arabesque, or what he calls a Schlangen Linie (serpentine line) (fig. 170). He conceives of drawn lines as tools that enable his reader to think about and understand what is imagined but not seen. He establishes here a direct connection between lines on the page and the thoughts of his readers. Does Dürer integrate the serpentine line above Ratio to help his viewers understand this intangible intellectual power? He goes on to present a detailed account of the generation of the serpentine line from the circular line in particular: This circular line . . . if one attempts to incline or decline its course, it will become a serpentine line. But the serpentine line can be altered without limit, and wondrous

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figure 171

Detail visualizing the soul from the Synopsis, 1615. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA4].

things can be derived from it. Whether in length, width, height, or depth, many strange things can be constructed from a line by those who think—­ things of which those who do not think about such matters know nothing.21 In the Triumphal Chariot Dürer presents a “partial” circular line, whose course he inclines, transforming it into a serpentine line to create a “wondrous” thing. He characterizes the formation of the serpentine line as a mental activity that requires thought. This passage suggests that Dürer might also have considered the sinuous flourish near Ratio as more than an ornamental gesture that advertises his trained hand and the skill of Andreae. The generation of the serpentine line requires, he tells us in the Underweysung der Messung, theoretical as well as manual training. In this way Dürer affiliates reason with the initial phases of artistic generation. The abstract line near Reason in the Triumphal Chariot binds this intellectual power to the generation of art: it ties reason to the basic constitutive element of pictorial representation, the line, which might begin as a random and improvisational doodle from which something more distinct emerges. Aristotelian Scholastic Lines of Cognition In the early modern period visual accounts of psychology in the Aristotelian scholastic mode also explained the activities of the rational soul through the generation of lines. One such account appears in a detail showing another triumphal procession, this one in the Synopsis (fig. 171). The “Rational Soul” sits in the back of the chariot, her naked body enveloped in clouds.22 Gaultier had also previously engraved several frontispieces that depicted nudes in this fashion. In his 1614 frontispiece for La saincte philosophie de l’ame by André Valladier (1565–­1638), the nude on the right is identified as the “Anima” (Soul) (fig. 172). As this print was published a year before the Synopsis, it may be interpreted as an earlier experiment with ideas that reappear in the 1615 figuration of the Rational Soul. The feet of Gaultier’s 1614 Soul are bound, as are the hands of his 1615 Rational Soul. The

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figure 172

Gaultier, frontispiece to Valladier’s La saincte philosophie de l’ame (Paris: Pierre Chevallier, 1614). Engraving printed on paper, 6.7 × 4 in. (17.1 × 10.2 cm). BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris.

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Soul is captive because she is imprisoned in the body, a widespread conception of the time. The use of lines to denote the activities of the mind in the Synopsis is linked to the way in which Aristotelian scholastic philosophers conceived of cognition.23 Aristotle’s belief in the necessity of sensory data and mental images for intellectual cognition continued to be influential well into the seventeenth century, but medieval and Renaissance thinkers struggled with the issue of how an immaterial mind could apprehend the material objects of sensible reality. Although their solutions vary, speaking in broad terms, scholastic Aristotelian philosophers argued that “intentional species” (also known as “sensible species,” “intentional forms,” or simply as “species”) are created from the sensible qualities of external objects and are retained in the external senses. The precise nature of intentional species was debated. It was generally believed that they bore some similarity to sensible qualities. Eustachius and Bartholomäus Keckermann describe this connection by characterizing intentional species as “images of objects.”24 The intentional species initially held by the external senses are kept as “phantasms” in the internal sense(s). For the immaterial intellect to receive these particular material representations or phantasms produced by the sense organs, Aristotelian scholastic philosophers maintained that the “agent intellect” abstracts immaterial mental representations (with universal content), known

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as “intelligible species,” from phantasms. The possible or potential intellect then receives these intelligible species. This reception completes the process of understanding. Once the intelligible species have been received, the intellect can engage in discursive reasoning, judgment, and other intellectual activities. Meurisse presents a standard textual account of the cognitive process: “Formally the intellect, part of which acts, part of which is potential, is really, however, one faculty, requiring of necessity intelligible species in order to understand, which [that is, intelligible species] it produces by observing phantasms.”25 This is accompanied by an illustration of the Intellect, portrayed as the central figure among three women standing in the chariot. She holds instruments that assist her study: a tablet marked with numbers, a scale, and a giant compass. She is flanked by personifications of the two other faculties of the rational soul: the will and memory. The chariot is preceded by the Internal and External Senses. Meurisse notes that there are five external senses, and these perceive an object of the external world through God’s absolute power.26 The female personifications of the five senses are rendered with their associated animals and attributes pulling the chariot forward, because it is through the senses that the rational soul receives information about the world, which it uses to determine its actions. Between the chariot and the five External Senses, we find the “Sensus Internus” (Internal Sense), because it processes the information of the External Senses before it reaches the Intellect. Lines from five points of a star balanced on the head of the Internal Sense link to the animals accompanying the External Senses, to convey that the internal sense receives intentional species from sense organs.27 Another line in the form of a rope around the chest of the Internal Sense and attached to the front of the chariot recalls the activity of intelligible species that travel to the intellect from the internal sense. These lines show viewers how the brain “draws” information about the sensible qualities of reality. The lines in the Synopsis order and unify inchoate sensory data, once more linking the genesis of visual representation to the activities of the rational soul. During this period, phantasmata and intelligible species were sometimes conceived of as pictures of the external world.28 The Renaissance art theorist Federico Zuccaro (1542–­ 1609), for instance, drew on the Aristotelian contention that all thought is dependent on mental representations to argue that the principle of disegno, which Vasari had characterized as uniting the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, is in fact fundamental to all human thought.29 In using the medium of engraving, or “printed drawing,” to visualize Aristotelian scholastic notions of how the mind processes sensory information, the Synopsis brings together the principle of disegno and Aristotelian scholastic descriptions of thought: the two concepts Zuccaro synthesized in establishing art as a form of knowledge. Charles de Bovelles’s Liber de intellectu (1510) features an illustration of the relations among the world, the external senses, and the internal sense (fig. 173). The right side of the diagram is marked “Mundus” (World) and displays five stars connected to a circle surrounded by flames; this, in turn, is connected to five circles labeled “Sensus exteriores” (external Senses). Five additional lines connect the external senses to a circle on the left of the diagram labeled “Sensus interior” (internal Sense). Although the Synopsis’s

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rendering of the relation between the external and internal senses is much more detailed than Bovelles’s diagram, it is possible that such images inspired Meurisse and Gaultier to add connecting lines between the Internal Sense and the External Senses. The line provides an explanatory mechanism in both of these works for how the immaterial soul gains knowledge of the material world. We can also find lines that denote the processes of perception in Bosse’s representation of what Alberti referred to as the “visual pyramid,” and Girard Desargues (1591–­1661) as the “rayonnement de la vue” (fig. 174). In an etching for the Manière universelle de M. Desargues (1648), Bosse materializes visual rays with strings connected to the corners of squares. In the foreground of the illustration we see the taut strings converge on one eye of an elegantly clad gentleman and then break free in a series of irregular curlicues. These spirals resemble Dürer’s doodles from which something representational could emerge; one might also compare them to Leonardo’s clouds and spots of paint. They are improvisational flourishes that no longer serve the function of materializing visual rays.30 They emphasize instead to viewers that Bosse is showing pieces of string in this image. Processes of cognition and perception are once more explained to us by means of an artificial device, albeit a very simple one. The curled strings show how a representation is generated from something inchoate.

above  figure 173

below  figure 174

Bovelles, detail showing the rela-

Bosse, image of visual pyramids

tions among the world, the exter-

for Manière universelle de M.

nal senses, and the internal sense

Desargues pour pratiquer la per-

from Liber de intellectu (Paris:

spective par petit pied, comme le

Henri Estienne, 1510), fol. 37r.

géométral, Ensemble des places et

Woodcut printed on paper, 1.7 ×

proportions des fortes et faibles

4.1 in. (4.4 × 10.5 cm). Cambridge,

touches, teintes ou couleurs, par

Cambridge University Library,

A. Bosse (Paris: Pierre des Hayes,

Rare Books Room.

1648, bearing the date 1647). Engraving printed on paper, in-­8o. British Library, London.

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The Meditative Soul as a Painter Other modes of generating visual representations—­ besides the drawing, cutting, and engraving of lines and the pulling of strings—­were employed to explicate cognitive activities. An illustration in the treatise Via vitae aeternae (The way to eternal life), published in Antwerp in 1620, uses the creation of a painting as a metaphor for the activities of the soul.31 In the eleventh imago the Soul of an exercitant paints the birth of Christ in a series of memory places diagrammed onto a heart-­shaped panel (fig. 175). This engraving pictures the soul as a painter, who, as it happens, is creating a plural image. The author, French Jesuit Antonius Sucquet (1574–­ 1627), discusses the visual representation by his collaborator, the Dutch engraver Boëtius à Bolswert (1580–­1633),

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in a text printed on the facing page and entitled “Behold in the mystery of the Nativity the method of meditating, you who wish to know how.”32 In the Soul’s polyptych, the image labeled “who?” connects the infant Jesus with the Hebrew letters spelling God’s name, known as the Tetragrammaton; to the right, the image titled “what and how?” illustrates the infant Jesus with Mary and Joseph; below, the image marked “where and when?” shows animals and the manger as well as a clock; and in the image titled “why?” Jesus saves Adam from limbo. Christian Virtue and Opportunity anchor the heart-­shaped canvas at the bottom. It is through the generation of an explanatory painting that the Soul orders its reflections on the Nativity. Here once again the creation of art functions as a metaphor for thought, order, and understanding.33 Descartes on Cognition and Memory Although Descartes and other modern philosophers continued to make use of models of image making to explain the activities of the soul, they took issue with the Aristotelian scholastic theory of perception and cognition. Descartes professed himself eager to free his readers “from all those images flitting through the air, called ‘intentional forms’, which so exercise the imagination of the philosophers.”34 According to his new theory of perception and cognition, material objects produce motions on the body’s external sensory organs that travel via the nerves to the brain; the incorporeal mind or soul (he does not differentiate between these concepts) then interprets these motions on the brain as referring to objects and their qualities.35 In La Dioptrique he explains why Aristotelian scholastic philosophers believe that mental images resemble external objects: They saw how easily a picture can stimulate our mind to conceive the objects depicted in it, and so it seemed to them that, in the same way, the mind must be stimulated, by little pictures formed in our head, to conceive the objects that affect our sense.36 In response, he observes that things other than images—­like words or signs that bear no similarity to their referents—­can also stimulate our minds. He contends that mental images do not resemble external objects, and offers a metaphor for how we might instead understand them as relating to the outside world:

opposite  figure 175

Sucquet and à Bolswert, eleventh imago from Via vitae aeternae (Antwerp, 1620). Engraving printed on paper, 7.1 × 4.5 in. (18 × 11.4 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

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If . . . we prefer to maintain that the objects which we perceive by our senses really do send images of themselves to the inside of our brain, we must at least observe that in no case does an image have to resemble the object it represents in all respects, for otherwise there would be no distinction between the object and its image. It is enough that the image resembles its object in a few respects. Indeed the perfection of an image often depends on its not resembling its object as much as it might. You can see this in the case of engravings: consisting simply of a little ink placed here and there on a piece of paper, they represent for us forests, towns, people, and even battles and storms; and although they make us think of countless different qualities in these objects, it is only in respect of shape that there is any real resemblance.

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And even this resemblance is very imperfect, since engravings represent to us bodies of varying relief and depth on a surface which is entirely flat. Moreover, in accordance with the rules of perspective they often represent circles by ovals better than by other circles . . . and similarly for other shapes. Thus it often happens that in order to be more perfect as an image and to represent an object better, an engraving ought not to resemble it. Now we must think of the images formed in our brain in just the same way.37 This passage forcefully brings out the kinship that I am tracing between the making of art and cognition. Just as engravings that are created out of bits of ink arranged on paper enable us to envision an entire world, so the motions that nerves transmit to the brain cause our minds to perceive external objects. Both engravings and the motions that travel to the brain do not really resemble what they depict. Descartes establishes here a certain parallel between the way in which the motions in the brain relate to what they represent and the way in which engravings relate to what they represent. He is not claiming that images are engraved on our mind, but rather that the most apposite way of understanding how the mind interprets the motions in our brain is through the way in which engravings work. Here and elsewhere images become the commanding metaphor for understanding the activities of the mind. They help to clarify how meaning could emerge from the apparent chaos of mechanistic motion. Descartes again uses the formation of a visual image in his posthumously published treatise on man, this time to explain memory. Here he likens memorization to the action of repeatedly pricking a canvas with needles, remarking that traces will remain in the canvas after the needles have been removed.38 It is through the generation of an artwork, a pierced canvas, that readers are led to understand how the motions on our brain create memories. The act of piercing a canvas with a needle is intriguingly close to the action of incising a copper plate with a burin, so much so that historians have often claimed that in this passage Descartes likens memory to engraving.39 The connection to printmaking is more direct in Descartes’s reference to a thing being imprinted (imprimée) on the memory.40 Two editions of Descartes’s treatise were published after his death in quick succession: Renatus Des Cartes de homine, edited by Schuyl, appeared in 1662 with engravings by its editor, and L’Homme de René Descartes, edited by Claude Clerselier (1614–­1684), came out two years later with woodcuts by Gérard van Gutschoven and Louis de la Forge (1632–­1665).41 Clerselier justified his new edition by arguing that there were faults with Schuyl’s illustrations.42 Both editions include images visualizing the needles piercing the canvas, but whereas in Schuyl’s edition they have formed recognizable shapes, a fleur-­de-­lis and a flower, in Clerselier’s edition the pinpricks do not create a picture (figs. 176 and 177).43 As we have seen, Descartes emphasizes that the motions and patterns in the brain do not resemble their objects. Schuyl’s image misrepresents the basic tenets of the philosopher’s theory of cognition by outlining these shapes, although in Schuyl’s defense, and as Descartes himself points out, a two-­dimensional print is never truly similar to a three-­dimensional object.44 Clerselier’s image does not create artificial order but, like the other images we have discussed, shows instead how a mental

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left  figure 176

Schuyl, image explicating memory, in Renatus Des Cartes de homine (Lyon: Peter Leffen and Francis Moyaerd, 1662), 85. Engraving printed on paper, 7.4 ×

representation is generated from something inchoate. These passages from the treatise on man and La Dioptrique reveal that even though Descartes disagreed with the theories of Aristotelian scholastic philosophers, he and his followers, like the Aristotelians, were drawn to models of image making to clarify and to persuade readers of his positions on the activities of the mind.

5.9 in. (18.8 × 15 cm). HAB, Wolfenbüttel [A: 237.11 Quod. (3)]. right  figure 177

The Visual Generation of Hobbes’s Leviathan

van Gutschoven, image explicat-

The Mechanization of the Mind

ing memory, in L’Homme de René Descartes, edited by Clerselier (Paris: Charles Angot, 1664), 76. Woodcut printed on paper, 9 × 6.5 in. (22.9 × 16.4 cm). Cambridge University Library, Rare Books Room.

Hobbes, unlike the artists, pedagogues, and scholars we have discussed up to this point, did not believe in the existence of an immaterial mind or soul. Motion bridges the gap between the outside world and the mind, which, as the mind is not understood to be an incorporeal thing, no longer seem far apart. In the Leviathan he abruptly dismisses the scholastic theories of cognition outlined above: Some say the senses receive the Species of things, and deliver them to the Common-­sense; and the Common Sense delivers them over to the Fancy, and the Fancy to the Memory, and the Memory to the Judgment, like handing of things from one to another, with many words making nothing understood.45

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Hobbes mechanizes the mind, turning perception into motions in our bodies and rejecting the causal force of incorporeal entities. He replaces the operations of the active intellect found in Aristotelian scholastic theories of cognition with language; we connect a linguistic term to an image of an object, or to the internal motion originating from the inward pressures of an outside object.46 Even though Hobbes does not believe in the existence of the soul, such a notion anchors his account of the state’s generation in the Leviathan. In the introduction he compares the “Soveraignty” (that is, the sovereign) to “an Artificial Soul” that gives “life and motion to the whole body.”47 He again makes use of this concept in chapter 21: “The Soveraignty is the Soule of the Common-­wealth; which once departed from the Body the members doe no more receive their motion from it.”48 Toward the end of chapter 29 he once more refers to the “Soveraign” as “the publique Soule, giving Life and Motion to the Common-­wealth.”49 And, as we shall see, in the penultimate section of this chapter, the soul is represented visually in the book’s frontispiece. The reasons for Hobbes’s reference to this Aristotelian scholastic concept will become clear in due course.

opposite  figure 178

Cecill and Hobbes, frontispiece to Hobbes’s translation into English of Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War (London: Henry Saville, 1629). Engraving printed on paper, 12.9 × 8.4 in. (32.8 × 21.3 cm). The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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On the Importance of Visual Eloquence When the Leviathan appeared in 1651, Hobbes believed that in order to persuade, reason had to be accompanied by eloquence and rhetorical techniques.50 The frontispiece to the Leviathan, by employing rhetorical techniques to convince viewers of the ideas in the work it introduces, offers a powerful visualization of the text. The image is consequently a crucial component of Hobbes’s theory of the state that must be taken seriously by any interpreter of this work. This is not the first time Hobbes turned to visual representations as instruments of persuasion. His lifelong commitment to visual thinking and modes of persuasion comes through clearly in his earlier writings, as well as in accounts of his life. His first biographer, John Aubrey (1626–­1697), tells us that already as a student at Oxford he was fascinated by printed images; he “took great delight there to go to the booke-­binders’ shops, and lye gaping on Mappes.”51 In his earliest publication—­a translation into English of Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War—­he displays an unmistakable interest in visualizing knowledge (fig. 178). As its engraved title page, another plural image, presents viewers with vital lessons from the text, it is highly probable that Hobbes discussed its design with the engraver, Thomas Cecill (fl. 1625–­40).52 Below the title, we find a portrait of Thucydides. The warring cities of Sparta and Athens are shown in the top left and right corners; their leaders, Archidamos, the king of Sparta, and the Athenian Pericles, flank the central panel containing the title. The scenes below the two leaders suggest why the Spartans defeated the Athenians: the Spartans, calmly seated around a table, engage in an orderly debate, whereas the Athenian masses passively listen to an orator. In addition to this elaborate frontispiece, Hobbes integrates four supplementary prints into the work, including a foldout map, which he signs as his own invention (fig. 179). In his preface, he explains that because he could not find a suitable historical map of Greece, he had “to draw one (as well as I could) myself.”53

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figure 179

Hobbes’s map for Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War, 1629. Foldout engraving printed on paper, c. 14.4 × 17.8 in. (36.6 × 45.2 cm). The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

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Another magnificent frontispiece, engraved by Jean Matheus (1590–­1672), appears in Hobbes’s De cive, printed in Paris in 1642 (fig. 180). We know that Hobbes approved of this image’s design, because in 1641 he gifted a manuscript copy of the text with a drawing of the frontispiece to the Earl of Devonshire.54 He almost certainly contributed to its invention, as it offers a clear visual account of his arguments in the text. The area above, labeled Religio, depicts the Last Judgment, with Christ near the center, the saved on the left (that is, to Christ’s right), and the damned on the right. Below and on the left stands Imperium, who personifies an existence in compliance with power. She holds a sword and the scales of justice to show that this form of life maintains civil society through the exercise of authority. In her realm, the peaceful province behind her, farmers productively cultivate the land. Imperium is opposed to the hunched figure of Libertas, who represents the life of natural freedom. Her anxious and fatigued face contrasts sharply with the calm countenance of Imperium, reflecting the afflictions that Hobbes associates with a life of natural freedom. In the landscape behind Libertas, a human limb hangs from a wooden beam, and men shoot arrows at a figure that runs away in fear. The print, designed to

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figure 180

Matheus and Hobbes, frontispiece to De cive (Paris: Matheus, 1642). Engraving printed on paper, 7.8 × 6.1 in. (19.9 × 15.6 cm). BnF, Réserve de livres rares, Paris.

persuade viewers visually of the philosopher’s perspective, gives form to Hobbes’s ideas on the horrors of living in the state of nature under the power of liberty, as contrasted with the peace associated with stable government. Hobbes’s letters to his friend Samuel de Sorbière (1615–­1670), who oversaw the publication of a new edition of De cive by the publisher Louis Elsevir (d. 1670), reveal the philosopher’s deep involvement in the design of his books. In a letter dated October 4, 1646, he comments on the choice of typeface.55 As is evident in a letter to Sorbière written March 22, 1647, he was extremely upset about a portrait that had been integrated into the new edition: Most distinguished Sir, I have received . . . your letter . . . enclosing the first sheet, which contains my portrait. . . . [T]he matter is such that, given the times we are in, I would willingly have paid a great deal for it not to have been put in, or at least for that inscription beneath it, “Academic Tutor to His Serene Highness the Prince of Wales”, to have been removed, erased, or cut out.56 Concerned that the inscription would harm the prince and bar Hobbes from returning to England, he asks Sorbière to go to Leiden and make the publisher and his brother in Amsterdam remove the portrait from all copies of the book, offering to pay the publishers if necessary. He says that he will ask the booksellers in Paris and London to remove the portrait as well. The urgency of Hobbes’s requests demonstrates how seriously he approached the iconography of his publications. Another letter to Sorbière, of June 14, 1649, indicates that Hobbes is in continuous contact with the engravers of De corpore, “getting the figures which I use in my demonstrations engraved on brass plates every day.”57 We know that the philosopher was expected to approve not only the text but also the visual representations included in the proofs to his collected works. The printer Pieter

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Blaeu (1637–­1706) wrote to Hobbes on December 9, 1667, “I very humbly beg you to look through it thoroughly, so that I may correct as soon as possible anything which you may think necessary, in the plates just as much as in the rest of it.”58 Most interestingly, we also learn that Hobbes financed the frontispiece to the Leviathan himself. Blaeu noted, “Since you had the plates [for the Leviathan] made and engraved at your expense, I cannot understand how that can count as Mr Crooke’s property.”59 The money and energy Hobbes invested in visual representations make it evident that he greatly valued printed images as a tool for imparting ideas to his readers and persuading them of his views.

opposite  figure 181

Bosse and Hobbes, frontispiece to the Leviathan (London: Andrew Crooke, 1651). Etching on paper, 9.5 (trimmed) × 6.1 in. (24.1 × 15.5 cm). BM, London.

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The Leviathan Frontispiece It is likely that Hobbes helped to invent the design of the Leviathan frontispiece (fig. 181), and he certainly authorized its basic iconography, since he financed the print and presented a manuscript of the work to the future king Charles II (1630–­1685) with an ink drawing of the frontispiece that is very similar to the etched version (fig. 182). The drawing and the etching, often attributed to Wenceslaus Hollar (1607–­1677), are now believed to have been created by the Parisian etcher Abraham Bosse.60 The abbé Michel de Marolles, a contemporary of Bosse and an avid print collector, included the published frontispiece in his volume of 790 prints by Bosse.61 Furthermore, Bosse’s workshop on the rue Harley on the Île de la Cité was only minutes away from Hobbes’s Parisian residence on the Pont Saint-­Michel.62 In the drawing, the torso and arms of the colossus consist of heads, many of which gaze out toward the viewer, whereas in the etching, we find full-­or half-­length figures, mostly with their backs to the viewer and looking directly up at the face of the giant. It is impossible to know whether Hobbes approved of this change, but in the treatise, he stresses the importance of viewing the sovereign, asserting that it is necessary for a “visible Power to keep [subjects] in awe, and tye them by feare of punishment to the performance of their Covenants.”63 An inscription near the head of the giant states, “There is no power over the earth that can be compared with him” (Non est potestas Super Terram quae Comparetur ei). This quotation from the book of Job identifies the colossus as the sea animal known as the Leviathan. He rises from the waters that we can just discern on the right edge of the print. The title on the fabric below specifies that the Leviathan is synonymous with “The Matter, Forme, and Power of A Commonwealth Ecclesiasticall and Civil.” The Leviathan is the commonwealth or the state, as opposed to the sovereign. In the ensuing text, Hobbes explains that when a multitude of individuals covenant to submit to a representative, this converts them into a single entity: “A Multitude of men, are made One Person, when they are by one man, or one Person, Represented.”64 Hence the Leviathan, the symbol of the commonwealth, is composed of many individuals (about three hundred, according to Horst Bredekamp).65 The figures decrease in size as our eyes wander up the monster’s torso and toward his neck; this variation in scale causes the colossus to appear even taller. Although the Leviathan consists of people, who are natural beings, Hobbes takes care to characterize the Leviathan as an “Artificiall Man.”66 In the introduction he distinguishes between two types of “man,” those produced naturally by God and those produced by the art of man, or artificially.67 He uses the term “artificial” once again in

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opposite  figure 182

Bosse and Hobbes, frontispiece to the Leviathan, presented to the future king Charles II. Pen and ink with a monochrome wash over pencil, on vellum, 9.8 × 7.1 in. (25 × 18 cm). British Library, London.

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chapter 16, but in a different context. Here he differentiates among three kinds of “person”: “natural persons” (that is, sane adult men and women); “artificial persons” (that is, representatives, such that all artificial persons in this sense are also natural persons); and “persons by fiction,” who can speak and act if and only if they are represented.68 The Leviathan, which is the name of the state, is a “person by fiction,” who can act if and only if represented by the “artificial person” of a sovereign, who will also, of course, be a natural person or assembly of natural persons.69 In the frontispiece the Leviathan controls the potentially disruptive forces of worldly and ecclesiastical power. Undoubtedly, this iconography was motivated in large part by recent historical events, as political and religious questions about the extent of the king’s authority came to tear England apart in a brutal civil war during the 1640s. In his right hand the colossus grips a sword, which refers to the legal authority of civil magistrates, and his left hand holds a bishop’s crozier, denoting religious rule. Because his shadow traverses the landscape beneath him and the crozier extends to the foreground of the landscape, the monster’s presence spans across the field below. His bishop’s staff, cropped by the edge of the page, pokes into the viewer’s space beyond the printed page. Civil and ecclesiastical power are also symbolized in the town beneath the Leviathan, through a military sector on the left with patrolling soldiers and a fort, and through a church on the right. Since worldly and ecclesiastical authorities are also represented at the bottom of the print, in a series of rectangular compartments that run along the left and right sides, they are therefore shown to be under the Leviathan’s authority.70 Whereas the panels in the lower half of the frontispiece are enclosed in a wooden frame, the image of the Leviathan in the etching is merely flanked by two thin lines that are easy to overlook (the image of the Leviathan does, however, have a wooden frame in the manuscript version). As a result, in the etching the panels appear precariously suspended before the tableau showing the colossus. Because of this formal instability, the Leviathan or commonwealth is shown in a state of tension with regards to civil and ecclesiasical powers. The highest panels present a castle on the left and a church on the right, and, below them, a coronet and a miter, or a bishop’s crown. Beneath these are a cannon and the thunderbolt of excommunication, and then the arms of war and the weapons of scholastic logic. (In the seventeenth century, philosophical discourse was often associated with military action, as is also apparent in, for instance, the defense tower in Colutius’s Logicae universae typus [see fig. 12].) The lowest panels show, on the left, scenes of warfare and the miseries that result when power is not properly exercised, and, on the right, a disputation, or a verbal combat, in which a thesis print was often employed. The disputants sit on the left and right and are observed by ten doctors. The panels are akin to images or objects displayed on shelves in a cabinet of curiosities.71 They can be perused horizontally or vertically and work together to remind viewers of recent historical events. These images establish an opposition between the Leviathan above and the chaos we incur if we do not have this monstrous creature ruling over us. They are designed to persuade readers that a life under the horrifying creature above is preferable to the horrors of civil wars, in which “every man” is “against every man.”72

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It has often been noted that the multifigured colossus was likely inspired in part by an optical device described by the French scientist and Minim friar Jean François Niceron (1613–­1646) in La Perspective curieuse of 1638.73 It employed a multifocal beveled lens to form a single figure out of multiple separate figures. From tables at the end of Niceron’s text, we can imagine how multiple images of, say, Ottoman sultans, when viewed through a perspective glass tube, would have combined into a cohesive portrait of Louis XIII (figs. 183 and 184). This device was displayed in the library of the Minim Convent in Paris, which Hobbes frequented often in order to see Mersenne.74 Himself a collector of optical instruments, Hobbes authored a Latin treatise on optics around 1641 or 1642.75 He also mentions the apparatus in a reply, dated January 10, 1650, to the preface of the epic poem Gondibert by Sir William Davenant (1606–­1668): I beleeve (Sir) you have seene a curious kind of perspective, where, he that lookes through a short hollow pipe, upon a picture conteyning diverse figures, sees none of those that are there paynted, but some one person made up of their partes, conveighed to the eye by the artificiall cutting of a glasse.76 The popularity of this contraption suggests that questions concerning the unity and organization of visual representations—­questions of central concern here—­lay behind early modern optical experimentation and play. The device can be understood as a virtuosic exploration of how one might transform a plural image into a singular image or unified tableau. When Hobbes met with Bosse to discuss the design of their frontispiece, Bosse’s etching L’Homme fourré de malice (The man with a fur lining of malice), possibly made around 1634, may well have come up (fig. 185).77 The accompanying verses of this print of a melancholic figure in a cloak, lined with the heads of women, characterize the women as dangerous animals who have caused the man’s suffering. In all probability both the Leviathan frontispiece and L’Homme fourré (or a new edition of this print by Hollar) inspired a satirical engraving made by Stephen College (1635?–­1681) against Charles II, in which the king crosses a bridge and then falls (fig. 186).78 The coat of the two-­faced king is made up of the heads of women, and in the text of the ballad that appeared below the image, he is identified with the Leviathan, “the Child of Heathen Hobbes.”79 This print was presented as evidence at a trial in which College was convicted of high treason against Charles II.80 Although College vehemently denied that he was the author of the print and ballad, he was nevertheless executed in 1681, a measure of how seriously authorities in this period took political images.

opposite  figure 183

Table 48 from Niceron’s La Perspective curieuse (Paris: Billaine, 1638). Engraving printed on paper, 13.4 × 14.2 in. (34 × 36 cm). British Library, London.

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From the Generation of Art to the Generation of Philosophy Now that I have presented an overview of the frontispiece’s iconography, I would like to return to the question posed at the outset of this chapter: could the etching exemplify Hobbes’s method, by allowing viewers to derive the properties of the state by stimulating them to reflect on the moment in which the body politic is being generated? Does the frontispiece invite viewers to think about the moment in which the Leviathan is brought into being by the forming of pacts and covenants that result in a union of the elements,

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opposite  figure 184

Table 49 from Niceron’s La Perspective curieuse (Paris: Billaine, 1638). Engraving printed on paper, 13.4 × 14.2 in. (34 × 36 cm). British Library, London.

right  figure 185

Bosse, L’Homme fourré de malice, c. 1634. Etching on paper, 11.4 × 7.9 in. (28.9 × 20.1 cm). BM, London.

figure 186

Stephen College, A Raree Show, 1681. Engraving printed on paper, 3 × 6.3 in. (7.5 × 16 cm). Bodleian Library, Oxford.

a moment Hobbes likens to “that Fiat, or Let us make man, pronounced by God in the Creation”?81 And what would it mean to show the process of becoming, as opposed to the result of this process, in a static image? Whereas previous accounts of the frontispiece have viewed it as depicting the state already in existence, I read the image as inviting us to contemplate the generation of the artificial entity.82 If the frontispiece is read in this way, it functions as a better epitome of the book it introduces, which is concerned with showing how the state comes into being. I have already stressed that Hobbes ties understanding to knowledge of how things come into existence. In De cive, he observes that in order to comprehend the commonwealth, he must reflect upon its generation and dissolution: As regards Method, . . . I have thought that one must begin from the matter of the city, and then proceed to its generation and form, and first origin of justice. For from whatever things a thing is constituted, from these same things it is best known. For just as in an automatic Watch or other moderately intricate machine, it cannot be known what is the function of each part and wheel, unless it be dissolved and the matter and movement of the parts looked at separately; Likewise in investigating the right of the city, and the offices of citizens it is necessary, not indeed that the city be dissolved, but nevertheless that it be considered as if dissolved, that is, so that it can be rightly understood what is human nature, in what things it is fit or unfit to make up a city, and how men who want to come together must be compounded between themselves.83 By leading readers/viewers to think about the generation of the commonwealth, the Leviathan frontispiece adheres to Hobbes’s method of practicing philosophy, and in his book he refers to the “Generation of that great Leviathan,” in chapter 17 and elsewhere.84 It is of course immensely difficult, if not impossible, for a static image to visualize the process of change by which a body comes into existence. As a result, early modern visual representations of the Aristotelian scholastic principles of generation—­matter, privation, and form—­tended to avoid the difficult task of showing generation altogether. Colutius, for instance, attempts to depict the principles of matter, privation, and form in his Physica of 1611, but he does not represent generation itself (see fig. 13). Medieval philosophers often interpreted Aristotle as arguing that something, namely, “prime matter,” endures throughout substantial generation and corruption. Without the continued existence of prime matter throughout substantial change, these thinkers worried that no change would occur at all; rather, one substance would be corrupted and another would be generated, but there would be nothing linking these two occurrences. Aristotle and his interpreters use the terms “form” or “substantial form” to denote the property, or collection of properties, of a substance that make it what it is.85 Privation, or the lack of substantial form in matter, is equally a principle of generation. For matter to receive substantial form in the future, privation is required; when matter already contains substantial form and lacks privation, then direct generation cannot occur.86

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figure 187

Detail showing prime matter from the Physica, 1611. HAB, Wolfenbüttel [IE2].

above  figure 188

Detail showing form and beauty from the Physica, 1611. HAB, Wolfenbüttel [IE2]. below  figure 189

Detail showing privation from the Physica, 1611. HAB, Wolfenbüttel [IE2].

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In the Physica the words “MATERIA PRIMA” are inscribed on a large stone that illustrates prime matter and is embedded beneath a staircase that leads up to the first tier of the theater (fig. 187). To the left, the word “FORMA ” (meaning “form” and “beauty”) is inscribed above a large youthful head that illustrates both these notions (fig. 188). This representation of form and beauty contrasts with a skull labeled “PRIVATIO” on the right side of the print (fig. 189). The skull represents death, which is the privation of life and form. The living head is supposed to relate to the skull as the principle of substantial form relates to the principle of privation: just as a skull is a signifier of a thing lacking in life, the word privation refers to a thing lacking in form. The skull, head, and stone are all shown below the theater because, as Colutius writes in an inscription at the bottom of the engraving, the three principles are of fundamental importance to the study of natural philosophy: “Matter, form, and privation are the foundations upon which the mechanism of the theater in its entirety is held fast.”87 The skull has cracked under the weight of the theater. In a similar manner, Bovelles, in his Liber de intellectu, shows prime matter as underlying various natural substances, though unlike Colutius, he does not also include explicit figurations of form and privation (fig. 190). Bovelles represents “Materia” as a black area, above which four women approach the personification of nature, to whom they bring different species of natural objects that include a stone, a plant, an animal, and a man. By showing matter beneath natural substances, Bovelles, like Colutius, aims to illustrate that prime matter underlies all natural bodies. Like Colutius, Bovelles does not attempt to show generation itself. For a visualization of substantial generation, we can turn instead to a detail at the bottom of the Synopsis by Meurisse and Gaultier that pictorializes this unrepresentable notion in a manner that is not dissimilar to the Leviathan frontispiece (fig. 191). Substantial change is the most fundamental type of change, whereby a new substance comes into existence or an old substance ceases to exist. We see the principles of prime

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figure 190

Detail showing prime matter as underlying various natural substances from Liber de intellectu (Paris: Henri Estienne, 1510), fol. 37r. Woodcut printed on paper, 3 × 5 in. (7.6 × 12.7 cm). Cambridge, Cambridge University Library, Rare Books Room.

matter, privation, and form through the image of a woman shown from the torso up, her head and hands emerging from clouds that obscure the rest of her body. This image, like the examples discussed earlier in this chapter, conveys that early modern thinkers conceived of generation as a transformation of chaos into clarity. The word “FORMA ” above her head indicates that her head, neck, and hands embody the concept of form. The inscription “MATERIA ” across the clouded areas of her body designates this region as a visualization of prime matter. The cloudy area in between is labeled “PRIVATIO .” The areas marked “MATERIA ” and “PRIVATIO ” are equally amorphous; without the labels, viewers might not realize that they are illustrations of distinct principles of generation. It is logical that the representations of these principles appear identical, because privation is defined as the lack of form in matter. This partially formed woman acts out the process of substantial change: whereas her head and hands are enformed, the rest of her is not yet. The Leviathan frontispiece and the detail from the Synopsis are two parallel instances where the visualization of these analogous phenomena—­the generation of the body politic and that of the natural body—­takes similar forms. Because a still image cannot accurately depict the process of generation, both prints are grappling with the impossibility of articulating ideas put forward in texts. Rather than precisely visualizing the moment of generation, they invite us to reflect upon emergence. The images are not identical—­ for one thing, the figure in the Synopsis, unlike the Leviathan, is female—­though they do share certain formal similarities.88 Most important, whereas the heads and hands of both giants are well defined, their torsos and arms are denaturalized. Furthermore, neither portrays the lower parts of their bodies, which, in an image of generation, would not yet be in existence, as both figures are still emerging. We might consider also the tremendous size of the figures in relation to the landscapes and other figures around them, or the way in which their arms are stretched out horizontally at their sides. In both these respects, the figures resemble medieval and early modern images of all-­encompassing sovereigns and Christ.89 The Psalter World Map in the British Library, for instance, depicts Christ half-­length, with arms outstretched, towering over the world (fig. 192). In fact, the opening of Genesis is given in two five-­word fragments beneath the labels “MATERIA ” and “PRIVATIO ” in the Synopsis detail, and Hobbes asserts a strong parallel between the

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figure 191

Detail showing substantial generation from the Synopsis, 1615. BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA4].

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sovereign and God throughout the Leviathan (as in chapter 17, where he compares the Leviathan to a “Mortall God”).90 These towering figures with outstretched arms also bring to mind Merian’s frontispiece to Fludd’s Cosmi historia, which pictures the relation between the microcosm—­represented by a Vitruvian man with outstretched arms—­ and the macrocosm (fig. 193). As in the representation of substantial generation in the Synopsis, shadowy clouds engulf this image, to heighten the drama, mystery, and wonder of creation.91 Although Hobbes criticized the philosophy of the schools, his relationship to Aristotelian thought was more complicated than he let on, as Annabel Brett and Cees Leijenhorst have demonstrated.92 The colossus in the frontispiece, like the colossus in the Synopsis, denotes the generation of a body by juxtaposing visualizations of the Aristotelian categories of matter and form. Furthermore, the subtitle of the Leviathan, inscribed on the cloth below the colossus, explicitly invokes these categories. Hobbes also employs these notions throughout the Leviathan and the De cive, characterizing man as the matter making up the artificial body of the commonwealth.93 The individual men in the torso of the Leviathan denote the matter from which the automaton is generated. As Brett has pointed out, in De corpore (1656) Hobbes stated, “The . . . essence, insofar as it is generated, is called the Form.”94 In chapter 17 of the Leviathan he writes that in the sovereign “consisteth the Essence of the Commonwealth.”95 These definitions lead us to conclude that the form of the commonwealth “consisteth” in the sovereign, the commonwealth’s soul.96 It is striking how similarly the Synopsis and the Leviathan frontispiece solve the problem of rendering substantial generation into visual form: just as the defined head and hands of the colossus being generated correspond to its form in the Synopsis, the defined head and hands of the Leviathan, who is being generated, correspond to the form of the commonwealth in the frontispiece. One might speculate that the land-­and townscape beneath the Leviathan offers another parallel narrative of generation, the generation of civilization: whereas areas directly adjacent to the colossus are barren, other sections of the land appear cultivated for agricultural purposes, and then in the foreground we have a small town, along with various other buildings scattered throughout the hills and valleys. Is it possible that

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opposite  figure 192

Psalter World Map, c. 1265. Ink on vellum, 6.7 × 5.1 in. (17 × 13 cm). British Library, London.

right  figure 193

Merian, frontispiece to Fludd’s Cosmi historia (Oppenheim: Johann-­Theodore de Bry, 1617), vol. 1. Engraving printed on paper, 12.6 × 7.9 in. (32 × 20.1 cm). Rare Book Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

Hobbes and Bosse are using this land-­and townscape to picture social organization in naturalistic and anthropological terms? One might also ask whether the ten panels in the bottom area of the frontispiece offer a sort of history of culture, an itinerary toward the establishment of the institutions of state and church.97 Perhaps, like the contents of the Descriptio and other plural images, we are meant to investigate the frontispiece from the lowest panels upward. If read in this way, the bottom panels offer a sort of pathway from conflict and dispute out of which a certain kind of institutional order emerges through the tools of war and the weapons of scholastic logic. This history of institutionalization culminates in the city above the panels with its military sector on the left and its church on the right—­both of which are overseen by the emerging figure of the Leviathan. From the passage quoted earlier in which Hobbes describes the generation of the state, “A Multitude of men, are made One Person, when they are by one man, or one Person, Represented,”98 we learn that the sovereign, or the soul of the commonwealth, serves the critical function of explaining the unity of the corporate entity, the state. In the act of generating the commonwealth, and in the act of viewing the frontispiece that invites us to reflect upon its generation, we come to realize that the sovereign, the soul of the commonwealth, functions to unify and animate the individual members, its matter, into a single body politic, transforming many into one. As Brett explains, “the form of the city is not simply an arrangement of men . . . but an original or originating institution, the institution of a commonwealth—­one person . . . capable of acts.”99 However, it should be recalled that the Leviathan is a person “by fiction.” It is thus not really a body at all. It is only a body politic, and without a natural person or persons to play the role of sovereign and thereby animate it, the Leviathan is “but a word, without substance, and cannot stand.”100 Its ability to act and to speak depends on having an authorized sovereign representative acting in its name.101 Hobbes’s concept of power comes into play here. He replaced the third Aristotelian principle of “privation” with “power” in his subtitle (potestas in the Latin Leviathan). The notions of privatio and potentia were closely linked in scholastic Latin.102 Something is in potentia (in potentiality) with respect to some quality if it lacks the quality in question but is the sort of thing that is capable of attaining the state. So, for example, a human being can be in potentia with respect to learning, but a stone cannot. Something is in a state of privatio with respect to some quality that it has in potentia but not in act or actuality. So a human being who is not learned is in a state of privatio with respect to learning. Now, what makes the situation more complicated still is that in addition to meaning potentiality, potentia also meant “power” in scholastic Latin. Hobbes gave a definition of power in chapter 10: “The POWER of a Man, (to take it Universally,) is his present means to obtain some future apparent Good.”103 It is through the representative, the soul of the state, that we gain this capacity for action. As Hobbes explains in chapter 47 of the Latin Leviathan (1668), “Without arms and resources gathered in the hands of one person, power is a mere word and can contribute nothing to peace or the defense of the citizens.”104 Once you have matter in the proper form, then you have power instead of privation. Recall how the inscription near the head of the giant also links the Leviathan to this notion: “There is no power over the earth that can be compared with him.”

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By discussing the Leviathan frontispiece alongside the image of substantial generation from the Synopsis, I aim to offer a reading that captures the full complexity of this etching. In the past the frontispiece has been criticized for failing to represent the idea that the sovereign is the soul of the commonwealth.105 This idea is crucial to Hobbes’s text because it is the sovereign or the soul of the commonwealth that connects the multitude and transforms it into a single, living body politic that can engage in action. Yet if the frontispiece, like the Synopsis detail, is inviting viewers to think about matter at the moment that it becomes enformed by a soul, it appears that the frontispiece does, after all, capture the complexities of Hobbes’s theory of the state. By showing the head and hands as defined, Hobbes and Bosse render visually the idea of the form or the soul as distinct from the matter that makes up the Leviathan. One might object here that if the frontispiece shows the sovereign, or the form of the commonwealth (through the head and hands of the Leviathan), then the etching must in fact show the state already formed and not at the moment of formation.106 This objection is compelling, although it could be met if we are to believe those readers of Hobbes who hold that he posits that the state’s stability depends on a constant repetition of the founding moment. Furthermore, we might also bear in mind the enormous challenge of rendering the process of generation through a nonmoving image. Does this visual representation fall short because it attempts to show what cannot be shown? Even if Hobbes and Bosse are in fact visualizing the result of the generation—­that is, the Leviathan already formed—­they are still at the same time taking care to depict and to differentiate the elements (matter and form) that went into its making. I take it to be the case that by separating the Leviathan’s constituent parts, the frontispiece urges viewers to reflect on the state’s generation, even if some might protest that it fails to capture its generation perfectly in visual terms. The Leviathan’s Medieval Syntax Although Hobbes employs the notions of matter and form in his image and text, he did not believe in these concepts in the Aristotelian sense. He expresses his views on substantial form unequivocally in the following passage: From these Metaphysiques, which are mingled with the Scripture to make Schoole Divinity, wee are told, there be in the world certain Essences separated from Bodies, which they call . . . Substantiall Forms: For the Interpretation of which Iargon, there is need of somewhat more than ordinary attention in this place. . . . The World . . . is Corporeall, that is to say, Body. . . . And because the Universe is All, that which is no part of it, is Nothing; and consequently no where.107 Hobbes thinks we have a corporeal mind, but no special, immaterial thing that is a principle of life, or a soul. His employment of the term “soul” throughout the Leviathan is not literal. He describes his image of the Leviathan as a comparison,108 a simile that vividly conveys the need for generating and maintaining a commonwealth. The soul is a metaphor for the corporate individual, the sovereign.

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figure 194

Bosse, frontispiece showing Minerva with a painter for Jean Dubreuil’s La Perspective pratique necessaire à tous peintres, graveurs, sculpteurs . . . (Paris: Melchior Tavernier and François Langlois, 1642). Etching on paper, 7 × 5.3 in. (17.9 × 13.4 cm). BM, London.

This leaves us with a question: why is Hobbes using these Aristotelian terms and images when he does not believe in matter or substantial form and generation in the way in which Aristotelians do? It may very well be a purely rhetorical move. Quintilian pointed out, “It is sometimes also possible to take some remark or action of . . . your opponent or your opponent’s advocate in order to strengthen your point.”109 Although not an Aristotelian, Hobbes made use of Aristotelian concepts to promote his anti-­ Aristotelian ideas in an artful simile. He refers to the strategy of using the opinions of those you wish to convince in A Briefe of the Art of Rhetorique: “In Rhetorique the Principles must be common opinions, such as the judge is already possessed with: because

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the end of Rhetorique is victory; which consists in having gotten beleefe.”110 Hobbes takes up this sort of rhetorical strategy in the frontispiece by playing with a syntax that is foreign to his philosophical views but would have been embraced by some of his readers. He employs this and other rhetorical techniques to persuade readers/viewers of the legitimacy of a corporate agent in the figure of the Leviathan. Formally, the frontispiece also employs a syntax that might be associated with the world of medieval Europe. Unlike many frontispieces produced around this time in Paris, including those by Bosse, such as the frontispiece to his La Perspective pratique (fig. 194), the frontispiece to the Leviathan is not a homogeneous, uniform tableau, displaying a single moment in time and a unified space. Rather, in this allegorical plural image, multiple panels are juxtaposed to create a complex whole. The bottom of the frontispiece, as noted earlier, is akin to a cabinet of curiosities, suspended midair before the terrifying scene with the colossus. One might characterize the top half of the frontispiece as a sort of tableau; though here as well the change in register between the wholly unnaturalistic colossus and the natural landscape beneath him is striking. My point is that in the etching, this medieval form of image making does not subordinate the parts to the configuration of a coherent whole showing a unified moment in space and time, but rather constructs the whole out of parts that are arranged next to each other and linked by intellectual affiliations. Not only is the terminology of this print inspired by medieval systems of thought, but also its form refers back to medieval modes of image making. In this work Hobbes and Bosse consciously assume medieval conventions at the same time that they break with them, in the process shedding light on the complexities of the transition from Aristotelian to anti-­Aristotelian philosophies in the early stages of the “scientific revolution.” The intermingling of these Aristotelian and anti-­Aristotelian notions is Hobbes’s way of rethinking the generation of the state and the relationship of the individual to the state. In other words, this intermingling is no meaningless mixing together of doctrines but cuts to the very core of his project: namely, to explain legitimate state authority through its generation.

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Appendix 1 Catalogue of Surviving Impressions of Philosophical Plural Images

Artificiosa totius logices descriptio The Descriptio was designed by Meurisse and employed to teach logic at the Grand Couvent des Cordeliers in Paris. In his biographical essay on Meurisse, the historian Jean-­ Baptiste Kaiser asserts that all impressions of the Descriptio have been lost.1 Since Kaiser’s essay appeared in 1923, however, six impressions of the original thesis print and three impressions of editions based on it have surfaced in collections in North America and Europe. The Descriptio appeared in at least five different editions; in addition, as noted in chapter 2, plural images based on this engraving can be found in editions of Johann Justus Winkelmann’s Logica memorativa. The first edition was engraved by Gaultier and published by Messager in 1614. Two impressions of this original edition survive with no dedication in the HAB in Wolfen­ büttel (IE3) and the Stadtbibliothek in Ulm (Einbl. 1117).2 Impressions of the first edition with a dedication addressed to Jacques-­Auguste de Thou are held by the BRB (S. IV 86231) (see plate 1), the BnF (Ed. 12 Rés.), and the Graphische Sammlung der Albertina in Vienna (HB137, number 42).3 One impression of the first edition that includes, in the place of the dedication to de Thou, a dedication to a woman named Dame Jeanne, is held by the Houghton Library of Harvard University (pp *FB6.M5718614a); as noted in chapter 1, this impression is printed on vellum, and has been hand colored and decorated with a painted border of laurel leaves (see fig. 27).4 Directly below the opening words of the dedication to Dame Jeanne is a representation of a haloed woman in a dark blue robe, who carries a crucifix and who appears to have given a coin to a haloed boy. Under this image are the words “Blessed Johanna, founder of the order of the blessed Mary.”5 She can be identified as Jeanne de Valois (1464–­1505), the daughter of Louis XI of France (1423–­1483) and repudiated wife of Louis XII (1462–­1515). In 1500 with the assistance of the Franciscan Gilbert Nicolas (1461/63–­1532), Jeanne founded an order of nuns named the Annonciades, whose members aimed to mimic Mary’s virtues. In view of Jeanne’s close working relationship with the Franciscan Nicolas, it is understandable that his order would have chosen to honor Jeanne’s memory by dedicating a print to a woman of whom Jeanne was the name-­saint.6 211

A second edition of the Descriptio was published at an unknown date by Pierre Mariette, who purchased Messager’s collection of printing plates in 1637.7 Mariette employed the plate of Messager to create new impressions of the broadside, in which he inscribed his name in place of Messager’s. The only known impression of this edition is held by the BnF (Réserve des livres rares, Résac. Z. 1 (23)).8 The Graphic Arts Collection of Princeton University holds an impression of the Descriptio that includes a dedication to de Thou and was made from a new engraved plate (Oversize Broadside 119).9 The engraver and the publisher are not identified on this third edition of the broadside. The Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library of Yale University holds an impression of a fourth edition of the Descriptio engraved by yet another artist (Folio BrSides By6 1637).10 This impression, with text in English, does not identify an engraver and lacks a dedication, but it acknowledges the translator, Richard Dey. As explained in the introduction, Dey has also been credited with adapting four other Latin philosophy plural images into English.11 The Yale University impression was published by Thomas Hinde and features Samuel Baker’s imprimatur with the date “decemb 15 1637.”12 This broadside was entered on January 16, 1638, in the Stationers’ Register and was licensed to the bookseller William Hope.13 The publisher Robert Walton (1618–­1688) lists the print in an advertisement of 1659; it is likely that Walton employed the plate of Hinde to create new impressions of a fifth edition of the broadside, in which he inscribed his name in place of Hinde’s.14 No impressions of this fifth edition are known.

Clara totius physiologiae synopsis The Synopsis was designed by Meurisse and employed to teach natural philosophy at the Grand Couvent. At least four different editions of the Synopsis were made. There are four surviving impressions of the first edition, four surviving complete impressions of a second edition and a fifth surviving impression of this second edition’s upper sheet, and two surviving impressions of a third edition. On fol. C3r. of the Catalogus universalis pro nundinis Francofurtensibus vernalibus, de anno M.DC.XVII., a fourth edition of the Synopsis is cited that was printed in Amsterdam apud Joan[nes] Iansonium.15 No impressions of this edition of the Synopsis are known. The first edition of the Synopsis was engraved by Gaultier and published by Messager in 1615 in Paris. The BRB (S. IV 86229) and the Graphische Sammlung der Albertina in Vienna (HB137, numbers 45 and 46) each hold one impression of this first edition, and the BnF holds two (AA4 and AA5) (see fig. 1).16 A second edition of the Synopsis was published by Messager and engraved by another artist and engraver of letters, who makes occasional spelling errors and frequently omits punctuation marks. Impressions of this edition, which lacks the privilege of the king, are held by the British Library (1865 c.18(52)), the Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg (X,339,1e), the HAB (IE1), and the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung in Munich (Flugbl. 178946-­Kasten 1 I).17 An impression of the upper sheet of this edition is also held in the private collection of Jean Michel Massing in Cambridge, England.

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A third edition of the Synopsis was published by Mariette, who, as noted above, purchased Messager’s collection of printing plates in 1637. As with the Descriptio, Mariette made new impressions of the Synopsis by using Messager’s plate and substituting Messager’s name with his own. Impressions of this third edition are held by the Museo francescano di Roma (Inv. nr. 674/2b) and the BnF (Reserve QB-­201 (20)).18

Laurus metaphysica The Laurus metaphysica was designed by Meurisse and employed to teach metaphysics at the Grand Couvent. It appeared in at least seven different editions, of which there survive five impressions of the first edition, one impression of a second, two of a third, one of a fourth, one of a fifth, and three of a sixth. The Catalogus universalis pro nundinis Francofurtensibus vernalibus, de anno M.DC.XVII. mentions on fol. C3r a seventh edition, now lost, that was printed in Amsterdam apud Joan[nes] Iansonium.19 The original edition of the Laurus metaphysica was engraved by Gaultier and printed by Messager in 1616 in Paris. The BnF (AA4) (see fig. 2), the BRB (S. IV 86232), and the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge (30.I.1 121) each hold nearly identical impressions of this original edition of the Laurus metaphysica, and the Graphische Sammlung der Albertina in Vienna (HB137, number 43 and F.I.1, number 68) holds two.20 The only difference among these five impressions is that whereas the impressions held by the BnF, the BRB, and the Albertina contain dedications to Nicolas de Verdun, the dedication has been removed from the impression held by the Fitzwilliam Museum. The BnF (Collection Hennin 1307) owns the only surviving impression of a second edition of the Laurus metaphysica from 1622.21 Messager is credited as the publisher and Gaultier as engraver; because of its lesser quality, however, it is unlikely that this edition was executed by Gaultier. A third edition of the Laurus metaphysica was published by Mariette. Impressions of this edition are held by the BnF (Réserve des livres rares, Résac. Z. 1 (25)) and the Museo Francescano di Roma (inv. nr. 674/2a).22 Although the year 1616 is marked on these impressions, it is more likely that they were published after 1637, once Messager had sold his plates to Mariette. As noted in reference to the Descriptio and Synopsis, Mariette employed Messager’s plates to create new impressions of the Laurus metaphysica, in which his name is written in place of Messager’s. The Staatliche Graphische Sammlung in Munich (Flugbl. 86019-­Kasten 1 I) holds the sole surviving impression of a fourth edition of the Laurus metaphysica.23 The engraver or etcher of this edition is not identified. The impression also does not cite a publisher or a date of publication. The Bibliothèque franciscaine provinciale des Capucins de Paris (no shelfmark) owns an impression of an English-­language edition of Meurisse’s print, entitled A Laurell of Metaphysicke.24 Dey translated Meurisse’s Latin text for this new fifth edition, which was engraved by William Marshall and published by Thomas Hinde in London. This broadside was entered on January 16, 1638, in the Stationers’ Register and was licensed to William Hope.25 Three impressions of a new sixth edition of this broadside, published

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by Robert Walton, survive in the Houghton Library of Harvard University (Dey p EB65 A100 B675b v.1), the University of Iowa Libraries (Main Oversize FOLIO BL210 .L3), and the Bodleian Library of Oxford University (Ashm. 1820b (18)).26 Walton employed the plate of Hinde to create new impressions of the print, in which he inscribed his name in place of Hinde’s.

Logicae universae typus Colutius designed the Logicae universae typus for logic students at the Gymnasium Romanum. Impressions of the original edition, engraved in 1606 by Blancus, survive in the BnF (AA6) (see fig. 12) and the Vatican Library (Stamp Barb. X.I. 28, fol. 52).27 One impression of a second edition is held by the HAB in Wolfenbüttel (IE4).28 This impression was either engraved or, more probably, published by Matthäus Buschweiler in Speyer. Physica seu naturae theatrum in typum totius philosophiae naturalis Colutius designed the Physica in the early seventeenth century for students of natural philosophy at the Gymnasium Romanum. This broadside appeared in at least three different editions. The only surviving impression of the Physica is held by the HAB in Wolfenbüttel (IE2) (see fig. 13).29 There are so many typographical errors on this impression that it is likely a copy of an earlier edition that is now lost. This surviving impression was either engraved or published by Buschweiler, who, as noted above, created a second edition of the Logicae universae typus. The mangled definition of prime matter inscribed below the rock near the center of the Wolfenbüttel broadside is characteristic of the many typographical errors in this document that would undoubtedly have frustrated students and undermined its utility as a teaching aid (see fig. 187). The inscription is divided into two sections by the bust of Democritus and its pedestal, and its confused word order suggests that the lettering engraver did not know Latin. The words are inscribed as follows on the broadside:30 Materia prima grecis dicta || ΥΛΗ est primum subiectum quid // uniuscuiu\s/ que ex quo sit ali || cum insit non secundum tur // acciden\s/ et si corrumpi || aliquid in hoc abibit cur // ultimum .1 phys 82 con || ata est rebus et pu ad me // ra potententia dicitur || ntem Divivid non // Thomae quia non q qu || quale, non tamen pu // antum .7. met. 8 non quia || rum nihil entitativum // habet actu mtem Sco || ad menin genere entium // ti cum sit These sentences are meaningless as written, but shuffling the words and letters reveals the definition of matter that Colutius presumably intended his engraver of letters to carve: Materia prima gr[a]ecis dicta ΥΛΗ est primum subiectum uniuscuiu\s/ que ex quo sit aliquid cum insit non secundum acciden\s/ et si corrumpitur aliquid[,] in hoc abibit ultimum .1[.] phys[icorum] [.]82[.] concurata est rebus et pura potentia dicitur ad mentem Divi Thomae quia non quid[,] non quale, non tamen quantum .7. met[aphysicorum] 8[;] non quia purum nihil entitativum habet actum ad mentem Scoti cum sit in genere entium.

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Although this passage certainly contains the most egregious errors of the broadside’s inscriptions, there are many further typographical ambiguities that undermined the pedagogical utility of this edition of Colutius’s composition. Whereas the first edition would have been a useful teaching aid, this second edition appears to have been created primarily to function as a curiosity to entertain viewers. Perhaps we can point to this broadside for an early example of the waning of early modern hieroglyphic modes of learning, a topic addressed in chapter 1. The engraver of lettering clearly did not understand what he was doing; one might speculate that he and the other creators of this broadside were not engaged in a labor of preservation as much as one of excitement at the spectacle of this early modern oddity. I have not included a transcription of this broadside in appendix 2, because its muddled grammar and spelling and the illegibility of the lettering have made it impossible to transcribe with certitude. A print that is based on the Physica and entitled The Theater of Nature is entered in the Stationers’ Register on March 15, 1638, and was licensed to William Lewellin.31 This broadside, now lost, is an English translation of the Physica by Dey, who also adapted other Latin philosophy broadsides into English.

Tableau industrieux de toute la philosophie morale The Tableau was designed by Meurisse and employed to teach moral philosophy at the Grand Couvent. This print appeared in at least four different editions. Five impressions of the original edition survive, and single complete impressions of a second and third edition have survived as well. A second impression of the bottom half of the second edition has also survived. A fourth edition of the print entitled An Artificiall Table of Morall Philosophy that was translated into English by Dey is entered in the Stationers’ Register on March 15, 1638, and licensed to William Lewellin.32 No impressions of the English edition appear to have survived. In addition, as explained in chapter 2, Johann Justus Winkelmann created a plural image based on the Tableau in 1679 (see fig. 91). The original edition of the broadside was engraved by Gaultier and published by Messager in 1618 in Paris. Two impressions of the original edition with dedications to Queen Anne of Austria survive in the Museo francescano di Roma (Inv. nr. 674/1b and 1-­N-­1/7), and the Graphische Sammlung der Albertina in Vienna (HB137, number 41) holds a third impression of this original edition.33 A fourth impression with a dedication to Queen Anne of Austria is held by the BnF (AA5) (see fig. 3); this impression is flanked by two sheets of paper with Latin translations of the text in the Tableau.34 Although the broadside was printed by Messager, these sheets are marked as having been printed by Mariette. A fifth impression of the original edition that lacks the dedication is also held by the BnF (Reserve QB-­201 (21)).35 A second edition of the Tableau was engraved at an unknown date by the Flemish baroque artist Jacob van der Heyden. This edition includes text in Latin and French and is entitled Artificiosa totius moralis philosophiae tabella; its publisher is not known. An impression of this edition is held by the BnF (Collection Hennin Tome 47, H4315); the British Library (1750.c.1(3)) owns an impression of the bottom half of this edition.36 A third edition of the Tableau was published by Mariette. The date given on this impression is 1618; like the Descriptio, Synopsis, and Laurus metaphysica, however, it was 215 c a t a l ogu e

presumably made after Mariette purchased Messager’s printing plates in 1637. The BnF (Collection Hennin Tome 47, H4316) holds an impression of this third edition of the Tableau.37

Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas The Typus was designed by Chéron for his Carmelite students of logic. This print was engraved by Gaultier and published by Messager in 1622 in Paris. The broadside was printed in only one edition. One impression of the upper half of the broadside is held by the BM (1880,0214.122). Impressions of the entire broadside survive in the Graphic Arts Collection of Princeton University (Oversize Broadside 120) (see plate 2), the BnF (AA5), the BRB (S. IV 86230), the Museo Francescano di Roma (Inv. nr. I-­N-­7/7), and the Graphische Sammlung der Albertina in Vienna (HB137, number 44).38

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Appendix 2 Transcriptions of the Texts Inscribed onto Philosophical Plural Images

I. Artificiosa totius logices descriptio Transcription of the text from the impression of the Descriptio held by the BRB (S. IV 86231) (see fig. 42). Segment 5 1. ARTIFICIOSA TOTIVS LOGICES DESCRIPTIO. 2. Illustriss[imo] et nobiliss[imo] viro D[omino] D[omino] Jacobo Augusto Thuano, ab utrisque Regis Consiliis, et uni e principibus regiae pecuniae adservatoribus; F[rater] M[artinus] Meurisse S[alutat]

3. Tibi, Jacobe Thuane, litterarum et litteratorum deunculo, Tibi nuper ab Rege pacis legationem ad principes obire iusso, Tibi pro Rege, pro publico, non tibi, nato, Tibi magni Inclytique Thuani aureae proli, Tibi nostri Seraphici non modo Lutetiae, sed et totius Galliae, ordinis, patrono appendimus hanc philosophici certaminis tabulam. suscipe modo, et si cordi est, me meosque in hoc Franciscano tuo Caenobio ama. fove. tuere. vale. Segment 1

1. Parisiis apud Jo[annes] Messager via Jacobea, sub signo spei.

(only part of segment)

Cum privilegio Regis. 2.

Segment 4 (only part of segment)

L[éonard] Gaultier incidit De hac Thesi horis et diebus solitis respondebunt fratres logici in Conventu fratrum Minorum Parisiensium, a Calendis Junii, ad Calendas Augusti Anno Domini M. DC. XIIII.

1. Scotus Aristoteli sua debet: at explicat illum. Scoto ergo quid non debet Aristoteles?

217

2.

Summus Aristoteles veterum praecepta Sophorum Dum logica expendit, lucida cuncta facit.

Segment 1 (continued)

3. Fr[ater] M[artinus] Meurisse Logicorum regens licentia superiorum excudi iussit et in lucem emisit. 4. Janua nunc vobis patet, iste gradusque paratur. Fons uber, palmae virides, fructusque salubris. 5. Individua tanquam bases praedicatorum superiorum, infimum locum tenent. 6. Differentiae via collaterali. 7. Genera et Species recta via gradiuntur. 8. Partes physicae et integrantes reductive ad praedicamenta referuntur. Segment 2 1.

Dialectica deffinitur ars disserendi.

2. Datur dialectica, eaque duplex, naturalis et artificialis: haec iterum duplex, docens et utens, non sunt tamen duo, sed unus habitus. 3. Dialecticae proprietates sunt quod sit speculativa, rationalis, una, ab aliis distincta, necessaria, et utilis ad omnes alias comparandas. 4. Dialecticae causa efficiens et materialis in qua intellectus. circa quam, modus sciendi. finalis proximia, cognitio modi sciendi. remota, bene dissererere. eius officium tradere regulas bene disserendi. 5.

PRIMA MENTIS OPERATIO

6. Genus est universale aptum inesse multis specie differentibus, et de illis praedicari ut pars essentialis respondens materiae, haec est pure essentialis; porphiriana non pure. genus conservari potest in una specie, praedicatur materialiter de differentiis, una relatione refertur ad species et individua. 7. Species est universale praedicabile de multis differentibus numero tanquam tota essentia illorum constituitur species per subiici, et universalis per praedicari. Individuum multiplex, est que quod ex proprietatibus constat quarum collectio non est in alio eadem, vel quod de uno solo praedicatur. 8. Differentia est quod praedicatur de multis differentibus specie in quale quid, ut pars essentialis respondens formae. dantur differentiae ultimae. superiores diversi ordinis non continentur formaliter in inferioribus. 9. Proprium est universale praedicabile de multis specie vel numero differentibus in quale, necessario et reciproce, non distinguitur realiter ab eo cuius est proprium. 10. Accidens metaphysice differens inhaerens. inhaerentia tamen non est de eius essentia. physice quod abest et adest sine subiecti interitu. logice, universale praedicabile de multis in quale contingens, aliud separabile, aliud non. 218

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11. Universale est quod aptum est inesse multis. 12. Universale est ante omnem intellectum. existit non extra, sed in singularibus. 13. Universale est univocum genus ad quinque universalia. 14. Deffinitio, oratio explicans naturam rei, ad primam mentis operationem spectat. 15.

Per modos, non per differentias.

16.

Ens creatum univocum ad decem praedicamenta

17. Substantia Ens subsistens. subsistentia tamen non est de illius essentia. hic non Deus, bene tamen angeli, coeli [sic pro caeli], et substantiae primae. proprietates non inesse subiecto. non habere contrarium. non suscipere magis et minus. eadem numero manens posse recipere contraria cum sui mutatione. 18. Ad aliquid. Accidens referens suum subiectum ad aliud ut ad purum terminum. fundamenta proxima, unitas et numerus, actio passio et mensura. remota primi generis substantia, quantitas, qualitas, secundi posita agendi et patiendi. tertii bonitas et perfectio obiecti. relatio fundat relationem. distinguitur re a fundamento. multiplicatur multiplicatis terminis. relata dicuntur ad convertentiam. unum deffinitur et cognoscitur per alterum. sunt simul natura. 19. Agere. Est secundum quod in id quod subiicitur agere dicimur. Suscipit contrarium, magis et minus. et est semper cum passione 20. Ubi. Est circu[m]scriptio corporis a circu[m]scriptione loci proveniens. non suscipit proprie contrarium, nec magis nec minus. 21. Situs. Est dispositio partium in loco. non suscipit magis et minus, nec contrarium. 22. Habitus Est corporum, et eorum quae circa corpus sunt, adiacentia. suscipit. magis et minus, non secundum intensionem, sed additionem. 23. Quando. Est quod ex adiacentia temporis in re temporali derelinquitur: non suscipit magis et minus, nec contrarium. 24. Pati. Est effectus, illatioque agentis. infertur enim ex actione, et est in patiente tanquam in subiecto. 25. Qualitas. Accidens absolutum adjunctum omni substantiae creatae ad perficiendam eam intrinsece, vel in operando, vel in existendo, eius quatuor sunt bimenbres species, habitus et dispositio, naturalis potentia et impotentia, passio et patibilis qualitas, forma et figura. suscipit contrarium. magis et minus. ab ea simile vel dissimile dicitur.

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26. Quantitas Est extensio partium in ordine ad se. alia continua, alia discreta. continua alia permanens, alia successiva. continuae permanentis species, linea, superficies, et corpus. successivae, motus et tempus, discretae numerus, et oratio. proprietates, divisibilitas, finitum aut infinitum, ab ea aequale aut inaequale dici, et mensurabilitas. 27. Entia finita, ut Angeli, et Coeli [sic pro Caeli]. 28. Infinitas, prioritas, simplicitas. 29. Ens infinitum. 30. Completa. 31. Carentia compleitatis. 32. Entia incompleta. 33. Entia per se. 34. Carentia perseitatis. 35. Entia per accidens. 36.

Incomplexa.

37.



Impedit complexeitas.

38.

Entia complexa

39.

Entia realia.

40.

Carentia realitatis.

41. 42.



Ens rationis est quod non habet entitatem, apprehenditur tamen, ab intellectu ad modum entis. Aliud est fictitium, aliud fundatum. Hoc triplex, negatio, privatio, et relatio. a phantasia et intellectu solum humano fieri potest. Intentio alia 1a, alia 2a, utraque alia formalis, alia obiectiva, sola 2a, obiectiva est ens rationis. Univoca quorum nomen commune est, et ratio substantiae eadem.

43. Carentia unitatis naturae. 44.

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Aequivoca quorum nomen commune est, et ratio substantiae diversa.

45. Segment 3 1.

Analoga quorum nomen commune est, et ratio substantiae partim eadem, partim diversa.

SECVNDA MENTIS OPERATIO.

2. Divisio oratio qua totum in suas partes distribuitur multiplex secundumque multiplicitatem totius. 3. Nomen vox ex instituto significans sine tempore, cuius nulla pars seorsim significat, finita, et recta. 4. Excluduntur infinita 5. Excluduntur obliqua. 6. Signa naturalia. 7. Oratio, vox significans ex instituto, cuius pars seorsim significat, ut dictio. 8. Non enuntiativa ne[c] verum nec falsum significans. 9.

Verbum vox ex instituto significans cum tempore, cuius nulla pars seorsim significat, finita, et recta. estque eorum quae de altero dicuntur nota.

10.

Verbum in praepositionibus de 3o est copula non praedicatum

11.

Omne verbum in praepositionibus de 2o adiace[n]te est praedicatum.

12. 13. 14.

In praepositionibus necessariis de 3o absoluitur a tempore determinato In praepositionibus de 2o adiacente, et in contingentibus de 3o verbum significat tempus determinatum. Enuntiativa verum vel falsum significans.

15. modalis. 16. absoluta. 17. Tres sunt mentis operationes. prima simplicium apprehensio. 2a. enuntiatio. 3a. discursus. sola 2a est obiectum huius partis. enuntiatio alia formalis, alia obiectiva.

221 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

18. Formalis est actio intellectus affirmant[is] aut negantis unum de alio. obiectiva. est artificiosum mentis opus constans ex conceptu attributi, subiecti, et connexionis, que est, vel non est inter utrumque. neutra est ens rationis. 19.

Proprietates propositionum veritas et falsitas complexa. prior est conformitas intellectus cum re intellecta. posterior, difformitas eiusdem cum re intellecta.

20.

Oppositio, quae est duarum propositionum absolutarum eodem subiecto et praedicato constantium, repugnantia. aequipollentia, qua una aequivalet alteri. conversio quam una vertitur in aliam.

21.

Duarum propositionum de futuro contingenti, una est determinate vera, et altera determinate falsa.

Segment 4 (continued)3 .



TERTIA MENTIS OPERATIO.

4. Syllogismus oratio in qua quibusdam positis aliud quiddam ab his quae posita sunt, necessario sequitur, eo quod haec sunt. eius materia sunt tres propositiones: conclusio n[ecessario] est pars syllogismi. forma essentialis est judicium illaturum. accidentaria est figura et modus. figura est apta medii et extremorum dispositio. tres admittuntur. quarta galeni reiicitur. modus est dispositio propositionum secundum quantitatem et qualitatem essentialem. sunt undeviginti, qui ad quatuor directos primae figurae certa quadam methodo reducuntur. 5. Argumentatio, oratio in qua unum ex alio infertur. 6. Inductio 7. Exempla 8. enthimema 9. Demonstratio syllogismus faciens scire. 10. Univoce 11. Medium potissimae demonstrationis, deffinitio subiecti. 12. A priori 13. ex veris 14.

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non stat cum fide

15.

non cum op

inione

16. primis 17. rei necessariae 18. per propriam causam 19. immediatis 20. certa 21. et evidens 22. notioribus 23. scientia 24. notitia 25. Non datur circulus. 26. A posteriori 27.

Subalternatio oritur ex fine. obiecto, et principiis

28.

Datur regressus a posteriori ad prius

29. obiectum est unum universale. 30. continens omnia virtualiter. 31. univocum et reale. 32.

practicum et specul[ativum]

33.

non differentiae sed propriae

34.

Subalternans

35.

Subalternata.

36.

ab obiecto formali

37.

scientiae specificantur

38. prioribus 39.

scientia non est reminiscentia

40. necessariis 41. non species intelligibiles propriis 42. 43.

est una specifice non infime [?]

44. perpetuis

223 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

45.

certitudo et evidenter non ei essentialis

46. causativusque conclusionis 47. Speculativa priores practicis 48. Non datur circulus 49. Locus argumenti est sedes et receptaculum unde argumenta erui possunt: suntque viginti. novem intrinseci. et undecim extrinseci. 50. Loci extrinseci sunt a causa efficiente et finali, et effectu extrinseco, majori et minori, authoritate divina vel humana, a simili, dissimili, repugantibus, contrariis, et disparatis. 51. Loci intrinseci sunt a deffinitione, genere, differentia, materia et forma, partibus integrantibus, toto, descriptione, proprietate, accidente, et subiecto rei.

52. Dialectici eruunt argumenta probabilia.

53. Syllogismus topicus pariens op

inionem 54. Argumentum dialecticum probabile inventum ad faciendam fidem. 55. ex probabilibus 56. incertus 57. et dubius 58. ex probabilibus 59. habitus 60. mentis 61. op

inio 62.

Finis sophistarum est decipere: quod ut faciant respondentem ad quinque metas redigere conantur, scilicet redargutionem, falsum, paradoxum, soloecismum, nugationem.

63.

Syllogismus sophisticus gignens errorem.

64.

hi consistunt in verbis

65. ambiguitatis 66. aequivocationis

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67. compositionis 68. divisionis figurae dictionis

69.

70. accentus 71.

hi in rebus

72. accidentis 73.

a dicto simpliciter ad sedque quid

74.

ignorationis elenchi

75. consequentis 76.

petitionis principii

77.

non causae ut causa

78.

multiplicis interrogationis

79.

ex falsis

80. error 81.

ex falsis

82. habitus 83. falsus 84. mentis 85. semper

225 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

II. Clara totius physiologiae synopsis Transcription of the text from the impression of the Synopsis held by the BnF in Paris (Cabinet des Estampes, AA4) (fig. 195). Segment 8 (title only) 1.

CLARA TOTIVS PHYSIOLOGIAE SYNOPSIS.

Segment 1 1. Parisiis apud J[oannes] Messager via Jacobea, sub signo spei.



Cum privilege Regis

L[éonard] Gaultier incidit. 1615.

2. LVDOVICO XIII. GALLIARVM ET NAVARRAE CHRISTIANISSIMO REGI: SALVTEM. 3. Altissimo fortunae nostrae principi, naturae principia dicamus. Ortus nostri faecundo Genio, physicos ortus offerimus. Nostri corporis animae praecellenti, physici corporis actum vovemus. Spiritui nostram molem animanti, spiritum artificem damus. Caelo in corda nostra perenniter influenti, caelos expandimus. Deo nostro mortali Deum immortalem Regum rectorem donamus. Hanc denique orbis compaginem inuictissimi, Regis sacris altaribus appendimus. Quod si Reges regnare decet, et philosophari: corda damus, quibus vestra sacra Majestas imperet, hocque naturae theatrum ex[h]ibemus, in quo regni curas aliquantulum intermittens, philosophetur interim crescat, vivat, valeat. 4. Haec cum universo fratrum Minorum Gallorum coetu, praedicatur Reg[is] Majest[atis] humill[imi] subditus Fr[ater] M[artinus] Meurisse. Segment 4 1.

De hac Thesi respondebunt fratres physici, a prima die Pentecostes ad ultimam usque octavarum inclusive in scholis philosophicis fratrum minorum Parisiensium anno Domini M. DC. XV.

2. Scoti Doctoris subt[ilis] effigies. 3. Physica est vere scientia speculativa. 4. Naturae vires subtili dogmate pando. Me sequitur verum qui docet atque colit. 5.

Frater Martinus Meurisse Baccalaureus Parisiensis, et Physicorum regens, licentia superiorum gratiaque discipulorum in lucem emisit.

6.

Physices obiectum est substantia corporea ut naturalis.

7. Segment 2

1.

Naturae causas (Juvenes) duce discite Scoto: Quo spreto sophiam nullus adire potest.

Tria sunt generationis rerum naturalium principia, eaque prima, interna, et incomplexa, materia, scilicet forma, et privatio. Deffiniuntur quae neque ex se ipsis, neque ex aliis, sed ex ipsis omnia fiunt: Rei vero genitae duo, materia, et forma, deffiniuntur ex quibus primo, per se et non per accidens, res naturales componuntur, horum quaedam sunt contraria, alia vero non.

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segment 8

segment 7

segment 6

segment 5 segment 4

segment 3

segment 2

segment 1 figure 195  The eight segments of the Synopsis, 1615. BnF,

Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA4].

segment 4

2. Terra erat inanis et vacua. Tenebrae erant super faciem abyssi. 3.

MATERIA

4. Datur materia, eaque duplex prima et secunda quae est substantia non tamen corpus de praedicamento substantiae. negative dicitur nec quid nec quantum nec quale nec aliquid horum quibus ens determinatur. Affirmative rei cuiusque subiectum primum, ex quo insito non ex accidenti quidpiam est aut oritur et in quod si quidpiam interit, ultimum abit. est potentia non quidem obiectiva cum includat actus existentiae et subsistentiae independenter a forma sine qua supernaturaliter esse non repugnat. Proprietates sunt unitas non generica nec numerica sed specifica Potentia et appetitus ad formas praeteritas praesentes et possibiles, etiam in particulari et cognoscibilitas, qua per se cognoscibilis est. Eius causalitas est sustentare formam et esse id ex quo compositum tanquam ex parte intrinseca componatur. 5.

PRIVATIO

6. Datur privatio, eaque multiplex, generalis et particularis, quae non est purum nihil, nec ens rationalis, nec entitas realis positiva, sed negativo formae naturalis in sub[iec]to apto ad illam recipiendam, est tamen principium per se generationis, non est unica numero in materia, a qua non sola ratione distinguitur. 7.

FORMA

8. Datur forma, quae universim dividitur in substantialem, et accidentalem, prior in assistentem, et informantem, haec rursus in separabilem, et inseparabilem. diciturque actus substantialis, simplex, materiam vel corpus informans, ac simul cum ea corpus naturale essentialiter componens. Nihil eius praeest in materia ante eductionem, sed simpliciter omnis forma substantialis de sinu materiae educitur. si animam rationalem excipias, quod de accidentariis dicito, si intentionales excipias et supernaturales; nam priores de potentia medii, et facultatum producuntur. aliae vero creantur formae substantiali materiali in composito[.] non competit subsistentia, spiritali sic. proprietates eius, sed non omnis, inseparabilitas naturalis a materia, posse suscipere magis et minus, esse priorem et nobiliorem materia, generabilem et corruptibilem et principium distinctivum compositi. porro nec una forma plures informare materias, nec una materia a pluribus informari formis potest. Eius causalitas est ut actuet materiam, et ut pars perfectiva totum determinate componat. Segment 3 1. Terra et aqua efficiunt unum globum sphericae figurae. est terra in medio mundi, immobilis, et centrum respectu coeli [sic pro caeli]. eius ambitus est 19080. milliarium diameter 6070. et semidiameter 3035. milliarium, ab eius superficie ad centrum 3035. milliar[ium], ad concavum vero lunae 106002. milliaria, porro milliare est dimidia pars leucae communis.

2. Datur natura, eaque duplex, materia et forma estque principium motus et quietis eius in quo inest primo et per se et non ex accidenti, cui duplici naturae ex aequo convenit ratio principii, sed passivi tantum. 3. 228

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Ars perficit et imitatur naturam cum qua discrepat, et convenit, non tamen ita ut opus naturae propria vi moliri queat, nisi applicando activa passivis.

4. Datur generatio substantialis; estque mutatio totius in totum, nullo subiecto sensibili remanente. est vera actio momentanea tria includens, eductionem, unitionem, et productionem totius compositi; in qua productione consistit eius ratio. eius subiectum materia prima. Generatio viventium stricte sumpta dicitur processio viventis a principio vitae coniuncto, secundum rationem similitudinis saltem in specie infima, ex vi productionis: eius terminus non forma sed compositum, in quo non sunt tot formae quot essentialia praedicata, in homine[.] non sunt tres animae. in viventibus datur forma mixti multiplex secundum multiplicitatem partium heterogenearum. Vterque parens active concurrit ad generationem submininstrando semen quod non vivit, in quo tamen est vis formatrix, et ex quo coagmentatur foetus, Capilli, ungues, humores, spiritus vitales, et animales non vivunt. 5 .

Alteratio est motus physicus qui inter contrarias qualitates passibiles versatur, habens per se successionem continuatam per quaedem indivisibilia. intensio autem qualitatum fit per additionem gradus ad gradum, qui quidem gradus sunt eiusdem perfectionis. in omnibus qualitatibus datur maximum et minimum quod sic accidentia materialia haerent composito, eadem quandoque genito et corrupto. non semper accidens haeret substantiae.

6.

Nutritio est productio partialis substantiae viventis ex conversione substantiali alimenti. augmentatio est acquisitio majoris quantitatis ex substantiali conversione alimenti. differunt quia nutritio est instantanea, et accretio successiva, nutritio toto tempore vitae durat, accretio non. Manet semper idem numero quod augetur, una quaeque pars aucti augeri debet. Rarefac­- tio fit per acquisitionem novae quantitatis, et condensatio per deperditionem unde condensatio et rarefactio terminantur per se primo ad quantitatem implicat parvum corpus cui nihil materiae vel quantitatis additur fieri magnum sine rarefactione.

7. Actio est in agente et passio in patiente ut in subiecto. datur reactio resistentia provenit ex deffectu virtutis moventis. Nihil agit in omnino sibi simile. Omne quod patitur debet esse divisibile. Actio semper procedit a proportione majoris inaequalitatis. Idem potest agere in se ipsum et in passum distans, non agendo in medium. 8. Datur mixtio, estque mixtorum alteratorum unio: distincta a generatione. Elementa non manent in mixto secundum suas formas substantiales: nec eorum virtutes seu qualitates formaliter et per se, in eodem mixto reperiuntur. 9. Corruptio est mutatio ab esse substantiali formae in materia, ad non esse eiusdem. Corruptio unius est generatio alterius. Non intenditur per se a natura. in ea fit resolutio usque ad materiam primam. 10.

Datur elementum, estque illud in quod alia corpora dividuntur, quod inest potentia, aut actu, ipsum autem est indivisibile in diversa specie; quatuor sunt figura prope spherica, quodlibet, elementum ex quolibet, facilius tamen ex symbolo progignitur. Primarum qualitatum una in singulis summum gradum tuetur. altera remissiorem absque tamen admixtione contrarii. qualitates contrariae possunt reperiri in eodem subiecto remisse, imo et divinitus intense. Quatuor primae qualitates non sunt formae substantiales elementorum.

11.

CORPVS NATVRALE ex naturis constans, effectus materiae et formae, a quibus realiter distinguitur, est subiectum physicae.

12.

Omne ens est in loco vel repletive, vel deffinitive, vel circumscriptive.

2 29 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

1 3.

Datur locus, alius communis, alius proprius, et dicitur extrema superficies ambientis corporis, immobilis prima.

14.

Vnum corpus in pluribus locis, et duo in uno esse non repugnat.

15.

Quaedam accidentia competerent corpori utrobique existenti, sed non omnia.

16.

Dari potest vacuum, non quidem naturali virtute, nec Angelica, sed duntaxat divina, in quo motus fieri posset, etiam successivus.

17.

Continuum constat partibus actu in ipso existentibus semper divisibilibus non constat ex punctis indivisibilibus, quae tamen sunt in continuo. non ut entia mere negativa, infinitum dari non potest.

18.

Datur duratio, estque existentia rei continuata, est triplex, aeternitas, aevum, quarum rationes assignabimus, et tempus, quod est numerus motus secundum prius et posterius. non pendet ab intellectu. non distinguitur a motu in eo non est unum instans. res quaelibet permanens aevo, successiva vero tempore mensuratur, unde negamus aeternitatem principatam et tempus discretum.

19.

Ad tria praedicamenta est motus ad ubi, quantitatem, et qualitatem.

20.

Motus distinguitur re a mobili, et a termino ad quem. non specificatur a terminis, qui duo sunt; individuatur tamen a mobili, termino, et tempore.

21.

Proiectum non movetur a generante in puncto reflexionis non datur semper quies. Punctum moveri potest. movens potest movere mobile distans.

22.

Motus est actus entis in potentia ut in potentia.

Segment 5 1. Librorum de anima subiectum est eadem anima,



cuius consideratio ad physicum spectat. deffinitur actus primus substantialis, corporis physici organici, potentia vitam habentis, vel principium quo primo vivimus, et sentimus, et

230

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movemur, et intelligimus. prior deffinitio est quidditativa, et univoca omnibus animalibus; hinc anima rationalis est vere forma informans posterior est tamen descriptiva, qua prior demonstratur a posteriori. Tres sunt tamen species animarum, quatuor gradus animatorum, et quinque genera potentiarum, vegetativa, sensitiva et intellectiva[;] non sunt tres animae sed unica in homine sola rationalis[;] est indivisibilis unde est tota in toto et tota in qualibet parte corporis omnes rationales animae non sunt aequalis perfectionis essentialis.

2. Virtus motiva datur distincta a corde et phantasia et in animali perfecto residet in extrema cerebri parte et dicitur progresssiva. 3. [Virtus] Volativa in avibus 4. [Virtus] Natativa in piscibus 5. [Virtus] Reptitiva in serpentibus 6. Tres sunt facultates animae rationalis, intellectus, voluntas, et memoria, inter se, et ab anima distinctae. formaliter intellectus alter agens, alter possibilis, una est tamen realiter facultas, requirens necessario species intelligibiles ad intelligendum, quas producit speculando phantasmata. obiectum adaequatum intellectus est ens ex natura potentiae, pro hoc statu autem[.] quidditas rei sensibilis, prium cognitum est[;] species atoma singulare est per se cognoscibile[,] subiectiva materialis et immaterialis[;] non cognoscitur pro hoc statu, proprio conceptu quidditativo. voluntas movet intellectum, vicissimque movetur ab ipso. movet appetitum sensitivum, et vicissim movetur ab eo, qui duplex est Concupiscibilis in quo, amor, odium, desiderium, fuga, delectatio, tristitia, et irascibilis in quo, spes, desperatio, audacia, timor, et ira, memoria est facultas conservativa specierum praeteritorum ut praeteritorum. 7. Unicus est sensus internus, qui propter varios actus et officia sensus communis, imaginativa, phantasia, cogitativa, et memorativa nuncupatur. qui non modo sensationes externorum sensuum, sed et propriam sensationem cognoscit de quibus aliquod iudicium ferre potest[;] operatur per species intentionales alterius rationis a speciebus sensus externi, productas ab obiecto eiusdem sensus externi. Eius sedes cerebrum. 8.

231 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

Quinque sunt sensus externi, qui simul cum obiectis vel speciebus eorum tanquam causis minus principalibus producunt sensationes; hinc non omnino passivi sunt. species sensibiles sunt formales similitudines obiectorum obiectum sensibile debet esse quantum sensibile tamen proprium indivisibili modo existens. potentia Dei



absoluta sensu percipi potest. sensibile commune per propriam speciem sensum immutat, circa quod sensum plus contingit errare, quam circa sensibile proprium. Duo sunt oculi, una tamen potentia visiva in illis residens, cuius actus visio, quae fit per emissionem speciei ab obiecto in ipsam. Color est obiectum adaequatum visus, qui videtur mediante lumine, quod est qualitas realis et physica, et non intentionalis, requisita ex parte medii tantum ad videndum. Duae aures, unica tamen auditiva facultas in illis residens, cuius obiectum sonus, qui est qualitas successiva, distincta a motu aeris resilientis, recepta in medio, et non in corporibus sonantibus, cuius species per aerem multiplicata, pervenit ad auditum, ut fiat auditio. quid vox, quid echo, petentibus assignabitur. Olfactus habet pro organo processus mammillares. pro obiecto odorem, qui est qualitas quaedam per se sensibilis, immutans sensorium olfactus intentionaliter. Gustus residet in cuspide linguae, cuius obiectum sapor immutans sensum per speciem sui. Tactus est in toto corpore, cuius obiectum qualitates tangibiles, quae illum immutant tum per species intentionales, tum secundum esse reale.

9.

Tres sunt potentiae vegetantis animae: nutritiva, auctiva et generativa, inter se, et ab anima formaliter distinctae, a qua eas repugnat separari, per eamdem actionem cum ipsa productae. quarum specifica distinctio nec ab actibus, nec ab obiectis petenda quod de ceteris potentiis vitalibus iudicato. Nutritiva non est calor naturalis nec temperamentum sed superior qualitas calore et temperamento utens, ad disponendum alimentum, et illud convertendum in substantiam aliti. eius quatuor administrae potentiae, attractiva, retentiva, concoctrix, expulsiva. Auctiva est qua idem numero vivens ex imperfecta quantitate, perducitur ad majorem suae naturae debitam. Generatrix qua vivens generare potest sibi simile. Nulla subiacet imperio rationis.

Segment 6 1. Fulmen

Fulgur est repentina coruscatione orta ab exhalatione accensa. fulmen ipsamet[?] ignita exhalatio e nube magno impetu excussa, quae dum exitum quaerens, nubem disrumpit, et sonum efficit, tenitrum dicitur. 2. Manna. Manna fit cum vapor viscosus in rorem dulcem resolutus herbis adhaerens. solis calore decoquitur aquositas confumitur, et reliquum ad modum farinae albae in foliis relinquitur.

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3. Pruina Pruina fit ex vapore modico noctu a terra elevato. habens admixtas terrenas ex[h]alationes est terrae frugibus noxia. 4. Tempus serenum Tempus adest serenum cum aer omnibus impressionibus superioribus existit purgatus. 5. Ros. Ros fit cum vapor modicus noctu paudulum a terra evehitur qui cum non possit defectu caloris altius elevari in minutissimas guttulas resoluitur[;] per calorem dissipatur[;] per frigus concrescit fitque gelu. 6. Pluvia Pluvia est aqua in qua nubes calore solis, et aliarum nubium collisione convertitur ac resolvitur huc spectant imbres, nimbi etc. 7. Nix. Nix fit et candida cum nubes prae vehementi frigiditate in media regione aeris priusquam in aquam solvatur gelascit. 8. Grando Grando est pluvia aeris per quem decidit frigore congelata praesupponens nubem in pluviam resolutam. 9. Glacies Glacies est aqua congelata idque ob admixtionem quarumdam exhalationum adiuncto extrinseco ventorum frigore. 10. Ventus non est solus aer commotus, sed ex[h]alationem calidam et siccam habet pro materia quarum ratione intransversum fertur. 11. Nubes est vapor in magna copia ad mediam usque aeris regionem calore solis evectus ibique compactus a frigore. nebula est vapor modificate densus, et calidus, in infima aeris regione existens. 12. Iris est arcus multicolor in nube rorida partim translucida partim opaca et concava ex radiorum solis oppositi repercussione apparens oculis spectantium[.] 13.

233 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

32 statuuntur quorum qualitates secundum loca variae. Tria tempestatum genera Ecnephias Typhon et prester.

14. Meteora imperfecta fiunt in aeris suprema, vel media, vel infima regione quorum quaedam sunt ignita, alia humida, alia sicca, omnium materia vapor qui est halitus quidam calidus et humidus ex ipsa aqua proveniens, nec essentia ab ipsa differens vel exhalatio quae est halitus terrae calidus et siccus perfecte mixta quae fiunt in aqua et terra petentibus assignabuntur. Segment 7 1. EFFICIENS

SPIRITVS SANCTVS OMNIVM ARTIFEX

2. SPIRITVS DOMINI FEREBATVR SVPER AQVAS 3. De igne fatuo, Castore, Polluce, et Helena, aerisque variis coloribus, dicetur aliquid petentibus. 4.

Cometa fit ex exhalatione calida, sicca, et unctuosa, calore solis ad supremam aeris regionem evecta, quae ignem concipit et ad motum aëris circum volvitur. pro varia figura dividitur in crinitum barbatum et caudatum.

5. Datur causa exemplaris. 6. interna una, externa alia. 7. est forma quam imitatur effectus 8. ex intentione agentis finem proponentis. 9. reducitur ad causam efficientem. 10. eius causalitas actio directa in finem. 11. in mente divina et creata reperitur 12. non ut conceptus formalis sed obiectivus. 13. Datur casus et fortuna. 14. non purum nihil, nec inania[?], 15. sed causae secundae per accidens 16. Fortuna[?] et casus[?] per accidens. 17.

Deus agit cum creaturis immediate

18.

immediate[?] omne[?] virtutis et suppositi.

19.

Res infra Deum proprie agunt.

20.

Instrumentum agit virtute agentis praecipui

21.

non semper dispositive agit in effectum.

22. 23.

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habet tamen aliquid proprium ratione cuius assumitur ab agente praecipuo[?].

24. 25. 26. 27.

Id non est actio proportionata effectui, nec qualitas ipsi impressa. Accidens accidens tamem producit; Substantia substantiam et accidens[.]

28. in his 29. quae per electionem 30. alicuius gratia et raro fiunt. 31. Casus et causa[?] per accidens. 32. in his quae extra deliberationem 33. raro et propter finem fuit 34. Respectu[?] Dei nullus ex his effectus. 35. Fatum et rebus inhaerens dispositio, 36. iuxta quam providentia 37. suis quaeque nectit ordinibus. 38. Divina prudentia non obest libertati 39. Concordat cum futuris contingentibus. 40. 41.

Datur causa efficiens. alia physica, alia moralis.

42.

prior, alia praecipua.

43.

alia instrumentalis,

44

praecipua dicitur id unde est

45.

primum principium mutati[?]

46.

omnis[?] aut quietis.

47.

eius causalitas adeaquata actio.

48. 49. 50. 51.

omnium[?] praecipua[?] Deus. eius concursus[?] absolute et creationis[?], non purus ad earum actionem, ex ipsa earum actione[?].

52. Datur ignis elementaris supra aerem collocatus eiusdem speciei cum nostro, et infernali. 53. Datur aer sub igne in tres regiones commode distributus, eiusdem speciei, aliqua tamen ratione differentes. 54. Sol non movetur in epicyclo. 55.

235 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

Luna movetur in epicyclo.

56. Datur Caelum distinctae naturae a mixtis, et elementis, simplex corpus ex physicis, ex materia eiusdem speciei cum sublunari, et forma constans ex Theologis, non animatum, proindeque viventibus ignobilius, in orbem irrequieto motu circumactum non a propria forma sed ab intelligentiis, cuius tamen motus neuter bene dixit Doctor subtilis, quo non efficitur concentus, qui et si cessaret, non cessarent tamen protinus[?] a suis actionibus sublunaria, in quae influit mediis motu et lumine. omnium sublunarium[;] non est causa[?] universalis[?] nullorum animalium im[m]o nec imperfectorum (eiusdem speciei cum his quae a similibus procreantur) causa est particularis. noscant Astrologi syderum ortus, eclypses etc. probabiliter morbos, frigora, tempestates, eos perpetuo latebunt humani sensus animi. 57. Denarius Caelorum sphericae figurae numerus, ex variis colligitur motibus, quorum abitus, Crassities, intervalla, et motuum periodi petenti dicentur. Horum partes solidiores et lucidiores[;] astra non per se moventur, quare dandi concentrici et excentrici, ex 1022[?] stellis distinctius in firmamento apparentibus. 48 constellationes oriuntur. Boreales 21. Australes 15. et Zodiaci 12. Empyreum beatorum sedes additur alterius conditionalis[?], quod in sublunaria non influit.

Segment 8 (continued) 2. Mundus ab aeterno forte possibilis, mense martio, sole in ariete existente, sumpsit exordium per creationem nulli creaturae communicabilem, quae creatio non est forma absoluta, non influxus receptus in creaturis, non mutatio proprie dicta, non actio, sed respectus creantis ad res creatas.

3.

Mundi causa materialis, partes sunt ex quibus coalescit, formalis earum dispositio, finalis non ultimatio[?], ultima vero et efficiens, Deus, plures alios mundos dari non repugnat isto profectiores[?] multis modis, non tamen in perfectione specierum essentiali; hunc tamen unum quamvis non probemus, credimus.

4. Beatitudo obiectiva non consistit in bonis animi, corporis, aut fortunae. 5. Anima beata. 6. Beatitudo est status ominum bonorum aggregatione perfectus. non est tamen habitus aliquis, sed potius operatio, non quidem cuiuscumque facultatis formaliter, sed voluntatis praecise, scilicet fruitio. praecedente tamen intellectus actione ad eam necessario praerequisita. quod de beatitudine alterius vitae maxime dicendum est, unde sequitur illam non esse illapsum Dei in animam beati. Homo poterat beari in puris naturalibus. non potest tamen post lapsum in hac vita beatitudinem habere perfectam, sed tantum in altera, in qua beatitudinem, quam naturaliter appetierat in via, consequetur.

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7. Deus opt[imus] max[imus] ultimus et optimus humanarum actionum finis, quippe propter quem, omnia quae volumus, appetimus, unus est, quia plures non sunt ultimi fines. movet utilitatem[?] qua[n]dam[?] eius praesupposita notitia. finis agentium naturalium proprie causa est. iste proprie causa, principium, et efficiens existit, cuius finis causalitas est agentis actio illius ergo elicita. 8. FINIS. 9. 10. 11. 12.

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Cum finis et bonum convertantur: iste finis optimus est sum[m]um bonum. bonum dicitur quod est alteri conveniens, describitur et id quod omnia appetunt. cui proinde omni et soli competit appetibilitas. ideo Deus valde conveniens et appetibilis, et solum obiectum nostrae beatitudinis, tum, naturalis tum supernaturalis, tum, huius viae (si quae fit) tum alterius. Anima rationalis per separationem a corpore, nullam imperfectionem consequitur, im[m]o longe majoribus potitur deliciis[?]. Triplici perfectissime gaudet operandi facultate, intellectu, quo non mortales[?] aliquando sibi notas per species acquisitas in via, cognoscere potest: verum et per species a rebus corporeis de novo mutuatas, earundem rerum tum intuitivam, tum abstractivam cognitionem consequi valet. nec tamen sensibilium, sed et intelligibilium et universim omnis entis creati, cogitationum etiam cordis notitiam naturaliter acquirere potest. gaudet insuper intellectiva memoria qua eorum quae novit unita corpori, recordari queat. voluntate tandem potitur, qua summum bonum diligere valeat. Anima separata. Anima separata nec per se, nec per accidens, caelorum influxibus, elementorum iniuriis, et corporeo carceri non subest.

iii. Laurus metaphysica Transcription of the text from the impression of the Laurus metaphysica held by the BnF in Paris (Cabinet des Estampes, AA4, fig. 196). Segment 1 1.

LAVRVS METAPHYSICA.

2. Illustriss[imo] nobilissimoque viro D[omino] D[omino] Nicolao de Verdun Equiti, amplissimique ordinis principi sacrata. 3. Arborum principe, scientiarum principem adumbratam supremi senatus principi dico et offero; et aere quidem incisam, quia non aere, nec marmore solum, sed et foelici Gallorum, et perpetua totius orbis memoria, semper honos, nomenque suum, laudesque manebunt. 4. Segment 2 1. Cum privilegio Regis.

frater Martinus Meurisse. J[oannes] Messager excudit.

L[éonard] Gaultier incidit.

(only part of segment)

Segment 3 1. Fr[ater] M[artinus] Meurisse minor, (only part of segment)

baccalaureus parisiensis in lucem edidit. Anno Domini. 1616.

Segment 2 (continued) 2.

Physica suas irrigat radices primi motoris, aeterni, infiniti etc. ex foecundis metaphysicae profluviis. 3.

Moralis haurit ex iisdem metaphysicae rivis, generales rationes actuum, habituum, et potentiarum suarum.

4. Segment 3 (continued)2 .

Logica haurit ex fontibus metaphysices suarum secundarum intentionum fundamenta.

INCOMPLEXAE. COMPLEXAE.

3. Vnum est proprietas entis cum eo reciproca, addens supra ens aliquid reale, positivum, formaliter distinctum ab ipso. unitas quantitativa et cathegorica quae oritur ex divisione continui, non est huius negotii, sed transcendens orta ex divisione essentiarum, aut individuorum: unde duplex est, formalis, et numerica: formalis, alia generica propria naturae genericae, quae non patitur divisionem in plura genera, alia specifica propria speciei quae non patitur divisionem in plures species: numerica tandem est qua aliquid est unum numero, estque omnium maxima. principium individuationis cuiusque rei est ultima realitas naturae specificae, primo diversa a quacumque alia, per se determinans naturam specificam ad esse individui. 4. Verum est passio entis, est autem veritas duplex; rei, quae est conformitas rei ad suam ideam; et cognitionis, quae est conformitas intellectus ad obiectum. Veritas est in intellectu formaliter, in rebus fundamentaliter, et in voce vel scripto repraesentative, falsitas ex veritate dignoscitur. 238

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figure 196  The four segments of the Laurus metaphysica, 1616.

BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA4].

5. Bonum est proprietas entis. est autem bonitas convenientia rei ad aliud: unde formaliter consistit in respectu. malitia, disconvenientia rei ad aliud. 6. Eadem ratione, quae habent conceptum omnino indistinctum ex parte rei, et intellectus. 7. Ratione distincta, quae distinguntur praecise per actum collativum intellectus. 8. Eadem ex natura rei, de quibus duo praedicata contradictoria verificari non possunt. 9. Distincta ex natura rei, ex contra. 10. Eadem formaliter, quando unum est idem alteri in sua ratione formali per se, et primo. 11. Distincta formaliter, quae habent aliam et aliam formalitatem. 12. Eadem realiter sunt quorum unum sine co[n]tradictione non potest existere sine alio. 13. Distincta e contra, si non sint relata vel dicant necessariam habitudinem ad se invicem. 14. Eadem essentialiter, quae identificantur uni essentiae singularissimae. 15. Distincta, quae habent distinctas essentias. 16. Eadem subiective, quae quidditative conveniunt in aliqua realitate potentiali contrahibili 17. per realitatem differentiae. Distincta, quae e contra. 18. Eadem se totis obiective, de quibus potest praedicari aliquod praedicatum quidditative, sive limitatum 19. sit sive transcendens. Distincta, e contra. 20.

Contingentia est qua res mutabiliter se habet, ut contingens rarum piscatorem retibus apprehendere tabulam auream.

21. 22. 240

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Necessitas entis est proprietas qua ens se habet eodem modo, et immutabiliter. duplex est praesertim, metaphysica qua Deus simpliciter est necessarius, et physica, qua res naturaliter est necessaria, ut hominem esse animal rationale. Potentia est triplex, activa, passiva naturalis, et neutra. activa est principium quo aliquid transmutat aliud. passiva naturalis principium quo aliquid ab alio transmutatur conformiter naturae. neutra, indifferenter, ut ea quae est in superficie respectu albedinis, et nigredinis. additur obiectalis, qua aliquid potest recipere formam ab agente supernaturali, ad quam habet solam capacitatem sine appetitu naturali.

23.

Actus est proprietas entis qua unum ens dicitur aut esse in se perfectum, aut aliud perficere. alius subsistens, alius informans, informans alius substantialis, alius accidentalis.

24. Distinctio virtualis non habet fundamentum. 25. Subtilis Doctor princeps utriusque Minervae. Quos cumulas fructus, divite trade manu. 26. F[rater] G[uillelmus] de Rubione. F[rater] A[ntonius] Andreas. F[rater] F[ranciscus] de Mayronis F[rater] G[uillelmus] Ocham. F[rater] J[oannes] de Bassolis. S[anctus] Bonaventura. F[rater] Alexander de Ales. 27. 28.

H[enri] Gandensis Doct[or] Sorb[onnensis] Angelicus Doctor Celsi penetravit Abyssum: Panderet ut factis, nomine quod referat. Suarez. Caietanus. Aegidius Romanus. De Bacone. Ens habet principia

29. Proprietates entis fluunt a principiis intrinsecis eiusdem. 30. Principia incomplexa. 31. Existentia est modus essentiae, quo ipsa existit in rerum natura, distinctus formaliter ab ipsa. 32. Inhaerentia est modus accidentarius, quo res existit dependenter ab altera ut subjecto. non est de essentia accidentis. 33. Subsistentia est modus substantialis per quem res existit independenter ab alia; non est de essentia substantiae. suppositalitas dicit subsistentiam incommunicabilem, quae in natura intelligente, personalitas est. 34. Entitas est modus essentiae, per quem res vel sunt divisibiles, vel indivisibiles, licet ratione essentiae sint indivisibiles. 35. Essentia est id quo res constituitur in determinata specie entis, \et/ distinguitur ab aliis rebus essentialiter, estque radix proprietatum. 36. 37. 241 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

Principium complexum. Principium complexum primo primum est: Ens est ens. ex quo deducuntur: Impossibile est idem esse. et non esse: De quolibet affirmatio et negatio. etc.

38.

Ens est aequivocum ad ens reale, et ens rationis.

39.

Ens reale est quod habet veram realitatem distinctam a nihilo, et independentem ab opere intellectus. cuius conceptus obiectivus unus est, praecisus a conceptibus inferiorum, et ab ipsis formaliter distinctus. Ens rationis est quod vere nullam habens entitatem apprehenditur ab intellectu ad modum entis. duplex est fictitium ut Chymera, et fundatum triplex:

40.

41.

Privatio, carentia formae in subiecto apto. Caecitas.

42.

Negatio, quae est carentiae formae in subiecto non apto. Negatio nigredinis. Negatio albedinis.

43.

Relatio, quae est secunda intentio, relicta in re ex prima.

44.

Ens iterum minus praecipue partitur in unum et multa: ens actu, et potentia: simpliciter, et secundum quid: in rem, et modum rei. etc.

Segment 4 1. Ens respectivum, quod est formaliter ad aliud. ut paternitas, et filiatio.

2. Relationes creatae sunt in multiplici differentia, de quibus in logicis. 3 Tres sunt relationes divinae subsistentes 4. Paternitas. Filiatio. Spiratio passiva. 5.

Ens absolutum, quod ad aliud formaliter non refertur, ut Deus, attributa essentialia, et tria priora genera generalissima.

6.

Ens finitum, cuius entitas terminis clauditur.

7.

Ens non quantum, quod per se formaliter perfectionem non dicit, ut sunt relationes notionis in divinis, ne quaedam perfectio sit in una persona, quae non sit in altera.

8. Ens quantum, quod formaliter dicit perfectionem, ut substantia, sapientia, bonitas etc. 9. 10.

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Substantia, ens cui debetur subsistentia Accidens est ens cui debetur inhaerentia, univocum ad novem classes accidentium.

11.

Quantitas, ut esse longum, latum, etc.

12.

Qualitas, ut esse album, nigrum, etc.

13.

Relatio, ut esse patrem, filium, etc.

14.

Actio, ut percutere. Passio, ut percuti.

15. 16.

Quando, ut hora prima. Ubi, ut esse in foro, in aviario.

17.

Situs, ut esse stantem, sedentem.

18. 19. 20.

Habitus, ut esse redimitum, coronatum. Substantia incorporea seu spiritalis.

21.

Substantia corporea seu materialis.

22. Ens reale est univocum ad Deum et creaturas, substantia, et accidens. 23. Univocatio stat cum analogia. 24.

Ens reale est analogum ad Deum et creaturas, substantia, et accidens.

25.

Tertia hierarchia in tres ordines distributa.

26. Potestates, qui Daemonem cohibent. 27. Archangeli, qui majora nuntiant. Angeli, qui minora nuntiant.

28.

29. Secunda hierarchia in tres ordines partita. 30. Dominationes aliis eminent. 31. Principatus aliis principantur. 32.

Virtutes, per quos signa fiunt.

33. Prima hierarchia in tres ordines divisa. 34. Seraphin succensi succendunt 35. Cherubin pleni scientia docent. 36.

Throni, in quibus Deus sedet.

37 Ens infinitum quod nullos suae entitatis habet limites. 38.

Yod-­He-­Vav-­He

39.

Quae his radiis continentur, naturali ratione de Deo probari possunt.

40.

Deus est.

41.

Deus est unus.

42.

Deus est summe perfectus.

2 43 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

43.

Deus est ens necessarium.

44.

Deus est a se.

45.

Deus est infinitus.

46.

Deus est immensus.

47.

Deus est simplicissimus.

48.

Deus est invisibilis.

49.

Deus est vivens.

50.

Deus est intelligens.

51.

Deus est volens.

52.

Deus est immutabilis.

53.

Deus est omnium causa.

54.

Deus habet providentiam.

55. Naturaliter probatur dari Angelos, qui multi sunt in eadem specie, natura sua incorporei, et incorruptibiles, expertes compositionis physicae ex materia et forma, constituti tamen metaphysice ex actu et potentia. 56.

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Angeli formae sunt Caelis assistentes, loco motrices, in loco per propriam substantiam existentes, intelligentes se, et alia etiam materia\lia,/ per species ab ipsis avulsas, vel illis concreatas; volentes, et liberi.

iv. Logicae universae typus Transcription of the text from the impression of the Logicae universae typus held by the BnF in Paris (Cabinet des Estampes, AA6, see fig. 38). Segment 5 1.

LOGICAE VNIVERSAE TYPVS

(only part of segment)

2. PAVLO V PONT[IFICI] MAXIMO ET SANCTISSIMO PHILANDER COLVTIVS F[ECIT] 3. Nulla est Philosophiae pars, B[eatissime] P[ontifex] nullum Aristotelis scriptum, tam difficile, tamque perplexum, uti Logicum com[m]uniter appellatum, de quo, et Aristoteles insudasse fatetur in elenchis. Ego vero cum diu cogitaverim, qua nam ratione incommodo huic consulere possem, typo hoc formarem in sententiam deveni, tuaeque Simul Sanctitati debitum laborem novi, cum me eius facultatis in Romana Schola huius Sanctae Sedis Praedecessores ornaverint legendi munere, ac sub tua clientela fuerim loco, quo praecipue exerceo medicinam: maximus pusilli, pusillam rem, non despiciat rogo. Vale, et feliciter vive. Segment 1 1. AVCTORE PHILANDRO COLVTIO VEL[L]ITERNO MEDICO AC PHILOSOPHO Christophus Blancus Lotaringus Fecit 1606.

ROMAE SVPERIORVM PERMISSV

2. Cum vero aliquod facinus magnum in exercitu Milites contenti, termini dicti, perpatrare [sic pro perpe-­] volunt, nomen mutant, et aliud accipiunt, ut nomine assignato facilius fit transitus, Nomina vero determinata sunt quinque dicta praedicabilia, quae sunt GENVS, SPECIES, DIFFERENTIA, PROPRIVM, et ACCIDENS, de quibus Porphyrius in Introductione ad Chrisaorum 3. Primum Praedicamentum Classis Substantiae quae est ens reale per se subsistens cuius Proprietates sex pro proventu sunt Prima Non esse in subiecto. 2a Vnivoce praedicari. 3a Significare hoc aliquid. 4a Non habere contrarium. 5a Non suscipere magis, et minus. 6a Vno, et eodem numero est susceptiva contrariorum ex Aristotele capitulo de Substantia. 4. Classis Quantitatis Quantitas est ens per se extensum.

245 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

Proprietates pro proventu sunt. Prima Non habere contrarium. 2a Non suscipere magis, et minus. 3a Dici aequale et non aequale. Haec dicitur maxime propria 5a Meth[eorologicorum] 20 Continua dividitur In lineam, Superficiem, Corpus, Tempus, et Locum. Discreta In Numerum, et Orationem ex Aristotele capitulo de Quantitate 5. Classis Relationis Relatio seu ad aliquid dicuntur quaecumque haec ipsa, quae sunt aliorum esse dicuntur, vel quomodolibet aliter ad alterum Proprietates pro proventu sunt Prima habere contrarium. 2a Suscipere magis, et minus. 3a Dici ad ea quae recipeantur [sic pro recipi-­] 4a Simul esse natura. Omnes non omni relatione conveniunt ex Aristotele capitulo de Relatione 6. Classis Qualitatis Qualitas per quam dicimur quales Proprietates pro proventu sunt. Prima Habere aliquid sibi contrarium. 2a Suscipere magis, et minus. 3a Ut secundum eam res dicantur similes, et dissimiles, quae maxime propria 3o Meth[aphysicorum] 15 et 20. Species proxime sunt quatuor Prima Habitus et Dispositio. 2a Naturalis Potentia et Impotentia 3a Passio et passibilis qualitas. 4a Forma et Figura Ex Aristotele capitulo de Qualitate 7. Classis Actionis Actio secundum quam in id quod subiicitur agere dicimur, cuius Proprietates proventus sunt. Prima In motu esse sicut propriu[s] motus in actione 2a Passionem ex se in id quod subiicitur inferre. 3a Recipere magis, et minus. 4a Habere contrarium, Porretanus 8. Classis Passionis Passio dicitur una, et eadem res cum agente, est Passio tamen, quatenus in patiente Actio ut in Agente. Proprietates.

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Prima Passionem esse effectum seu illationem Actionis. 2a Recipere magis, et minus 3a Habere contrarium Porretanus. 9. Classis Quando Quando est quod ex adiacentia temporis relinquitur. Proprietates pro proventu sunt. Prima Non suscipere magis, et minus. 2a Quando nihil est contrarium 3a Esse autem Quando in omni eo, quod incipit esse. Porretanus. 10. Classis Ubi Ubi est circumscriptio corporis, a circumscriptione loci proveniens. Huius generis, Species sunt, supra, infra, ante, retro, ad dextram, et ad Sinistram. Proprietates pro proventu sunt. Prima Non recipit magis, et minus. 2a Non habet contrarium in eo, quod in loco est. Porretanus capitulo de Ubi. 11. Classis Situs seu Positionis Situs est partium positio, et generationis ordinatio Proprietates. Prima Non recipit magis, et minus. 2a Nihil habet contrarium Porretanus capitulo de Situ 12. Classis Habitus Habere est corporum et eorum quae circa corpus sunt, adiacentia, secundum quam hoc quidem Habere. illa vero dicuntur haberi. est vero variis modis prout Arist[oteles] in postpraed[icamentis] et 5o meth[aphysicorum] e 20 23 Proprietates. Prima Non recipit magis, et minus

247 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

2a Nihil habet contrarium. 3a Proprium habitus in pluribus existere Porret[an]us capitulo de Habere. 13. EIVSDEM EXERCITVS PROVENTVS CLASSIBVS DISTRIBVTVS. 14. Exercitus decem Classium Terminorum: quas Classes decem Praedicamentorum appellant, qui est in Arcis tutelam. 15. Ante propugnaculum appellatum Antepraedicamentum. 16. 1. Aequivoca 2. Univoca 3. De nominativa 4. Quae dicuntur. 17. Substantia prima et secunda Prima ut quidam Homo quidam equus 2a Species et Genera 18. Quantitas Linea Superficies Corpus 2 3 4 19. Relatio Pater Filius 20. Qualitas Albus Niger 21. Actio Calefacere PHILANDER COLVTIVS 22. Passio Calefieri 23. Quando Nunc Heri Cras. 24. Ubi In Platea In Templo 25. Situs positio Iacere Stare 26. Habitus Indutum Veste Ornatum Annulo Armatum Clipeo 248

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27. Post propugnaculum appellata postpraedicamenta 28. Opposita Prius Simul Motus Habere Segment 5 (continued) 4.



Prima Operatio Ap[p]rehensio in qua sit definitio Instrumentum quoque quo ipsa prima Intellectus dirigitur operatio. Definitio vero est Oratio declarans essentiam rei 2a post[praedicamentorum] tex[tu] 10 com[mentario] 45 [?] Vniversalis Affirmativa 2a Post[praedicamentorum] 3a

5. Praefectus Arcis Intellectus est qui Apprehensione Iudicio et Discursu prima scilicet, secunda et tertia operatione Intellectus, omnia regit, ac moderatur: ens rationis formans quod huius fabricae materia et subiectum est. 6. Definitio duplex est, Quid nominis, et Quid rei, Arist[otele] 2o Post[praedicamentorum] te[xtu] 7o Com[mentariorio] 32 t[extu] 10 Com[mmentario] 44 Definitio rei duplex, Descriptiva, et essentialis primo Peri[ermeneias] c[apitulo] 4, 7o Meth[aphysicorum] c[apitulo] 4 et alibi. 7. Segment 4 1.



Descriptio constat ex genere, et aliqua proprietate primo Top[icorum] 3o et 4[o] sed tamen aliae similes orationes, ut quae constant causis externis finali, et efficiente, descriptiones etiam appellantur. Definitio essentialis constat ex ultimo genere, et ultima differentia, clarior definit[i]o non redundans non manca ex sexto Top[icorum] primo secundo, et tertio, et rarissimum est hoc definitionis genus. Via vero investigandi definitionem est duplex, divisiva, et collectiva, secundo post[praedicamentorum] 14 et 15 primo Top[icorum] 14[.] addi potest demonstrativa ex eodem 2 post[praedicamentorum] ad diffinitiones [sic pro defi-­] accidentium colligendas.

Secunda Operatio Iudicium In qua Enunciatio Instrumentum etiam, quo 2a {diri}gitur [sic in imag. rec.] ipsa Operatio, cuius natura praecipue {tract}atur [sic in imag. rec.] ab Arist[otele] primo et 2o Perierm[eneias] Enunciatio vero est Oratio perfecta, verum, vel falsum, significans primo Perierm[eneias][.] c[apitulo] 4. Enunciationis multae sunt species, de quibus Arist[oteles] ibidem.Tria autem potissimum spectantur in Enunciatione Quantitas, Qualitas, et Materia.

249 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

2. Oppositarum propositionum descriptio Omnis homo albus est Contrariae Nullus homo albus est Subalternae Aliquis homo albus est Contradictoriae Contradictoriae Subcontrariae Non omnis homo albus est Subalternae 3.

Praeter oppositionem Enunciatio habet aequipollentiam, id est per negationes propositiones fiunt aequivalentes, quae negationes, vel post, vel ante, ponuntur, pro quibus Carmen Praecontradic[torium] Post, Contra, Prae, Postque, Subalter, id est Praeposita negatione in Contradictoriis, Postposita in Contrariis, et subcontrariis, in subalternis vero Praeposita, et Postposita fiunt aequivalentes. Consideratur etiam in Propositionibus Modalitas De quibus Arist[oteles] 2o peri[ermeneias] c[apitulo] 3 primo prior[um Analyticorum] c[apitulo] 3[o] et 4o.

Segment 3 1.

Tertia Operatio Discursus In qua fit Argumentatio dirigens tertiam Operationem Intellectus. Argumentationis vero ordinatio est in tribus Propugnaculis, Omnis vero apparatus fit pro custodia trium Aularum, quae in huius Arcis medio reperiuntur, quarum tres apparent Januae in Typum partium trium integralium Logicae facultatis.

2.

In Aula huius Januae in magno Solio sedet Demonstratio propter quid cui coronam faciunt, et assistunt, Pr[a]ecognita, Praecognitiones. Vera, Prima et Immediata, Notiora, Priora, et Causae Conclusionis. Altera ex parte in quodam mediocri Solio sedet Demonstratio Quia habet suas Pedissequas, et Ancillas et hoc potitur. privilegio, ut in absentia demonstrationis propter quid ipsa habeat locum primum.

3.

Janua aulae demonstrationis.

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4. Dialecticae Aulam Arist[oteles] reduxit in formam octangularem, et latus quodlibet, Librum Topicorum dixit, sunt enim loca numero fere sexcenta, quibus reperiuntur imagines, quae dum expostulantur, prebent nobis aliquod tormentum quod appellantur argumentum, ut possimus viriliter, seu ut dicunt probabiliter, de quacunque re disserere. 5. Janua aulae Dialecticae. 6.

A sinistris est Aula Sophisticae, in qua reperiuntur Instrumenta adversus captiones et stratagemmata, et elencorum[?]. Aristoteles dixit fallaciarum vero summa capita sunt quod sint vel ratione formae, vel ratione materiae vel ratione utriusque.

7.

Janua aulae sophisticae.

8. Argumentationis Species quattuor Prima Syllogismus Secunda Inductio Tertia Entimema Quarta Exemplum Primo post primo, et locis in opposito Vexillo sinistro citandis. 9. Segment 2 1.

Prima Syllogismus est oratio in qua quibusdam positis et capitula Priorum primo[.] Secunda Inductio a singularibus ad universalia progressio seu accessio Primo Top[icorum] t[extu] 10 2o Priorum 29[.?] Tertia Entimema est Syllogismus imperfectus. 2o Priorum c[apitulo] 34[.] Quarta Exemplum in quo singulare aliquod ex uno, aut perpaucis similibus, confirmari contenditur 2o Priorum 30[.]

Primum Propugnaculum appellata prima Figura

2. Maius Extremum Risibile 3. Minus Extremum Homo 4. Medium Rationale 5. Bar: Omne rationale est risibile ba: Omnis homo est rationalis conclusio [?] ra: Omnis homo est risibilis

251 t ra n sc ri pt i on s

6. Praedicatum Majoris Praedicatum Conclusionis 7. Subiectum Minoris Subiectum Conclusionis 8. Medium subiicitur in Majori, et praedicatum in Minori nec ingreditur Conclusionem Barbara 9. Major Vniversalis Affirmativa Minor Vniversalis Affirmativa Conclusio Vniversalis Affirmativa 10. Celarent Major Vniversalis Negativa Minor Vniversalis Affirmativa Conclusio Vniversalis Negativa 11. Darii Major Vniveralis Affirmativa Minor Particularis Affirmativa Conclusio Particularis affirmativa 12. Ferio Major Vniversalis Negativa Minor Particularis Affirmativa Conclusio Particularis Negativa 13. H[a]ec Prima Figura perfectissima, quia in ea magis elucet principium dici de omni, et dici de nullo de quo Ar[istoteles] primo priorum primo in fine. 14. Regulae Ex majori particulari in hac Figura nihil sequitur. Ex minori negativa nihil infertur. Ex puris Affirmativis in prima figura nihil sequitur. Ar[istoteles] Priorum primo C[apitulo] 3o. 15. 2a Figura

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16. Maius Extremum Homo 17. Minus Extremum Lapis 18. Medium Insensibile 19. Ce: Nullus homo est insensibilis sa: Omnis lapis est insensibilis re: Nullus Lapis est homo. 20. 2um Propugnaculum 2a vocata Figura 21. Subiectum Conclusionis 22. Subiectum Minoris 23. Medium praedicatur in Minori, et in Majori nec ingreditur Conclusionem. 24. Subiectum Majoris 25. Praedicatum Conclusionis 26. Cesare Major Vniversalis {N}egat{iva} [sic in imag. rec.] Minor {Vniversalis Affirmativa} [sic in imag. rec.] Conclusio {Vniversalis N}egativa [sic in imag. rec.] 27. Camestres {Major Vniversalis Affirmativa} [sic in imag. rec.] {Mino}r [sic in imag. rec.] {Vni}versalis {N}egativa [sic in imag. rec.] Conc{lusio} [sic in imag. rec.] Vniversalis Negativa 28. Festino Major Vniversalis Negativa Minor Particularis Affirmativa Conclusio Particularis Negativa 29. Barocco Major Vniversalis Affirmativa

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Minor Particularis Negativa Conclusio Particularis Negativa 30. Regulae Ex duabus praemissis Affirmativis non concluditur in hac Figura[.] Ex Majori particulari nihil infertur[.] Syllogismi 2ae Figurae concludunt omnes prevativae primo Priorum et ex modis apparet. 31. Modi Indirecti Baralipton Celantes Dabitis Fapesmo Frisesomorum 32.

Dicuntur indirecti modi, quia Maius Extremum quod est in directis praedicatum in Conclusione, fit in his subiectum, et Minus Extremum, quod est subiectum in directis, in his indirectis fit Praedicatum, quae Regula si servetur in 2a et 3a Figura, in modis in Propugnaculis designatis, et nominatis, fiunt etiam ipsi Indirecti. secunda enim, et tertia Figura, non habet nominatos Indirectos. Aphrodisaeus primo Priorum q{ua}rto [sic in imag. rec.] dicit hos modos indirectos collectos a Theophrasto ex Aristotele. Modi vero hi indirecti, et quilibet secundae, et tertiae figurae ad quatuor primae reduci possunt, de qua reductione vide auctores.

33.

Aliquae Regulae communes tribus Figuris

34.

Ex duabus premissis particularibus non infertur conclusio bona. Ex duabus premissis Negativis non infertur Conclusio bona. Conclusio semper sequitur debiliorem partem de his Regulis vide Arist[otelem] Priorum po c[apitulo] 24o. Regulae hae propriis tributae Figuris intelliguntur de Modis directis, habent aliquam limitem vel ratione materiae, vel ratione modalitatis.

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35. 3a Figura 36. Maius Extremum Homo 37. Minus Extremum Animal Medium 38. Rationale Da: Omne rationale est homo ra: Omne rationale est animal pti: Aliquod animal est homo

39.

3um Propugnaculum 3a dicta Figura 40. 41.

Praedicatum Minoris

42.

Subiectum Conclusionis

43.

Praedicatum Majoris

44.

Praedicatum Conclusionis

45.

Medius Terminus non ingreditur Conclusionem sed subiicitur in majori et in minori in hac 3a Figura

46. Darapti Conclusio Particularis Affirmativa Minor Vniversalis Affirmativa Major Vniversalis Affirmativa 47. Felapton Conclusio Particularis Negativa Minor Vniversalis Affirmativa Major Vniversalis Negativa 48. Disamis Conclusio Particularis Affirmativa Minor Vniversalis Affirmativa Major Particularis Affirmativa 49. Datisi

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Conclusio Particularis Affirmativa Minor Particularis Affirmativa Major Vniversalis Affirmativa 50. Brocardo Conclusio Particularis Negativa Minor Vniversalis Affirmativa Major Particuaris Negativa 51. Ferison Conclusio Particularis Negativa Minor Particularis Affirmativa Major Vniversalis Negativa 52. Regulae Ex minori Negativa nihil infertur in hac Figura. Sillogismi tertiae Figurae omnes concludunt particulariter Ar[istoteles] 2o Post[eriorum Analyticorum] c[apitulo] 2o po Priorum c[apitulo] 7o

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v. Tableau industrieux de toute la philosophie morale Transcription of the text from the impression of the Tableau industrieux de toute la philosophie morale held by the Museo francescano di Roma in Rome (inv. nr. 674/1b, fig. 197). This engraving is unique in that its annotations are marked with letters and numbers. Segment 4 (title only) 1.



TABLEAV INDVSTRIEVX DE TOVTE LA PHILOSOPHIE MORALE.

Segment 1 1.

A LA ROYNE,

2. MADAME Ce tableau represente l’empire de notre volonté; et cest empire porte l’image de vostre sacrée Majesté. notre volonté eclairée des rayons de son soleil l’entendement, et assistée de cest honorable choeur des vertus, regle les passions de son appetit, que vous voyez ici enchainées, dompte le vice representé par ces animaux ecrasez, peut vaincre l’ignorance, est tousjours en possession de sa liberté parmi les efforts de la crainte, de la violence, et de la concupiscence ces monstres figurez de part, et d’autre, et dresse en fin toutes ses actions, representées par ces choeurs de Nymphes, vers le souverain bien seul object de ses intentions. Ce sont vos saincts exercices, Madame, outre l’empire que vous avez sur nostre france, que je n’ai peu faire graver en ce tableau, vous l’ayant bien plus parfaictement gravé sur nos coeurs. Ces Couronnes vous portent de degré en degré à d’autres que Dieu vous reserve au ciel, attendant celles-­là, jouissez heureusement de celles-­ci. Ce sont les souhaits que fait tous les jours. 3. De vostre sacrée Majesté 4. Le tres humble, et tres obeissant subject, frere Martin Meurisse, de l’Ordre des freres mineurs. 5. Avec permission des superieurs. Segment 2 1. Avec privilege du Roi. (only part of segment)

A Paris, Chez Jean Messager rue Sainct Jacques à l’Esperance. L[éonard] Gaultier incidit. 1618.

Segment 3 1. Le vraie effigie de Scot Docteur subtil. (only part of segment)

2. Ce que j’ai di[t] des moeurs, des vertus le plus beau Et du souverain bien; tout est en ce tableau. 3. 4. Segment 4 (continued)2 .

Par f[rère] M[artin] Meurisse Bachelier en Theologie à Paris. Dompter par les vertus, les passions, et le vice. Pour jouir du vrai bien, est mon sainct exercice.

1.A Dieu seul est nostre souverain bien, nostre derniere fin, et l’objet de nostre beatitude en ceste vie, et en l’autre. en ceste vie il est l’objet de nostre beatitude naturelle en tant que nous le pouvons cognoistre, et aimer naturellement et de nostre beatitude surnaturelle, en tant que nous le pouvons cognoistre par la foi, et aimer par la charite, en l’autre vie il est l’objet de nostre parfaicte beatitude, en tant que nous le pourrons cognoistre et aimer parfaictement. d’ou vient que objet de nostre foelicité ne consiste ni aux biens du corps, ni de l’Ame, ni de fortune.

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figure 197  The four segments of the Tableau, 1618. BnF,

Cabinet des Estampes, Paris [AA5].

3. 2.A La beatitude formelle ne consiste pas en l’habitude de la vertu; ams [?] en l’action de l’ame conforme à la me[i]lleure vertu, en la vie parfaicte, ceste action n’est pas precisement la vision du souverain bien; mais la jouissance d’icelui, ceste vie parfaicte ne se peut entendre de la civile sujete a trop de miseres; mais de la future exempte de tous maux. 4.

3.A La parfaicte beatitude, parlant materiellement, est un estat tres parfaict par l’assemblage de tous biens, immuable, honorable, delectable.

5. 4.A La delectation, ou volupté estant tousjours suivie de la jouissance de bien convenable a quelque faculté que ce soit; la volupé suivie de la jouissance du souverain bien, doibt [?] estre aussi souveraine. c’est pourquoi nulle volupté parfaicte avant la mort; apres laquelle seulement nous serons jurez de ses torrents. 6. 5.A Le souverain bien objet de nostre beatitude est tres bon, tres parfaict, tres beau, suffisant de soi, delectable, inaegalement possedé de ceux qui en jouissent. 7. 1.b Actions de la volonté vers la fin, et les moyens pour y parvenir. 8. 9. 2.B La volition representée par ceste simple posture, est une action de la volonté, par laquelle elle se porte tant à sa fin, qu’aux moyens d’y parvenir, en tant que l’un et l’autre lui semble bon, et convenable.

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1.b Actions de la volonté vers la fin, et les moyens pour y parvenir.

10. 3.B L’intention est une autre action de la mesme volonté, par laquelle elle s’evertue efficacement de parvenir a sa fin, par des moyens convenables, desquels ce degré porte l’image. 11. 4.B La consultation figurée par ces coeurs, est par laquelle nous faisons une diligente recherche des me[i]lleurs moyens, et plus advenants a la fin. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

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5.B Celles ci sont dans le degré [?] pour signifier l’usage tant actif que passif, qui est une volonté absolue et efficace de se servir des moyens suivie[?] tousjour[s] de l’action et la puissance executive [?]. 6.B L’empire est une action de la volonté, par laquelle elle se porte a surmonter les difficultez qui se presentent en l’execution des moyens qui conduisent à sa fin. 7.B Le consentement figuré par ceste elevation de mains, est une action de la volonté par laquelle elle approuve les moyens jugés par l’entendement convenables à sa fin. 8.B L’election representée par ceste action, est une action de la volonté, par laquelle, apres avoir meurement consulté, elle choisit les moyens les plus convenables à sa fin. 1.C Cest Apollon est symbole de l’entendement, accompagné de ses cinq habitudes intellectuelles, qui de ses rayons eclaire et conduit la volonté à sa fin, lui proposant par un jugement pratique, et particulier, la nature, et les conditions speciales de son bien; sans quoi la volonté ne peut agir; et avec quoi, elle peut encores indifferemment agir, ou n’agir pas.

17. 2.C Les vertus intellectuelles sont plus nobles que les morales pour la vie contemplative, et les morales plus excellentes que les intellectuelles pour l’active, l’intelligence, sapience, et science, se proposent seulement la cognoissance; et pour ce sont theoretiques, la prudence, et l’art se proposent, l’operation divisée en action, et en façon; et pour ce sont pratiques. 18. 19. 20.

3.C L’on traite ici des vertus intellectuelles, comme estant conductrices des morales, nommement la prudence, laquelle residant en l’entendement comme les autres, est mise toutefois au nombre des vertus morales, voire mesme duchesse, et princesse de toutes les autres. 4.C L’intelligence est une habitude intellectuelle, par laquelle nous cognoissons les principes de la demonstration. 5.C La sapience est une habitude intellectuelle, par laquelle nous cognoissons les causes, et les effects de la demonstration.

21.

6.C La science est une habitude intellectuelle, par laquelle nous demonstrons la chose par sa cause.

22.

7.C L’Art est une habitude intellectuelle propre a faire quelque chose par certaines regles de raison et a pour object ce qui peut estre, ou n’estre pas. elle se divise en arts mechaniques, et liberaux.

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23. 8.C La prudence regle et mesure des vertus morales, et des actions humaines est une habitude intellectuelle active, recherchant avec une vraie raison le bien, et utilité humaine. elle se divise en prudence du droit, politique, militaire, aeconomique, et monastique. elle consulte des moyens, y advise meurement et pense a ce qu’il faut faire, ou les loix manquent. elle a besoing[?] de memoire, d’intelligence, de subtilité, de providence etc. Segment 3 (continued) 5.



1.D Ceste Royne est nostre volonté, princesse, et principe des actions humaines, libre de sa nature laquelle commande seigneur [?] ialement [?], appellé despotiquement, a l’entendement, et aux facultes exterieures et civilement, ou politiquement a l’appetit sensitif, et aux puissances interieures et meût [?] la plus part [?] d’icelles [?] à l’operation quant [?] à l’exercice de leurs actions, et en quelque maniere quant a l’espece.

6. 2.D Ton appetit sera sous toi, et lui commanderas. Genese 4. 7. 8.

E Dieu et les Anges sont principes exterieurs des actions humaines. Dieu par son concours general et special. E Les Anges sont principes des actions humaines instruisant l’entendement, perfundant moralement la volonté, et transformant [?] quelquefois reellement les sens.

9. 1.F 1.F Les vertus morales principes directifs des actions humaines, sont toutes en la Reyne regnante de la volonté, en nul degré necessairement cojointes, habitudes bonnes seulement par les circonstances, elles se deffinissent habitudes acquises, electives, lesquel les consistent en la mediocrité qui nous regarde. determinée par la raison, et comme un homme prudent la determineroit. 10. 2.F 1. La Justice est une constante et perpetuelle volonté de rendre à un chacun ce qui lui appartient. l’une est generale divisée en politique, et aeconomique, l’autre speciale divisée en distributive, et commutative. ses parties subjectives sont embrasser le bien, et fuir le mal. elle a besoing[?] de religion, de pieté, d’observance, d’obeissance, d’action de graces, d’expulsion d’injures, de verité, d’affabilité, d’amitié, et de liberalité. 2. La Vaillance qui modere la crainte, et la hardiesse est une vertu qui donne courage, pour agres[s]er, et soustenir. sa mediocrité est entre la lascheté, et temerite. A icelle appartiennent la magnaimité, la magnificence, la patience, et la perseverance. 3. La Temperance est une vertu morale, laquelle modere la volupté sensuelle, la

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convoitise d’icelle, et la douleur qui accompagne ceste convoitise; elle moyenne entre l’intemperance, et stupidité; elle est integrée par la vergongne, et l’honnesteté. elle à sous elle l’abstinence, sobrieté, chasteté, et pudicité. A icelle appartiennent la continence, la mansuetude, la clemence, l’humilité, et la moderation. 4. La Liberalité appartenante à la Justice est une vertu divine, laquelle moderant le desir d’avoir des richesses, regle es acquests, et despenses mediocres, pour produire des actions honnestes. elle moyenne entre l’avarice, et la prodigalité. 5. La Magnificence propre aux Rois et appartenante à la force, est differente de celleci, en ce qu’elle modere les acquests, et despenses splendides; elle moyenne entre l’espargne, et la somptuosité dereglée. 6. L’Ambition reglée est une vertu morale, laquelle moderant l’appetit irascible, se comporte decemment en la poursuite des honneurs mediocres. 7. La Magnanimité appartenante à la force, est differente d’icelle, en ce qu’elle s’occupe à la poursuite des honneurs supremes. leur mediocrité est entre la superbe, et pusillanimité. 8. La Clemence partie de la temperance est une vertu morale, laquelle moderant l’irascible, attrempe nostre cholere pour produire des actions honnestes; elle moyenne entre la cruauté, et trop grande indulgence. 9. La Verité partie de la justice est par laquelle es entretiens humains, nous disons ce qui est veritable; son milieu est entre la simulation, et dissimulation. 10. L’Antregent, ou civilité est une vertu morale, qui consiste a dire de bonne grace le mot parmi les honestes compaignees; sa mediocrité et entre la rusticité et bouffonerie. 11. L’Affabilité ou courtoisie est une vertu morale, par laquelle nous nous monstrons gratieux, et officieux a tous ceux qui ont affaire a nous. elle moyenne entre la submission lasche, et discourtoisie. 11. 1. G La louange et le blasme de nos actions dependent de ce qu’elles sont volontaires, ou repugantes a la volonté. 12. 13. 3.G Ceste violence du ravissement d’Europe rend une action non volontaire pourveu [?] que la cause entiere d’icelle soit externe, et que celui qui agit ne contribue ni aide, ni consentement à son action: pour ce que la volonté ne peut estre forcée quant [?] aux actions issantes d’elle immediatement. Segment 2 (continued) 2.

4.G Ceste Syrene de concupiscence, avec ses perturbations, diminue aucunement la liberté de la volonté; elle ne fait pas pourtant que ses actions lui soient contraires, ou repugantes; ains [?] demeurent volontaires, et dignes de chastiment.

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2.G Les chastiments et recompenses de nos actions dependent de ce qu’elles sont volontaires, ou repugnantes, et contraires à la volonté.

3.

5.G La crainte du naufrage qui fait descharger ceste nef, est parreille à la force toute et quante fois qu’elle n’est pas vaine mais pour quelque grand mal et telle qu’elle puisse etonner un homme tres constant et partant rend les actions de soi non volontaires, volontaires toutefois eu esgard a l’occasion.

6.G 4. Ce monstre d’ignorance rend une action non volontaire, quand elle est ignorance invicible, ou du fait, que si elle est du droit, ou crasse affectée, elle n’empesche pas que l’action ne soit volontaire, et partant blasmable et punissable. 5. 1.H L’appetit sensitif est ceste partie inferieure de l’ame, qui se porte à son objet conduit par la cognoissance des sens, il reside au coeur, est commandé par la volonté, et reglé par les vertus, l’un est concupiscible, qui s’oc[c]upe vers le bien et le mal absolument, l’autre irascible, qui s’occupe vers le bien et le mal ardu et difficile. 6. 2.H Toute passion est en l’appetit sensitif et n’est ni bonne [?] ni mauvaise [?] moralement d’elle mesme. elle se deffinit une action ou agitation de l’appetit sensitif vers le bien, ou le mal apprehendé du sens, ou de l’imagination, avec un cert[a]in [?] changement du corps outre-­naturel. 7. 3.H La joie est un mouvement de l’appetit concupiscible se reposant au bien present et lequel il possede. 8. 4.H La tristesse est une desplaisance du mal present. 9. 5.H L’Amour est une passion de l’appetit concupiscible, par laquelle il se porte au bien absolumant [?], qui lui est proposé par l’imagination, l’un est prophane et illlicite auquel il faut remedier; et l’autre divin auquel il faut s’exercer. 10. 6.H La haine est une passion du mesme appetit, par laquelle il abhorre [?] le mal en soi, qui lui est proposé par l’imagination.

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11.

7.H Le desir ou la poursuite est un mouvement de l’appetit concupiscible vers le bien absent, et non encores obtenu.

12. 8.H La fuite est une action du mesme appetit detestant le mal en tant qu’absent. 13.

9.H L’Esperance est un mouvement de l’appetit irascible vers le bien difficil à acquerir, proposé toutefois par l’imagination comme possible.

14.

10.H Le desespoir est une passion du mesme appetit delaissant la poursuite d’un bien qu’il juge ne pouvoir obtenir pour la grandeur des difficultez.

15.

11.H La hardiesse est un mouvement de l’appetit irascible, qui se jette aux perils, sous esperance de chasser le mal, et d’obtenir le bien.

16. 17.

12.H La crainte est une passion de l’irascible appréhendant le mal prochain et difficil a eviter. 13.H L’ire est un mouvement de l’irascible, qui se porte à vanger les injures qui lui sont faictes, ou à autrui [?].

18. II Le vice est une pernicieuse habitude, qui nous retire ou par exces, ou par defaut, de la mediocrité convenable a la vertu.

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VI. Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas The following is a transcription of the Latin text from the impression of the Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas in the Rare Books and Special Collections of the Princeton University Library (Oversize Broadside 120, see fig. 43). Segment 1 1. TYPVS NECESSITATIS

LOGICAE AD ALIAS SCIENTIAS CAPESSENDAS.

2. SERENISSIMO ILLVSTRISSIMOQVE PRINCIPI HENRICO DE BOVRBON EPISCOPO METENSI, S[ANCTI] R[OMANI] I[MPERII] PRINCIPI. FRATER JOANNES CHERON CARMELITA BVRDIGALENSIS. D[AT] D[ONAT] D[EDICAT] 3. Circumeunt hic homines (PRINCEPS ILLVSTRISSIME) et philosophandi desiderio, quod a natura ipsa exhaustum est et expressum quisque satisfacere cupit: at occluditur montibus Iter, eminent prominulae rupes, sonant horrentia circum, nec audet Logica scientiarum Janitrix quaerentibus pandere viam, Ingenium celsitudinis tuae se superius porrectione clavis confessa: sistuntur ergo tibi (SERENISSIME PRINCEPS) et scientiarum domicilium, quin et scientias ipsas, si te fautorem invenerint, se invenisse credent. Vive, fruere, Vale. 4. Segment 2 1. Cum Privilegio Regis.

ZELO ZELATVS SVM PRO DOMINO DEO EXERCITVVM. J[oannes] Messager excudit.

2.

De his respond[ebunt] fratres P. Thomas Despres. I. Verbiale. N. Adam. V. La-­ruele. H. Couplet. F. de Harne. R. Contansin. F. Fontaine. I. Boulin. etc. Anno. 1622.

3. 1.A Causa inveniendae Philosophiae fuit ignorantia. 4. Salomon. Misit ancillas suas ut vocarent ad arcem. 5. Vnde venit sapientia? 6. Quis est locus intelligentiae? 7. Nescit homo pretium eius. 8. Quid in omni caelo et terra divinius philosophia. 9. Intelliges semitas domus eius. 10. Viam ignoravit avis. 11. In thesauris sapientiae intellectus. 12. 2.A Causa inveniendae philosophiae fuit admiratio. 13. Errare fecit ignoratio logicae[.] 14. Summa miseria est nescire quo tendas. 15. Viae eius viae pulcrae.

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L[éonard] Gaultier incidit. 1622.

16. Sapientia nihil melius. 3.A Causa fuit appetitus.

17. 18.

Omnes homines natura scire desiderant.

19.

Parmenides. Diogenes. Socrates. Plato. Thales. Zeno.

20.

Aristoteles philosophiae restaurator. Absurdum est qu[a] erere scientiam et modum sciendi simul. Aristoteles.

21.

Da mihi sapientiam.

22.

Alex[ander] Mag[nus][.] Proposui illam regnis.

23.

4.A Causa inveniendae Philosophiae fuit experientia. Post industriam sequetur sapientia.

24.

Altiora te ne quaesieris.

25.

Non invenitur in terra suaviter viventium.

26.

Stultum est timere quod vitari nequit.

27.

Sapientiam praetereuntes lapsi sunt. Sapiens ceteris ingenio pr[a]estat.

28. 29. Sapientum sunt omnia. 30. Trahitur sapientia de occultis. 31. Pontificium non eget logica.

Beatus homo qui invenit sapientiam.

32. 33.

Arduum sane est sapientiae iter. Jus civile non eget Logica.

34. 35.

Currens non habebis offendiculum.

36. Sanctus Augustinus. Hac aperta caeterae aperiuntur et clausa clauduntur. 37.

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Michael de Bononia Carmelita. En rectrix animi clavisque modusque



sciendi / quo spreto sophiam / nullus adire potest.

38. 39.

Fr[ater] Joannes Cheron apud Carmelitas Paris[ienses] Logicorum Regens. De licentia superiorum. Qu[a]e sedet in solio / dissipat omne malum.

Quam aspera nimium est indoctis sapientia.

40. Abs te est sapientia. 41. Logica scientia est simpliciter speculat[iva][.] Qui me invenerit inveniet Sophiam[.] 42.

Janua omnium scientiarum.

Segment 3 1.

DEFFINITIO 1.A ANCILLA SAPIENTIAE. Rerum naturas pando.

2.

Prima mentis operatio nec vera nec falsa est.

3. Substantia. Continet Deum et creaturas. Individua sunt bases predicamentorum. 4. Relatio. Vna relatio potest habere plures terminos. 5. Actio. 6. Quando. 7. Situs. 8.

Habitus.

9.

Vbi.

10.

Passio.

11.

Qualitas.

12.

Quantitas. Sunt 8, species quantitatis essentialiter distinctae.

13.

Vniversalia sunt ante intellectum: viam indicant ad categorias.

14. 15.

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Vniversalia sunt quinque.

Requirit plures species ut perficiatur. Genus imitatur materiam.

16.

Species ut subiicitur non est universalis.

17.

Differentia formam.

18.

Proprium profluens a specie.

19. Accidens eget fulcimento. 20. Reiiciuntur.

Reiiciuntur.

21. Ficta 22. Entia per accidens. 23. Aequivocum. Incompleta. 24. 25. Datur a parte rei. Ens rationis. Cognoscitur a solo intellectu. 26.

Analogum.

27.

Complexa.

28.

Partes.

Segment 4 1. 2A operatio simplices nectit terminos.

2.

Ap[p]rehensio ministrat.

3.

Sensus colligit.

4. DIVISIO 2A ANCILLA SAPIENTIAE. Totum in partes solvo 5. Signum naturale 6. Signum debet actu obiici posse ut significet, est duplex tamen. 7. Bruta non loquuntur. Ave Caesar victor. 8.

Propositionum de futuro contingenti libero neutra est determinate vera vel falsa.

9.

Voces significant ex instituto.

10.

Et Signum ex instituto.

Segment 5 1. Sillogismus[sic pro syl-­] est obiectum logicae.

2. Vtinam saperent et intelligerent.

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3. Non faciunt scire nisi vi silogismi [sic pro syll-­] n[ecessa]rii. Inductio. Enthimema. Exemplum. 4. Loci argumentorum. Intrinseci A subiecto. Ab accident[ibus][.] A Proprio. A Descriptione. A Toto. A Diff[erenti]a. A Genere. A Partibus. A Definitione. Loci argumentorum. Extrinseci 5. A Dissimili Ab authoritate Divina Ab authoritate humana. A Majori. A Disparatis. Ab oppositis. A Minori. Ab effectu. A Conjugatis. A Simili. A Causa. 6. Scientia et opinio possunt esse simul intellectu. Topica nititur ad veritates. Opinio. Scientia[.] Fides[.] 7. 3.A ANCILLA SAPIENTIAE DEMONSTRATIO. Facio scire. Voluntas. Voluntas non potest impedire assensum conclusionis. Intellectus. Major. Minor. Consequentia. Barbara. Celarent. Darii. Ferio.

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8. Apud improbos lacessita est periculis sapientia. Sophistica vergit in errorem. Nugatio. Redargutio. Falsum. Paradoxum. Sole[cismus]. Mare ait non est mecum. Erravimus a via veritatis. Omnes vias eius intelligere noluerunt[.] 9. Segment 6 1.

Non plus ultra. Sistendum est in primis princip[iis].

Beatus qui vigilat ad fores meas.

2. SAPIENTIA AEDIFICAVIT SIBI DOMVM. 3. PHILOSOPHIA DIVIDITVR IN 4 SPECIES GENERALES SCILICET IN Mathematicam Theologiam Philosophia Ego sap[ient]iam in altissimis habito. Physicam Ethicam 4. [John] Baco[nthorpe] Carm[elita] Praxis est intellectus[.] 5.

Scotus Praxis est in voluntate[.]

6.

Rara Concordia.

7.

Yod-­He-­Vav-­He

8. Cunctae res difficiles[;] non potest homo eas sermone explicare.

2 7 1

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notes

introduction 1 Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. Oyseau, 1619. On Meurisse, see Kaiser, 1923; Schmutz, 2002, 51–­81; Smeets, 1942, 681–­ 82; Cuisinier, 1997, 27–­45; Boulnois, 2002, 199–­237; Agostini, 2008, 273; Gieben, 1990, 688–­90; Dedieu, 1987, 79–­121; de Morembert, 1970, 181–­84; idem, 1968, 468–­72; idem, 1965, 143–­47; Ignace-­Marie, 1928, 8; Veuillot, 1921, 430; and Béguet, 1910, 530–­50 and 716–­38. 2 Oyseau, 1619, 20: “n’est Logicien qu’en peinture & en taille douce.” The word “peinture” did not imply “painting” in the strict sense. In his dictionary Jean Nicot (1530–­1600) defines peinture as “pictura” (1606, 470). 3 Oyseau, 1619, 31: “Sont-­ce là les consequences de la Logique de taille douce?” 4 For sources on illustrated thesis prints, see Gieben, 1993, 273–­74n2; and Rice, 1999, 165n1. 5 Oyseau, 1619, 25: “les argumens fondez sur des Allegories ne sont pas demonstrations desquelles on puisse tirer des cõsequences & conclusions necessaires.” 6 The phrase “visual thinking” is famously employed by Rudolf Arnheim, who writes, “Visual thinking calls . . . for the ability to see visual shapes as images of the patterns of forces that underlie our existence—­ the functioning of minds, of bodies or machines, the structure of societies or ideas.” 1969, 315. 7 On the supply of paper and the development of printing technologies, see Landau and Parshall, 1994, 15–­16. 8 According to Hubert Damisch, “painting not only shows but thinks” (1994, 446). See also Grootenboer, 2005; eadem, 2011, 13–­30; DeLue, 2008; and Bleichmar, 2012. 9 Melion, Dekoninck, and Guiderdoni-­Bruslé, 2012. O’Malley, 2015. 10 Kemp, 2004, 49 and 134. Rosand, 2002, 97–­111. 11 Grootenboer, 2011, 19–­23. Cropper and Dempsey, 2000. 12 Roland Barthes remarked in Camera Lucida, “Photography is subversive . . . when it is pensive, when it thinks” (1981, 38). 13 See, for instance, Jacques Rancière’s account of “The Pensive Image” (2009, 107–­32) and Boehm, 2001, 43–­54. On contemporary painting as “embodied thinking,” see Hudson, 2015, 25. 14 Furetière, 1690, 584: “Interpretation, glose, addition qu’on fait à un Auteur obscur ou difficile, pour le rendre plus intelligible, pour suppleer à ce qu’il n’a pas bien expliqué, ou qu’il supposoit estre connu.”

273

15 Académie Françoise, 1694, 1:214: “Explication, esclaircissement, observations, & remarques sur quelque Autheur pour expliquer & illustrer son ouvrage.” 16 See Georges Didi-­Huberman’s discussion of painting as a field of exegesis (1995, 6). 17 Blair, 2010b, 11. 18 On the history of information, see Grafton, 2010, 95–­101; Burke, 2000; and Blair, 2003, 11–­28. See the “Cultures of Knowledge” project at Oxford University: http://www.culturesofknowledge.org. 19 See, for instance, Goeing, Grafton, and Michel, 2013; Blair, 2010b; Hotson, 2007; Bredekamp, 1995; and Findlen, 1994. 20 For recent studies of the visual and the organization of information, see Freedberg, 2002; Siegel, 2009; and Rosenberg and Grafton, 2010. 21 For information on Gaultier, see Weigert, 1961, 4:414–­549; Brugerolles and Guillet, 2000, 1–­24; Ehrmann, 1984, 43–­46; and Grivel, 1986, 304. Gaultier was an engraver in taille-­douce, or copperplate engraving. 22 On the Descriptio, see Bauer, 1985a, 2–­5; eadem, 2000, 481–­519; Ferguson, 1987, 9–­30; Maas, 1992, 68–­72; and Berger, 2013a, 203–­49. 23 For discussions of the Synopsis, see Bauer, 1985b, 6–­9; eadem, 2000, 495–­96; Siegel, 2009, 122–­25; and Berger, 2013b, 269–­93. 24 On the Laurus metaphysica, see Gieben, 1990, 683–­707. 25 On the Typus, see Berger, 2014, 343–­66. 26 On Messager, see Selbach, 2010, 35–­51. 27 No drawings for any of these broadsides appear to have survived, so it is unclear how Meurisse and Chéron communicated with Gaultier about their designs. It is probable that Meurisse and Chéron wrote the texts on their broadsides. Whereas Gaultier would have engraved the images on thesis prints, it was standard for writing to be engraved by a specialist in lettering: Meyer, 2002, 26. 28 Then as today, paper was the most costly component of a book. Although it is hard to estimate the precise price difference between illustrated and unillustrated printed books, in England illustrated books were advertised at prices that exceeded those of unillustrated ones of roughly the same length by about 75 to 100 percent. Johnson, 1950, 90. Kusukawa, 2012, 50. Studies of seventeenth-­century Parisian contracts for new illustrated thesis prints reveal that the manufacturing prices could range from 900 to 9,000 livres, depending on a variety of factors including the size of the broadsides, the complexity of the

29

30

31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44

45

requested composition, the demands and fame of the engraver, the designer, the publisher, the number of impressions requested, and the material on which the thesis prints were to be printed. Meyer, 2002, 41–­56. Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 13. Rice, 2007, 205n27. As suggested by Jones (2010, 47), this translator could be the Richard Day [sic] (d. 1650) who graduated from Eton in 1622 and was admitted to King’s College, Cambridge, where he received a BA, an MA, and finally a BD in 1637. Alternatively, the translator could be the Richard Dey who matriculated in King’s College in 1633; Venn and Venn, 1922–­27, pt. 1, 2:23. Scheurleer, 1975, 271. The print was displayed either at the entrance to the anatomy theater or in one of the rooms above or below the stage. On the Leiden collection, see chapter 1. See Csombor, 1968, 233: “és mindeneknek elötte igyekeztem azon hogy amaz hires neves nagy elmejü baráttal ki az egész Cursus Philosophicust nagy mesterségel tablákra hozta, megismerkedhetnem.” On meeting Meurisse, Csombor told him that his name was greatly respected everywhere his writings were known. I would like to thank Péter Tóth for translating this text for me. Brockliss, 1987, 56; and Lüthy, 2006, 97. Here I am thinking of such pathbreaking projects as Reeves, 1997; Bredekamp, 1999; Freedberg, 2002; Feingold, 2004; Smith, 2004; Zittel, 2009; and Marr, 2011. Natali, 2013, 113–­17. Translation by J. A. Smith in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 1, On the Soul, 432a7, 687. Aristotle, On Memory, 450a31–­450b25. Translation by Smith in Aristotle, 1984, vol . 1, On the Soul, 432a6–­9, 687. Epistemological prints have recently started to receive more scholarly attention. See, for instance, Dackerman, 2011. And yet, as Elizabeth Cropper remarks, Testa’s etchings were appreciated for the same formal and aesthetic qualities as paintings. 1984, 42. Translation from Préaud, 2015, 9. Grivel, 1986, 406. Translation from Préaud, 2015, 10. Grivel, 1986, 406. This impression lacks the inscription “Cum privilegio Regis.” de Marolles, 1973, 37: “De Léonard Gaultier la manière un peu dure / A pourtant sa beauté, surtout dans ses portraits; / En ses tiltres de livre, enrichis de fins traits, / Aux thèses de Meurisse, il plut par leur figure. / Il donna la Psyché, les Rois et les Prophètes; / Dans leurs quadres petits, ses illustres si beaux.” Cited in Brugerolles and Guillet, 2000, 2. De Marolles’s mention of Psyche is an allusion to Gaultier’s illustration in Jean Maugin’s book L’Amour de Cupido et de Psiché (1586). See Quintilian, Institutio oratoria 9.2.46, and Cicero, Orator 2.7.94. The term “allegory” derives from the Greek words allo, meaning “other,” and agoria, meaning “speaking.” Translated by H. M. Hubbell in Cicero, 1962, 2.7.94, p. 375. Translated by I. Bywater in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 2, Poetics, 1457b5, 2332. According to George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, “The essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another.” Lakoff and Johnson, 1980, 5 (emphasis in original). These classical and Roman definitions of allegory and metaphor are cited in seventeenth-­century French dictionaries, such as Antoine Furetière’s Dictionnaire universel, in which allegory is defined as “a figure of rhetoric, which is a continuous metaphor, when one uses a discourse that is proper to one thing to refer to something else.” Furetière, 1690, 77: “Figure de Rhetorique, qui est une methaphore continuée, quand on se sert d’un discours qui est propre à une chose pour en faire entendre une autre.”

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46 See Académie Françoise, 1694, 1:28: “Il se dit aussi des tableaux & des bas-­reliefs dans lesquels des choses morales sont representées par des figures d’hommes ou d’animaux.” (It is also said of tableaux and bas-­reliefs in which moral things are represented by human figures or animals.) 47 Alt, 1995. 48 Diderot, 1970, 406. Translation from Goodman, 1995, 314. 49 The frontispiece, which was designed by Charles-­Nicholas Cochin (1715–­1790) in 1764 and engraved by Benoît-­Louis Prévost (c. 1735–­c. 1804), was given in 1772 to the subscribers of the Encyclopédie. May, 1973, 159–­74. Feingold, 2004, 144–­45. 50 Gadamer, 2004, 68. 51 Hegel, 1975, 1:224–­25. 52 Benjamin, 1977, 162. 53 Evans, 1980, 32–­55. 54 For stemmata, see Agricola, 1529, 22, 239, 269, and 285. On de Savigny, see Siegel, 2009. See also Zwinger, 1565, 3–­5, 32–­33, 50, 63, 85, 105, 158, 187–­90, 221–­22, 246, 251–­52, 278–­79, 358, 368, 389–­92, 476–­78, 542–­47, 598–­99, 627–­29, 667–­69, 672, 674–­75, 724–­25, 744, 761–­62, 842–­52, 967–­68, 987–­91, 1053–­55, 1079, 1088–­92, 1130, 1139–­46, 1280–­87, and 1399. 55 Voet, 1980, 2272–­78. A broadside summarizing logic is appended into the back of a 1564 edition of Valerius’s Tabulae totius dialectices held by the Cambridge University Library (Ven.8.56.5). 56 Meurisse, 1635. 57 Schmitt, 1983, 58–­59. 58 Howard Hotson argues that Ramism and textbooks grew popular in response to the need for “more useful and efficient pedagogical tools” among increasing numbers of poor students: 2007, 291. For additional studies of Ramism and pedagogy, see idem, 2000; Ong, 1983; and Reid and Wilson, 2011. 59 The stemma is inserted between pp. 2 and 3 of the 1651 edition of Hobbes’s Leviathan held by the Princeton University Library (7510.465.2). On Cesi’s tables, see Freedberg, 2002, 379–­88. 60 Kemp, 1989, 121–­34; idem, 1994; and idem, 2002, 294–­99. 61 As Christopher Wood observes, “Before modern cultures of art, the picture was always found within a collectivity.” 2010, 119. 62 The term “plural image” is also employed in the following discussion: Wood, 2010, 116–­39. 63 Perrault, 1692, 209. Heinrich Wölfflin (1864–­1945) presents the “development from multiplicity to unity” as one of five crucial pairs of concepts in the transition from sixteenth-­to seventeenth-­century art. Wölfflin, 1950, 14–­15. 64 Marc Fumaroli has argued in L’École du silence that around 1635 there was also a shift in the creation of frontispieces in rhetorical texts, such that engravers no longer created compartmentalized images but aimed instead at unifying spaces more organically. The frontispiece to Electorum symbolorum . . . syntagmata by the French Jesuit Nicolas Caussin (1583–­1651) that was engraved in 1618 by Gaultier, for instance, can be identified as an allegorical plural image in which individual compartments function as a frame to the title of the work. By contrast, the frontispiece to Peintures morales by Pierre Le Moyne (1661–­1706), engraved by Huret in 1640, is a cohesive unified tableau, in which the work’s title is relegated to a small oval at the top of the page, shown in the same light as the rest of the scene. 1998, 421–­44. 65 Bacci’s broadside is believed to have been inspired by a woodblock print created by Agostino Dario from Vicenza. Dario’s print was published in Venice in 1543 and known as the Opus de anima (1543). In

66

67 68

69

70

71 72 73

74 75

76

77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84

this work the profile of a young man provides the structural basis for an account of the science of the soul and its relation to the cosmos. There are no known extant impressions of the Opus de anima. For an explanation of this broadside, see Saffrey, 1994, 104–­10. Bacci designed two further synoptic tables, De theriaca quae ad instituta veterum Galeni atque Andromachi cum censuris doctissimorum hac nostra aetate virorum examinanda sunt (Rome, 1582) and Tabula seu rota proprietatum occultarum et scala ab intimis ad supernas earum causas (Rome, 1592): Bologna, University Library, MS Aldrovandi 40, fols. 136v–­9r and 187v–­8r. For accounts of the Ordo universi, see Saffrey, 1994; Saffrey, 2003, 177–­216; Bauer, 1985c, 12–­15; and Siegel, 2009, 23–­27. For a precedent to Bacci’s print, see the anatomical cut of the head from the Dialogo of Lodovico Dolce (1508/10–­1569): 1562, 5. Carafa, 1751, 2:342. On the Logicae universae typus, see Bauer, 1985e, 20–­23; eadem, 2000, 496–­98; Siegel, 2009, 119–­22; and Berger, 2015, 265–­87. For a list of surviving impressions of the editions of the Ordo universi, see Saffrey, 1994, 96. Colutius, 1606: “Nulla est Philosophiae pars, B[eatissime] P[ontifex] nullum Aristotelis scriptum, tam difficile, tamque perplexum, uti Logicum com[m]uniter appellatum de quo, et Aristoteles insudasse fatetur in elenchis.” Colutius, 1606: “Ego vero cum diu cogitaverim, qua nam ratione incom[m]odo huic consulere possem, typo hoc formarem in sententiam deveni.” (Having deliberated for a long time, by what method I might be able to address this shortcoming, I reached the conclusion that I should represent it with a printed image.) Colutius, 1606: “tuaeque Simul Sanctitati debitum laborem novi . . . maximus pusilli, pusillam rem, non despiciat rogo.” On this engraving, see Bauer, 1985d, 16–­19; eadem, 2000, 498–­99; Siegel, 2009, 121–­25; Berger, 2013b, 270–­93; and eadem, 2016, 33–­44. The Physica recalls the famous wooden theater of memory built by the Italian philosopher Giulio Camillo Delminio (c. 1480–­1544) to communicate Hermetic philosophies. Camillo’s theater could actually be entered; spectators, positioned on the stage, would peer at the auditorium filled with mnemonic images. Jones, 2010, 47–­48, 50–­51. For other philosophical plural images, see the illustrations in Civitas veri sive morum by Bartolomeo del Bene (1514–­c. 1587) that was published in Paris in 1609. I am grateful to Claire Richter Sherman for sharing her research on del Bene with me. Yates, 1992. Rossi, 1960. Carruthers, 1990. Eadem, 1998. Bolzoni, 1995. Busse Berger and Rossi, 2009. Spence, 1988. Massing, 2004, 1:275–­303. Translated by J. I. Beare in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 1, On Memory, 450a11–­ 14, 715. Translated by Beare in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 1, On Memory, 452a1–­4, 718. Carruthers, 1990, 183. Carruthers, 2010, 190. Carruthers, 1998, 77. Carruthers, 1998, 77. On these sculptures, see Norman, 1995, 217–­41. Norman, 1995, 217–­41. The encyclopedic fresco cycles in the crypt of the cathedral of Anagni (c. 1235–­50) and in Santi Quattro Coronati in Rome (c. 1245–­50) are also premodern allegorical plural images. For a study of these pictorial programs, see Hauknes, 2014. Further allegorical plural images in the medium of fresco can be found in the Sala dei

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85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98

99

100 101

102 103

104

105 106 107 108

109 110 111 112

Nove of the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena, which was painted between 1337 and 1340 by Ambrogio Lorenzetti (1290–­1348). These frescoes partake in contemporary debates on the aims and practices of republican self-­government. Skinner, 1986, 1–­56. Norman, 1995, 232. My observations on this detail are in line with those of Norman, 1995, 238. Wood, 2014, 77–­79. Baxandall, 1980, 30. Marlowe, 1593, B3r. Marlowe, 1593, B3v. Marlowe, 1593, B3v. Marlowe, 1593, B3v. Schmitt, 1973, 159–­60. Brockliss, 1992, 56. Schmutz, 2008b, 381. Meyer, 1993, 47. The first privileges for prints were given in France in 1545. Landau and Parshall, 1994, 308. Villon was a professor of philosophy at the University of Paris. De Clave was a doctor of medicine. For a contemporary refutation of the anti-­Aristotelian theses by Jean-­Baptiste Morin (1583–­1656), a future professor of mathematics at the Collège de France, see Morin, 1624. Garber, 1988, 477–­78 and 485nn28–­35; idem, 2002, 135–­60; Ariew and Grene, 1997, 313; and Kahn, 2002, 143–98. d’Argentré, 1728–­31, 2:147: “fait défenses à toutes personnes à peine de la vie tenir, ni enseigner aucunes maximes contre les Autheurs anciens et approuvez, ni faire aucunes disputes que celles qui seront approuvées par les Docteurs de ladite Faculté de Theologie.” Ariew and Grene, 1997, 313. Blair, 2006, 391. Sorel, 1644, 105: “Tous les jours quand l’on dispute dans les Colleges aux Classes de Philosophie, l’on contredit bien aux opinions de ce Philosophe [c’est-­à-­dire Aristote], mais l’on peut dire que c’est par exercice, & que l’on conclud tousjours pour lui, au lieu que Villon avoit dessein de lui faire perdre son procez. . . . C’est pourquoi l’on luy defendit de passer outre.” Cited by Kahn, 2002, 149n18. Mersenne, 1625, 81. Cited and translated in Ariew and Grene, 1997, 314. BnF, MS Dupuy 630, fol. 72. Cited in Kahn, 2002, 147. It is possible that an image was removed from the top area of the surviving impression, though this seems unlikely, as the broadside is in portrait format. Kahn stresses that contemporaries focused their discussions on the theological consequences of the anti-­Aristotelian dimensions of the theses (2002, 145). Du Hamel, 1705, 18. Cited in Brockliss, 2006, 261. Brockliss, 2006, 261. Schmaltz, 2004, 29–­32. Vanpaemel, 2011, 243. In 1617 a document called the Visitatio outlined the Aristotelian texts to be taught in the Faculty of Arts. For this document, see Reusens, 1881–­1903, 1:600–­637 (630–­31). Cited in Vanpaemel, 1986, 228n19. Vanpaemel, 2011, 243 and 248; and idem, 1986, 223. Opsomer, 2000, 156. Hiraux, 2003, 23. Vanpaemel, 1986, 223. Stévart, 1871. Huygens, 1888–­1950, 10:113: “Depuis peu il a publié et soustenu des Theses, ou il n’avance pas seulement les sentiments de Des Cartes, et

113 114 115

116 117

la mobilité de la Terre suivant le Systeme de Copernic mais il reprend outre cela un peu librement l’inutilité de la Philosophie Scholastique, ce que quelques uns de ces anciens docteurs ne pouvant souffrir, ils l’ont accusé aupres de Mr. le Nonce du Pape qui est a Bruxelles, a fin de le faire agir aupres du Recteur de l’Université pour faire mettre en prison nostre Philosophe qui pourroit ainsi devenir martyr de la doctrine Cartesienne. . . . Voiez je vous prie s’il y aura moien de faire quelque chose en sa faveur.” Brockliss, 1990, 192–­93. It was only in 1757 that the papal ban against works justifying heliocentrism was revoked. Blair, 2006, 385. Opsomer, 2000, 156. On the eighteenth-­century natural philosophy curriculum, see Hiraux, 2003, 23–­25. Laurence Brockliss characterizes the last decade of the seventeenth century as “a moment of profound change”; whereas prior to 1690 professors at the University of Paris rejected mechanical philosophy, after 1700 all professors subscribed to Cartesianism (2006, 260). Schmutz, 2008a, 131–­82. Schmutz, 2008a, 131. For sixteenth-­century associations of war and learning, see the game manual Metromachia, sive ludus geometricus by the Puritan and Cambridge scholar William Fulke (1538–­1589). In this game, which was designed to teach geometry, Fulke presents Metromachia as a “pugna” (battle) and introduces military engines and firearms as playing pieces. Fulke, 1578, 9. Moyer, 2001, 100–­107. chapter 1  apin’s cabinet of printed curiosities

1 See Mulsow, 2002; and idem, 2012.

2 On this academy, see Evans, 1977, 135–­39; Barnett, 1995; and Kenny, 2004, 186–­87. 3 See Watkins, 2011. 4 de Piles, 1699, 74. The cited English translations are quoted from de Piles, 1706, 54–­66. See also MacGregor, 1999, 395. 5 de Piles, 1699, 74; idem, 1706, 54. 6 de Piles, 1699, 78; idem, 1706, 56. 7 de Piles, 1699, 79; idem, 1706, 57. 8 de Piles, 1699, 84: “bons effets qui peuvent venir de l’usage des Estampes.” Idem, 1706, 61. 9 de Piles, 1699, 85; idem, 1706, 61–­62 (emphasis in original). 10 I am grateful to Christophe Litwin for discussing this passage with me. The comparison of the soul to an artwork is discussed in some detail in chapter 5. 11 de Piles, 1699, 91: “elles sont les lumières du Discours, & les véritables moyens par où les Auteurs se communiquent.” Idem, 1706, 66. 12 Translation by John Cottingham in Descartes, 1985, 1:2. 13 Gregory the Great, 1982, 2.12–­14, p. 768. Translation from Chazelle, 2012, 138–­53. 14 de Marolles, 1666, 9: “Cependant s’il faut parler de leur utilité pour l’instruction de ceux qui les aiment, ou pour former l’esprit d’un jeune Prince, il est certain que les Estampes bien choisies & bien disposées donnent agreablement la connoissance, non seulement de toutes les Sciences, & de tous les beaux Arts, mais encore de toutes les choses imaginables.” 15 de Marolles, 1666, 9–­14. 16 Translation by Donald Andrew Russell in Quintilian, 2014, vol. 2, 4.2.123, pp. 278–­79. See Skinner, 2009b, 118–­20. 17 Quintilian, 2014, vol. 2, 4.2.62, pp. 250–­51. 18 Translation by Russell in Quintilian, 2014, vol. 3, 8.3.62, pp. 374–­75. 19 Thucydides, 1629, fol. A3v. 20 Skinner, 2009b, esp. 121.

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21 Skinner, 2009b, 121–­27. 22 For the importance of images as tools of persuasion, see Skinner, 2009b, 120–­21. On Renaissance symbolism, see Praz, 1939; and Gombrich, 1948, 163–­92. 23 Meurisse, 1616: “Arborum principe, scientiarum principem adumbratam supremi senatus principi dico et offero; et aere quidem incisam, quia non aere, nec marmore solum, sed et foelici Gallorum, et perpetua totius orbis memoria, semper honos, nomenque suum, laudesque manebunt.” The epithet “leader of the supreme senate” refers to de Verdun’s position as first president in the Parlement of Paris. 24 Richeome, 1601, 7: “Il n’y a rien qui plus delecte, ne qui fasse plus suavement glisser une chose dans l’ame, que la peinture: ne qui plus profondement la grave en la memoire, ne qui plus efficacement pousse la volonté pour lui donner branle et l’esmouvoir avec energie à aimer ou haïr l’object bon ou mauvais qui lui aura esté proposé, je ne vois pas en quelle maniere on puisse plus profitablement, vivement, & delicieusement enseigner.” On Richeome’s views on images, see esp. Ossa-­ Richardson, 2013, 41–­54. 25 For further comparisons between mental images and the technology of engraving, see Richeome, 1600, 450, 484, and 485. 26 Ong, 1983. See also Bolzoni, 1995. 27 Translation from Meyer, Trueblood, and Heller, 1999, 1:210. Apin, 1731, 23. 28 Translation from Vesalius, 1998, 1:lvi. Apin, 1731, 21. 29 Apin, 1731, 3. The Orbis pictus was originally published in Nuremberg in 1658; it has since been translated into at least eighteen different languages and has appeared in over 248 editions. Unlike many of the works discussed in Apin’s treatise, the Orbis pictus was able to maintain its standing. Turner, 1972, 113. 30 Comenius, 1659, A3v. 31 Although this idea is Aristotelian, the precise phrase does not appear in Aristotle’s writings. Cranefield, 1970, 77–­80. 32 James Grantham Turner likens this image to the vernicle (1972, 129). 33 Comenius, 1658, 80 and 82. 34 To make sense of this suggestion, we would do well to review the ways in which these prints were produced. Artists created woodcuts by cutting a design onto a piece of wood such that the design stood out from a plane surface; ink was then spread onto the raised surface of the cut woodblock, and a piece of paper was pressed onto the inked woodblock to produce an image. By contrast, two methods used to create pictures with metal (typically copper) plates most commonly involved cutting a design into the plate with burins (for engravings) and acids (for etching). The incised lines of the copperplate were then filled with ink, and the plate’s surface was cleaned; the next step typically involved using a roller press to push a damp piece of paper against the inked plate with sufficient pressure that the paper would be pushed into the incised areas of the plate, leading to an image being impressed onto the paper. 35 See Apin, 1731, 3, 5, and 8. 36 Apin, 1731, 3. 37 Buno 1651, 14: “welcher kein Mann/ weil er [der Hermaphrodit] einen Rock an hat; und auch kein Weib/ denn er hat Hosen/ und auf der einen Seiten einen Bart.” 38 Apin, 1731, 18–­20. 39 Modern scholars contend that the original Greek text is from the first century CE. 40 Milton, 1644, 4. 41 Schleier, 1973. Sider, 1979. Trapp, 1997, 159–­80. Lines and Kraye, 2013, 29–­56 (47–­51).

n ot e s t o i n t rodu c t o n – c h a p t e r o n e

42 Apin, 1731, 15 and 17–­18. 43 Apin, 1731, 18: “quasi colligatae figurae, ut vix claram & sufficientem earum enarrationem dare possim, nisi totam describerem tabulam.” 44 Apin, 1731, 15. 45 Apin, 1731, 15. 46 Apin, 1731, 2. 47 Weigel, 1980, 1: “Hiebey müß man den Kindern vorsagen: Dieses Kindlein reißet das maül aüf jenet ünd schrenet aaa, als dann soll man zügleich aüf den Büchstaben deüten ünd dem Kind vorsagen sehe hier dieß heist .a. Züm Andern, soll man das Kind fragen wo das a sen. Zum Dritten, wann das Kind aüf den Büchstaben deütet solle man fragen: Wie heiset dieser Büchstabe.” 48 On this woodcut, see Wolf-­Heidegger and Cetto, 1967, 214–­18; Cunningham, 1997, 121–­28; Carlino, 1999, 39–­53; Park, 2006, 207–­59; and Kusukawa, 2012, 201–­4. 49 Kusukawa, 2012, 200. Vesalius, 1998, 1:xlviii–­xlix. 50 Translation by William Frank Richardson and John Burd Carman in Vesalius, 1998, 1:xlvii. 51 Also pointed out in Kusukawa, 2010, 137. 52 Kusukawa, 2006, 90. 53 Eriksson, 1959, 236 f. 54 Kusukawa, 2006, 90. 55 Kusukawa, 2010, 137. 56 Vesalius, 1543, 280. Translation from Siraisi, 1994, 68. 57 As pointed out in Kusukawa, 2006, 85. 58 Oporinus is identified as a professor of Greek literature at Basel—­again we see how fluid the social distinctions were within early modern print cultures. Vesalius’s publisher held the professorship from 1537 to 1539. 59 Translation by Richardson and Carman in Vesalius, 1998, 1:lx. 60 Translation by Richardson and Carman in Vesalius, 1998, 1:lvii. 61 Apin, 1731, 15. Murner, 1507. 62 Rossi, 1960, 78–­80. Murner was far from the only pedagogue to turn education into a game. As mentioned in the introduction, William Fulke, for instance, invented the game manual Metromachia, sive ludus geometricus in order to teach geometry. Fulke, 1578. Moyer, 2001. See n. 117 in the introduction. 63 Meurisse, 1615: “naturae theatrum ex(h)ibemus.” (We show this theater of nature.) 64 Blair, 1997, 153–­79. 65 Apin, 1731, 18: “tanta figmentorum ubertate, ut autoris ingenium non satis potuerim mirari.” 66 Scribner, 1990, 77. Chang, 2004, 129–­87. Jütte, 2015, 175–­208. 67 Rice, 1998, 189; and eadem, 2007. 68 Molière, 1973, 303: “Donnez, donnez, elle est toujours bonne à prendre pour l’image: cela servira à parer notre chambre.” (Give it, give it. It [i.e., the thesis print] is still worth keeping for the image: this will serve to adorn our room.) Cited by Delmas, 2005, 91. 69 Piana, 1959, 103. By the seventeenth century, it was standard for philosophy courses to be given outside the University of Paris, in the colleges or monastery schools that were legally affiliated with the university, such as the Grand Couvent. Brockliss, 1981b, 131. 70 Students not chosen to participate in public disputations had to take supplementary examinations; see Meyer, 1993, 52. 71 MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18474, fols. 24r–­25v. The instructions are titled “Appendix de modo respondendi, disputandi et studendi.” This student’s name is unknown, but the notebook pertains to his attendance at a course on Philosophia scotistica given by a teacher identified as Brière Jr. Another notebook, belonging to an anonymous

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student who attended a course on Philosophia scoto-­peripatetica under a Professor Jacquet at the Grand Couvent in 1705–­6, includes the first few pages of the same instructions, there headed “Appendix de modo studendi et disputandi”; Paris, BnF MS lat. 18488, fols. 25v–­26v. I am grateful to Charles Burnett and David Butterfield for their help with the transcription and translation of these manuscripts. Both appendixes are cited in Schmutz, 2008b, 396n116. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18474, fol. 24v: “In privatis exercitationibus ad singulas fere propositiones quae negantur . . . \af/ferenda est ratio negati, tametsi eadem saepe . . . \solutio/ occurrat et fastidium afferre videatur, nam exercitationes privatae ad hoc institutae sunt ut . . . saepe occurrentes et multoties[?] repetitae probationes altius mentem penetrent.” (In private exercises . . . the reasoning of the denied proposition should be applied to almost each of the proposals that are denied, even if the same . . . solution occurs often and seems to arouse distaste, for private exercises are set up for this so that . . . proofs that occur often and are repeated many times penetrate deeper into the mind.) MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18474, fol. 24v: “In publicis vero disputationibus non temere et ad omnem occasionem effundendae sunt probationes . . . tam frequens repetitio nihil aliud videtur quam ingrata garulitas quae aures offendit et fastidium affert[?].” Rice, 1999, 158–­60; Meyer, 1993, 80–­83. Paris, BnF MS lat. 18474, fols. 24r–­25v (24r): “In nostris autem . . . concertationibus aliae sunt partes disputantis et aliae sunt respondentis.” Paris, BnF MS lat. 18474, fols. 24r–­25v (24r): “qui disputaturus assurgit sic honeste prefari debet si prius iusserit colendissimus magister meus benig[n]e audierint condiscipuli carissimi erudite ac religiose respondens argumentabor in eam thesim in qua dicis etc.” There is some ambiguity here, as the word in could be translated as “for,” “against,” or even “on both sides.” Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 13. Meyer, 1993, 87, 89, and 90. Brockliss, 1987, 76–­77. Meurisse, 1614: “De hac Thesi horis et diebus solitis respondebunt fratres logici in Conventu fratrum Minorum Parisiensium, a Calendis Junii, ad Calendas Augusti Anno Domini M. DC. XIIII.” Chéron, 1622: “De his respond[ebunt] fratres P. Thomas Despres. I. Verbiale. N. Adam. V. La-­ruele. H. Couplet. F. de Harne. R. Contansin. F. Fontaine. I. Boulin. etc. Anno. 1622.” Thirty students or more might participate in a disputation at once; see Meyer, 2002, 20; eadem, 1993, 53; and Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 28. Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 28; Rice, 1999, 149. I am grateful to John Overholt of the Houghton Library for his advice on the material conditions of this print. Meyer, 1993, 79. Meyer, 2002, 27; Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 25. de Gubernatis, 1684, 3:606a; quoted in Gieben, 1990, 686. This passage is cited in full below at n. 97. Meurisse, 1614: “Illustriss[imo] et nobiliss[imo] viro D[omino] D[omino] Jacobo Augusto Thuano, ab utrisque Regis Consiliis, et uni e principibus regiae pecuniae adservatoribus; F[rater] M[artinus] Meurisse S[alutat] Tibi, Jacobe Thuane, litterarum et litteratorum deunculo, Tibi nuper ab Rege pacis legationem ad principes obire iusso, Tibi pro Rege, pro publico, non tibi, nato, Tibi magni Inclytique Thuani aureae proli, Tibi nostri Seraphici non modo Lutetiae, sed et totius Galliae, ordinis, patrono appendimus hanc philosophici certaminis tabulam. suscipe modo, et si cordi est, me meosque in hoc Franciscano tuo Caenobio ama, fove, tuere. Vale.”

88 In addition to the broadsides of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier, the following thesis prints produced before the 1630s are plural images: Mysterium recenti miraculo apud faverneos in Burgundia illustre published in 1616 in Paris (Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-­Geneviève, Réserve, fol. w 317 (2) inv. 449, fol. 213r); Tristitia in gaudium published in 1620 in Paris (Paris, BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Pc 3 fol); and Orationis dominicae peristromata sacrae theologiae variis exculta mysteriis published in 1622 in Paris (Cabinet des Estampes, BRB, S. IV 86228). I am grateful to Véronique Meyer for drawing my attention to this third engraving. A theology thesis print, engraved by Gaultier, for a disputation held on May 15, 1611, in the Dominican Couvent St-­Jacques in Paris, also features a rich juxtaposition of word and image. Impressions of this broadside are held in the Graham Robertson Room of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge (30.I.1 number 76) and the Albertina in Vienna (HB137, number 89). 89 There are of course exceptions, such as the thesis print created for Jesuit students in Aachen to employ in disputations between 1685 and 1706 that shows theses in logic, physics, and metaphysics dispersed onto a tree in a composition that recalls the Laurus metaphysica (BnF, AA6). This broadside was published by Estienne Gantrel (1646–­1706), and cut by an anonymous artist, although it is signed by the engraver of lettering, Claude-­August Berey (c. 1651/65–­1730). Meyer, 2002, 212. 90 Despite the overwhelming tendency of thesis print designers to use the standard format, Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier were not alone in their integration of word and image across the page. Thesis prints produced in universities and convents in the Danube Monarchy, Bavaria, and Swabia, in particular, tended to feature interspersed text and image more than did their Italian and French counterparts, though prints with independent text and image were also produced in these regions. See broadsides discussed and reproduced by Appuhn-­Radtke (1988). 91 Delmas, 2005, 91. 92 This print was glued into a large book by Pierre Lalemant, prior of Sainte Geneviève and chancellor of the University of Paris between 1661 and 1674. Lalemant glued close to half of the illustrated thesis prints defended in Paris after 1650 into this and other volumes, under the title Orationes Academicae habitae A R[everendo] P[atre] Petro Lalemant Sanctae Genovefae et Universitatis Cancellario Dum Artium Candidatos Laurea Donaret (Academic addresses given by the Reverend Father Pierre Lalemant of Ste-­Genevieve, chancellor of the university, when he presented candidates [for the Master] of Arts degree). These volumes are held today by the Bibliothèque Sainte-­Geneviève in Paris. Cited by Meyer, 2002, 63. The bottom of the broadside, on which the individual theses would have been printed, is missing. Print collectors often kept the images of thesis prints and disposed of their texts, presumably because they were more interested in the illustrations and they wanted to make these large broadsides easier to store. Rice, 2007, 197. 93 Rice, 1998, 189. Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 52–­53. Meyer, 2004, 51. 94 Although these encomiastic images might not relate to the theses, they can nevertheless be extremely clever and intellectually demanding. As Louise Rice has shown, Roman Jesuit thesis prints include erudite references to classical mythology, ancient history, and contemporary scientific discoveries. See, e.g., Rice, 1999, figs. 6.3, 6.4, 6.6, and 6.7. 95 See, for instance, the following theology and philosophy thesis prints in the BnF: AA6 Ed 27 fol. Ancienne Collection Marolles; AA6 E035459; AA6 E 045458; AA6 E023254; AA6 E023247; AA6 E023248; and AA6 E023249.

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96 In 1517, Pope Leo X reorganized the Franciscans into two branches, the Observants and the Conventuals. The Observant Franciscans, who believed in the strict observance of the original rule of the Order of Saint Francis, were designated as belonging to either the Order of the Friars Minor of the Regular Observance (abbreviated OFM Obs.), or the Order of the Friars Minor (abbreviated OFM). Meurisse belonged to the Order of the Friars Minor. Schmutz, 2008b, 370–­73, and 375. 97 de Gubernatis, 1684, 3:606a: “Nullus a Fratribus studentibus Conclusiones propugnandas praelo mandet exquisitis inconibus affixas, et intermixtas, ut sic confusio sententiarum vitetur, et superfluus sumptus (nostro statui indecens) amputetur: etiam si aliquis amicus spiritualis expensas suppediret; Liceat tamen simplici praelo, et secundum nostrae Religionis morem antiquum.” Quoted in Gieben, 1990, 686. 98 Gieben, 1990, 686. 99 de Gubernatis, 1685, 4:153b: “Praecipit Capitulum generale, ne deinceps in Capitulis, aut Congregationibus Generalibus, aut Provincialibus proponantur Theses propugnandae cum iconibus aere incisis, aut laminis quomodolibet sumptuosis: sed omnes typis communibus, quantumvis magno Patrono dicatae mandentur; qui secus fecerit, prohibetur easdem Theses defendere; privatur Lectoratu, si iam obtinuit; sin minus, inhabilitatur ad obtinendum. Minister vero vel Praelatus, qui contrarium fieri permiserit, suspendatur ab officio ad arbitrium Superioris.” Quoted by Gieben, 1990, 687. 100 Apin, 1731, 29: “fateor profiteorque, multas eiusmodi icones cum anxia curiositate quaesitas, curiosam & exigui usus vanitatem esse” (emphasis in original). 101 The popularity of these kinds of museums in the early modern period points to a movement away from words as the primary source of knowledge. Much has also been written on cabinets of curiosities or wonders. Some notable studies include Bredekamp, 1995; Findlen, 1994; Pomian, 1990; Impey and MacGregor, 1985; and Kaufmann, 1993, 174–­96. The literature on curiosity is also extensive; some of the more prominent works include Daston and Park, 1998; Evans and Marr, 2006; and Kenny, 2004. 102 Scheurleer, 1975, 222. 103 Scheurleer, 1975, 223. 104 Scheurleer, 1975, 271–­72. The inventory of the amphitheater is in the “Archief van Curatoren, 1575–­1815,” of Leiden University: AC1 228. Cited in Scheurleer, 1975, 273n43. 105 Scheurleer, 1975, 228, 231–­33, 249–­51, 255, 258–­59, 271, and 276n148. 106 Apin, 1731, 24. 107 Apin, 1731, 25 and 27. 108 Apin, 1731, 9–­14. 109 Apin, 1731, 13. 110 Apin, 1731, ):(3r and v: “Cum enim multi peregrinantes meam qualemcunque collectionem animo & oculis contemplati sint, nec temporis spatium, quo erant inclusi, admodum breve permitteret, ut unum alterumve notare potuerint; me rogarunt, ut dissertationem hancce, olim STANISL. MINCKII logicae memorativae adjectam denuo in lucem ederem.” (For since many travelers have viewed my collection, such as it is, with their mind and their eyes, and the very brief space of time to which they were constrained did not allow them to observe one thing or another, they have asked me to publish again this dissertation, which was formerly appended to the Logica memorativa peripatetica of Stanislaus Minck.) 111 Apin, 1731, ):(v: “hoc tamen sancte possum adfirmare, me nullum adduxisse, quem non vel ipse vidi in scriniis eruditorum, vel in qualicunque meo librorum apparatu curiosis viris ostendere possum.”

112 The curious was closely associated with the marvelous. In the article titled “Merveilleux” in the Encyclopédie of Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert (1717–­1783), the anonymous author proclaims, “Whatever one says, the marvelous is not made for us.” Anonymous, 1751, 10:395. Translated in Daston and Park, 1998, 329. 113 See Evans and Marr, 2006, 2n6. 114 Apin, 1731, 29: “quae non rem ipsam, prout in se est, sed arbitraria & imaginaria eius signa exhibent.” 115 Apin, 1731, 37: “Per imagines autem verus rerum nexus confunditur, ac quasi nebulis quibusdam involuitur. Quare nullatenus probo WINCKELMANMI logicam memorativam” (emphasis in original). See Morhof, 1714, 1:376. 116 Winkelmann wrote under the pseudonym of Stanislaus Mink von Wennsheim. See n. 110 above. 117 Yvon, 1751, 1:718. 118 Yvon, 1751, 1:719: “Tout ce que nous pouvons dire là-­dessus, c’est que tous ces mots & ces vers techniques paroissent plus difficiles à retenir, que les choses mêmes dont ils doivent faciliter l’étude.” 119 Apin, 1731, 36: “rebus enim corporeis, nisi μεταϕορικῶς res mentis ferme declarari nequeunt.” 120 See McGrath, 2011, 209–­11. 121 Apin, 1731, 30–­31. 122 Apin, 1731, 32–­33: “nunc de iis, quibus pueris elementa prima litterarum, vocabulorum notitiam, Grammaticam & scientias tradere studuerunt quidam, picturis inprimis dicam, eas admodum ridiculas, ineptas & interdum plane falsas esse, pronunciare nullus extimesco” (emphasis in original). 123 Apin, 1731, 33–­34. 124 Apin, 1731, 34: “Certe, si per picturas scientiam addiscere velis, duo simul, & simulacra & res, quae per illa notantur, memoriae mandare cogeris; cum, si nude, nullis adhibitis picturis rem aggrediaris, tempus illud quod imprimendis simulacris dare debes novae rei addiscendae tribuere possis.” 125 Yvon, 1751, 1:718: “les uns ont voulu désigner par des figures toutes sortes de choses morales & métaphysiques; ce qui est absurde, parce que ces choses ont besoin de tant d’explications, que le travail de la mémoire en est doublé.” 126 Yvon, 1751, 1:719: “Plus l’idée que nous avons d’une chose est claire & distincte, plus nous aurons de facilité à la retenir & à la rappeller quand nous en aurons besoin.” 127 Goethe, 2007, lines 428–­29, p. 34: “Er schlägt das Bauch auf und erblickt das Zeichen des Makrokosmus” (emphasis in original). 128 Translation by Peter Salm in Goethe, 2007, lines 439–­41, pp. 36–­37. 129 Translation by Salm in Goethe, 2007, lines 454–­56, pp. 36–­37. 130 It is unknown what title Rembrandt ascribed to this print.

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chapter 2  thinking through plural images of logic Translation of epigraph quotation from Wittgenstein, 2009. Ludot, 1751, 200–­205. Ludot, 1751, 201: “Voici, M. la copie d’une piece qui par son extrême singularité peut mériter une place dans votre Journal. Il faut, autant qu’il est possible, sauver les chefs-­d’œuvre de l’oubli, & cette piece en est un.” Ludot, 1751, 201: “La piece . . . est le programme des Theses de Logique soutenues aux Cordeliers de Paris . . . sous la Présidence de F[rère] M[artin] Meurisse Professeur.” Ludot, 1751, 201: “L. Gaulthier un des plus célèbres Graveurs d’alors.” Chéron would not have been permitted to attend Meurisse’s philosophy lectures at the Grand Couvent, because he was not a resident

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monk of the convent. Given that Gaultier engraved both documents, however, it is highly probable that the engraver showed the Descriptio to Chéron when he met with the Carmelite friar to discuss the design of the Typus. Brockliss, 1987, 194–­95. Courses at the Grand Couvent and Parisian colleges often opened with a section titled “parva logica” (little logic), or “compendium logicae” (compendium of logic), which presented a wide-­ranging introduction to the discipline inspired by Peter of Spain’s Summulae, and offered definitions of critical logical concepts. This introduction was followed by a longer section titled “dialectica” (dialectics), or “magna logica” (general logic). Schmutz, 2008b, 396. See, for example, Eustachius, 1609, 1:19–­20, 163, and 192. Nuchelmans, 1998, 1:105. Meurisse, 1614: “Janua nunc vobis patet, iste gradusque paratur. Fons uber, palmae virides, fructusque salubris.” In the Chirologia John Bulwer (1606–­1656) describes this gesture: “To extend out the right hand by the arme foreright, is the naturall habit wherein we sometimes allure, invite, speak to, cry after, call, or warne to come, bring into.” 1644, 42. In the original Descriptio, the Franciscan philosopher and theologian John Duns Scotus (1265/66–­1308), Meurisse, and his students are tonsured and in Franciscan habits with pointed hoods and knotted rope belts; in Dey’s copy, by contrast, Duns Scotus, Meurisse, and the students appear in gowns worn by British teachers and school boys (see plate 1 and fig. 33). Chéron, 1622: “Qu[a]e sedet in solio / dissipat omne malum.” All citations pertaining to Chéron’s Typus are drawn from the Princeton University impression. Chéron’s comment is based on Proverbs 20:8: “Rex qui sedet in solio judicii dissipat omne malum intuitu suo” (The king, that sitteth on the throne of judgment, scattereth away all evil with his look). Here and elsewhere I have used the English of the Douai-­Rheims Bible. Hippocrates encountered the philosopher Democritus writing and dissecting animals in his garden; see Hippocrates, 1546, 526r; in his Pseudepigraphic Writings, ed. and trans. Smith, 1990, 74–­75, letter 17.2, “Hippocrates to Damagetus.” For Plato and Epicurus, see Clay, 2009, 9–­28 (26). In homage to such classical models, Cicero’s philosophical dialogues often took place in the garden of a country villa; see, e.g., Cicero, 1527, fols. 4v and 127r (Academica, 2.3.9 and De natura deorum, 1.6.15). Horace, too, frequently invoked rural locations as sites for inspiration, writing, and thinking; see, e.g., his Opera, cum quatuor commentariis, 1543, fol. 274v (Odes and Epodes, 1.1.29–­32). The trees of Porphyry that I analyze in chapter 4 can also be associated with this tradition of connecting nature to teaching and philosophical discourse. On the use of vegetative symbolism for mental development, from antiquity through the Renaissance, see Horowitz, 1998. Prest, 1981; Findlen, 2006, 272–­81; and Tomasi, 2005, 85–­129. Erasmus, 1621, 88: “non est muta rerum natura, sed undiquaque loquax est, multaque docet contemplantem, si nacta fuerit hominem attentum ac docilem.” Erasmus, 1621, 91: “Epicureos hortos.” Erasmus, 1621, 91 and 93: “Attice loquitur Attica.” For a woodcut of the tower of grammar designed by Heinrich Vogt­ herr the Elder (1490–­1556) and printed in 1548 in Zürich by Justus Froschaur, see Geisberg, 1974, 4:1382. Translation by J. L. Ackrill in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 1, Categories, 1b25–­2a4, 4. Idem, 1590, 1:9. Eustachius, 1609, 1:86. Aristotle, Metaphysics, 1021a23–­24. Idem, 1590, 2:517. Eustachius, 1609, 1:130. Abra de Raconis, 1633, 230.

20 Meurisse, 1614: “Summus Aristoteles veterum praecepta Sophorum Dum logica expendit, lucida cuncta facit.” 21 Thornton, 1997. 22 Meurisse, 1614: “Scotus Aristoteli sua debet: at explicat illum. Scoto ergo quid non debet Aristoteles?” 23 Meurisse’s publication is titled Rerum metaphysicarum libri tres ad mentem doctoris subtilis (1623). Duns Scotus was commonly referred to as the “subtle doctor.” 24 Jacob Schmutz has observed in his study of course notebooks from the Grand Couvent that professors (other than Meurisse) tended to refer to the works of scholars in Paris associated with colleges and the theology faculty, as opposed to citing thinkers in other countries. He also argues that most Grand Couvent professors (again excepting Meurisse, who was an unusually broad and deep thinker) did not appear to have a profound understanding of Duns Scotus’s works: 2008b, 393–­95. The similarities among philosophical teachings at the Grand Couvent and other Parisian colleges are not surprising in view of findings by Roger Ariew on the dominance of Scotist philosophy throughout early seventeenth-­century France (excepting Jesuit communities): Ariew, 1999, 45; and idem, 2000, 14–­21. 25 See Berger, 2014, 343–­66. 26 Cicero introduces inventio as the first of five stages in the composition of speech and defines this process in On Invention (1.7.9) as “the discovery of valid or seemingly valid arguments to render one’s cause plausible.” Translation by H. M. Hubbell in Cicero, 1976, 18–­19. 27 Chéron, 1622: “She [i.e., Philosophy] hath sent her maids to invite to the tower.” (Misit ancillas suas ut vocarent ad arcem.) Proverbs 9:3. Presumably the “tower” here is the temple of wisdom. 28 Aristotle, 1590, 2:485. Idem, Metaphysics, 982b20. 29 Aristotle, 1590, 2:485; idem, Metaphysics, 982b12–­14. Abra de Raconis also cites wonder as a reason to find philosophy (1633, 13): “It should first be noted that two principles, namely, wonder and experience, come together in order to invent any given art.” (Notandum est primo ad inventionem cuiuscumque artis, duo concurrere principia, scilicet admirationem & experientiam.) Emphasis in original. 30 Chéron, 1622: “In the treasures of wisdom is understanding.” (In thesauris sapientiae intellectus.) Ecclesiasticus 1:26. 31 Chéron, 1622: “Give me wisdom” (Da mihi sapientiam). 2 Paralipomenon 1:10. 32 On the lives of these philosophers, see Laertius, 1592. 33 Aristotle, 1590, 2:483. Idem, Metaphysics, 980b22. 34 The Tabula militiae scholasticae is reproduced and discussed in Siegel, 2009, 118. 35 Abra de Raconis also notes that experience motivates people to study philosophy; see n. 29. 36 Aristotle, 1590, 2:45. Idem, Nicomachean Ethics, 1142a12–­20. 37 Job 28:13. 38 Wisdom 10:8. 39 Publius Syrus, 1576, 42: “Stultum est timere quod vitari non potest.” 40 Proverbs 3:13. 41 Odysseus escapes the Sirens, in book 12 of the Odyssey: Homer, 1534, 90v–­91r. And in Boethius’s Consolatio philosophiae (1.1), Lady Philosophy banishes pagan Muses, to whom she refers as “Sirens,” calling Christian Muses in their place. “Sed abite potius Seirenes usque in exitium dulces meisque eum Musis curandum, sanandumque relinquite.” (Get out, you Sirens, beguiling men straight to their destruction! Leave him to my Muses to care for and restore to health.) Boethius, 1590, 7. Translation by S. J. Tester in Boethius, 1973, 134–­35.

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42 Chéron, 1622: “En rectrix animi clavisque modusque sciendi / quo spreto sophiam / nullus adire potest.” Michael of Bologna’s comments form an elegiac couplet. The friar was born around the middle of the fourteenth century in Bologna, Italy. Around 1372 he was made definitor of the province of Bologna. 43 Carmelite constitutions of the sixteenth century required colleges to teach the ideas of Michael of Bologna and John Baconthorpe (c. 1290–­ 1347), who is represented in segment 6. Payne, 1990, 4. 44 Meurisse, 1614: “Fr[ater] M[artinus] Meurisse Logicorum regens licentia superiorum excudi iussit et in lucem emisit.” 45 Chéron, 1622: “Fr[ater] Joannes Cheron apud Carmelitas Paris[ienses] Logicorum Regens.” 46 An opened book appears in a diagram by Christofle de Savigny. It similarly signifies the instruction to interpret the diagrammatic exposition as a visualization and summary of the ideas contained in logical texts (1587, Gr). 47 On the gesture of this individual, who implores Logic to lead him to Wisdom, see Bulwer, 1644, 28–­29: “The stretching forth of the Hand is the forme of pleading.” 48 Ecclesiasticus 6:21. 49 Chéron, 1622: “Prima mentis operatio nec vera nec falsa est.” (The first operation of the mind is neither true nor false.) Aristotle asserts that concepts alone do not have truth-­values. Aristotle, 1590, 1:9. Idem, Categories, 2a8–­10. 50 Meurisse, 1614: “Deffinitio, oratio explicans naturam rei, ad primam mentis operationem spectat.” 51 Chéron, 1622: “DEFFINITIO 1A ANCILLA SAPIENTIAE.” 52 Chéron, 1622: “Rerum naturas pando.” 53 Meurisse, 1614: “Datur dialectica, eaque duplex, naturalis et artificialis: haec iterum duplex, docens et utens, non sunt tamen duo, sed unus habitus.” (This is dialectic and it [i.e., dialectic] is twofold—­natural and artificial: this latter [i.e., artificial] dialectic is again twofold, teaching and using, they are not nevertheless two, but one condition.) 54 Meurisse, 1614: “Dialectica deffinitur ars disserendi.” 55 Chéron, 1622: “Logica scientia est simpliciter speculat[iva][.]” (Logic is simply a speculative science.) 56 For two frontispieces engraved by Cornelis Galle I (1576–­1650) and by Gaultier that present porticos into outdoor landscapes that resemble the gates in the Descriptio and the Typus, see London, BM, Prints and Drawings, 1891,0414.1041; and Paris, BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Ed. 12 Rés., R145958. 57 Meurisse, 1614: “Proprium est universale praedicabile de multis specie vel numero differentibus in quale, necessario et reciproce, non distinguitur realiter ab eo cuius est proprium.” 58 Porphyry, Isagoge, 16.12–­14. Abra de Raconis cites Property’s reciprocality as well (1617, 139). His definition of Property is emphasized with italics. 59 Meurisse, 1614: “quod abest et adest sine subiecti interitu.” 60 Abra de Raconis, 1617, 146: “Accidens est quod adest, et abest a subiecto sine eius interitu” (emphasized with italics). Cf. Porphyry, Isagoge, 12.25–­26; Eustachius, 1609, 1:79. 61 Meurisse, 1614: “Universale est quod aptum est inesse multis.”; “Universale est ante omnem intellectum. existit non extra, sed in singularibus.”; and “Universale est univocum genus ad quinque universalia.” The verb inesse is used in some textbook definitions of universals. Eustachius, 1609, 1:50. Abra de Raconis, 1633, 80. 62 Meurisse fails to acknowledge that Aristotle does not always list all ten categories. The list of categories in the Posterior Analytics, 83a20–­24, does

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not include situm, essere, or habere. In textbooks from the period, it was standard to list Aristotle’s ten categories without mentioning his variations; see, e.g., Eustachius, 1609, 1:86; and Abra de Raconis, 1617, 175. Meurisse, 1614: “hic non Deus, bene tamen angeli, coeli [sic pro caeli], et substantiae primae.” (This is not God, but rather angels, the heavens, and primary substances.) It is unclear why God is shown within the Typus’s portico of the category of substance. Meurisse, 1614: “Ens infinitum”; and “Entia finita, ut Angeli, et Coeli [sic pro caeli].” God the Father is commonly shown wearing a tiara and holding a globe; see, for example, Pierre Firens’s engraving: BnF, Cabinet des Estampes, Pc 3 fol. P10980. Meurisse, 1614: “Infinitas, prioritas, simplicitas.” On Duns Scotus’s views on the infinity of God, see Cross, 1999; idem, 2005; and Mann, 2003, 238–­62. Meurisse describes the infinity of God in his Rerum metaphysicarum libri tres (1623, 153). He also discusses the differences between finite and infinite being (1623, 486–­87). “Ens infinitum est quod excedit quodcumque ens finitum, non secundum aliquam determinatam proportionem, sed ultra omnem determinatam proportionem vel determinabilem.” Duns Scotus, Quaestiones quodlibetales, 5.4, in his Opera omnia, ed. Wadding, 1891–­95, 25:200; translation by Felix Alluntis and Allan Wolter in Duns Scotus, 1975, 110. Aristotle, Metaphysics, 1035b23–­25; idem, 1590, 2:529. Aristotle, Politics, 1253a20–­25; idem, 1590, 2:178. Abra de Raconis (1617, 197) mentions the arm as an example of an incomplete entity. Meurisse, 1614: “Analoga quorum nomen commune est, et ratio substantiae partim eadem, partim diversa.” Meurisse discusses analogy in his Rerum metaphysicarum libri tres, 1623, 110. See, e.g., Eustachius, 1609, 1:33–­34. Translation by W. D. Ross in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 2, Metaphysics, 1003a37–­1003b4, 1584. Idem, 1590, 2:502. This example of analogy is also discussed in Eustachius’s textbook: 1609, 1:30. Cf. Meurisse (1623, 66), where he discusses the Chimera. See Meurisse (1623, 57) on the division of Entities into ens rei and ens rationis. Technically they should be fully naked, but this would have been considered improper. On noncomplex (or simple) and complex entities, see Abra de Raconis, 1617, 197. Chéron, 1622: “Ap[p]rehensio ministrat.” Chéron, 1622: “2A operatio simplices nectit terminos.” Meurisse, 1614: “Nomen vox ex instituto significans” (A noun is a significant utterance established by convention). Aristotle, 1590, 1:21: “Nomen igitur vox est ex instituto significans.” Idem, On Interpretation, 16a19–­16a20. Meurisse, 1614: “Verbum vox ex instituto significans” (A verb is a significant utterance established by convention). For Aristotle’s definition of “verb,” see Aristotle, 1590, 1:22; and idem, On Interpretation, 16b6–­16b7. Watkin, 1991, 256–­61, esp. 256–­57. This theory of palm tree reproduction became well known in sixteenth-­and seventeenth-­century France through vernacular editions of Philostratus the Elder’s Imagines, in which it is presented as fact. Gaultier, who engraved the Descriptio, also created illustrations for Blaise de Vigenère’s Les images ou tableaux de platte peinture des deux Philostrates, which was published in the same year (1614). For another adaptation of the palm tree motif, see the title page of Tommaso Campanella’s Realis philosophiae epilogisticae partes quatuor (1623). Meurisse (1614) juxtaposes Division with the words “Divisio oratio qua totum in suas partes distribuitur.” (The division is an oration, by which a whole is divided into its parts.)

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82 Chéron, 1622: “DIVISIO 2A ANCILLA SAPIENTIAE.” 83 Chéron, 1622: “Totum in partes solvo.” (I resolve the whole thing into parts.) 84 Meurisse, 1614: “Syllogismus oratio in qua quibusdam positis aliud quiddam ab his quae posita sunt, necessario sequitur, eo quod haec sunt.” For the corresponding passage, see Aristotle, Prior Analytics, 24b19–­20; Aristotle, 1590, 1:30: “Ratiocinatio vero est oratio, in qua nonnulla ita ponuntur, ut diversum quid ab iis necessario efficiatur, quia ea ita sint.” Eustachius, 1609, 1:197, gives a nearly identical definition of syllogism (emphasized by a marginal annotation): “Oratio in qua quibusdam positis, aliud quippiam ab iis, quae posita sunt necessario sequitur eo quod haec sunt.” 85 Chéron, 1622: “Sillogismus [sic pro syl-­] est obiectum logicae.” 86 Eustachius cites the three types of syllogism: 1609, 1:193. 87 Aristotle, 1590, 1:76; idem, Posterior Analytics, 70b18–­19. 88 Meurisse, 1614: “Demonstratio syllogismus faciens scire.” 89 Meurisse, 1614: “Medium potissimae demonstrationis, deffinitio subiecti.” Cf. Eustachius, 1609, 1:223. 90 Translation by Jonathan Barnes in Aristotle, 1984, Posterior Analytics, 71b20–­22, 1:115; idem, 1590, 1:76. See also Eustachius, 1609, 1:222 and 226–­30 (emphasized by marginal comments). 91 Cf. Abra de Raconis, 1617, 389–­92, for his discussion of circular arguments. 92 Aristotle, Prior Analytics, 57b18–­59a41, and Posterior Analytics, 72b25–­73a20; idem, 1590, 1:63–­64 and 78. 93 Aristotle, Posterior Analytics, 78b34–­79a16. In the 1590 edition of Aristotle (1:85), the words “subalternata” and “subalternans” are not used: “Sunt porro etiam ex iis quarum una sub altera non continetur, aliquae scientiae quae eandem nihilominus habent inter se quadam ex parte coniunctionem: ut medicina et geometria.” See also Eustachius, who employs the term “subalternata” (1609, 1:240). 94 Duns Scotus, 1891–­95, vol. 8, Super primum librum magistri sententiarum quaestiones exactissimae, 3, p. 183: “Utrum Theologia in se sit scientia, et utrum sit scientia subalternans vel subalternata.” 95 Regarding faith, opinion, and knowledge, see Eustachius, 1609, 1:231–­ 33; and Abra de Raconis, 1617, 424–­29. 96 Aristotle, Topics, 100a26–­b22; idem, 1590, 1:111. Abra de Raconis, 1617, 424–­27. 97 Meurisse, 1614: “Argumentum dialecticum probabile inventum ad faciendam fidem.” Exactly the same definition is given by Eustachius, 1609, 1:243 (emphasized by a marginal annotation). 98 Eustachius, 1609, 1:244. 99 Boethius, 1604, 57: “Invidus est, qui alienis affligitur bonis. Sapiens autem bonis non affligitur alienis. Invidus igitur sapiens non est.” Translation by Eleonore Stump in Boethius, 1978, 47. 100 This argument is discussed by Tobias Reinhardt in his edition of Cicero (2003, 31). 101 Meurisse, 1614: “Dialectici eruunt argumenta probabilia.” 102 Meurisse, 1614: “Locus argumenti est sedes et receptaculum unde argumenta erui possunt: suntque viginti. Novem intrinseci. Et undecim extrinseci.” Eustachius, 1609, 1:244, also refers to the “locus” as the “sedes argumenti.” 103 Ripa describes “Fede Christiana” (Christian Faith) holding a cross, because one of the principles of Faith is the belief in crucified Christ, and he describes “Scienza” (Knowledge) holding a book, because, he explains, without books it is difficult to understand and retain a great abundance of things (1603, 149 and 445). 104 Chéron, 1622: “Scientia et opinio possunt esse simul intellectu.”

105 Chéron, 1622: “Topica nititur ad veritates.” 106 Chéron, 1622: “False Reasoning” (Nugatio); “Refutation” (Redargutio); “False thing” (Falsum); “Paradox” (Paradoxum); and “Solecism” (Sole[cismus]). Aristotle, 1590, 1:174: “quae sunt quinque: Reprehensio, falsum, incredibile, quodque sit contra omnium opinionem, soloecismus: & quintum, cogere eum, quicum disputant, nugari.” Idem, Sophistical Refutations, 165b14–­165b17. These goals are also cited by Eustachius, 1690, 1:263. The goals are labeled with a marginal annotation. They are also inscribed onto the Descriptio, near an image of two kneeling sophists playing flutes. 107 This quotation is a paraphrase of Boethius, Consolatio philosophiae, 1.3; idem, 1590, 10: “Do you think that this is the first time wisdom has been attacked and endangered in a wicked society?” (Nunc enim primum censes apud improbos mores lacessitam periculis esse sapientiam?) 108 Chéron, 1622: “Erravimus a via veritatis.” Wisdom 5:6. 109 Chéron, 1622: “Omnes vias eius intelligere noluerunt[.]” Job 34:27. 110 Chéron, 1622: “Summa miseria est nescire quo tendas.” This quotation is taken from Isidore of Seville’s soliloquiorum seu synonymorum de angustia & miseria hominis, libri duo ex vetustissimo codice recogniti (1552, G4r). Isidore of Seville’s Opera are listed in Jean de la Haye’s 1646 catalogue of the Grand Couvent’s library. It is possible that Chéron would have had access to an edition of this text, even though he was not a member of the Grand Couvent. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18,609, fol. 46v. 111 Chéron, 1622: “Errare fecit ignoratio logicae[.]” 112 For another precedent, see the Triumphus Ecclesiae made by Philippe Thomassin (1562–­1622) in Rome in 1602. An impression is held in the Biblioteca Casanatense in Rome. I am grateful to Louise Rice for drawing my attention to this print. 113 Meurisse, 1614: “Syllogismus sophisticus gignens errorem.” 114 Ludot, 1751, 203: “Vous me dispenserez d’entrer dans le détail des feuilles, des fleurs et des fruits dont ces trois arbres sont chargés; j’observerai seulement qu’autour de celui des Sophismes, voltigent des Corbeaux, des Coucous et autres Oyseaux de mauvais augure.” 115 Meurisse, 1614: “Argumentatio, oratio in qua unum ex alio infertur.” 116 Aristotle, Prior Analytics, 68b15–­19; idem, 1590, 1:73. Inductions are defined by Eustachius, 1609, 1:197 (highlighted by a marginal annotation). 117 For “exemplum,” see Aristotle, Prior Analytics, 68b37–­38; idem, 1590, 1:73; and Eustachius, 1609, 1:196–­97. For “enthymema,” see Aristotle, Prior Analytics, 70a10–­12; idem, 1590, 1:75; and Eustachius, 1609, 1:197 (emphasizing both definitions by marginal annotations). 118 Chéron, 1622: “Inductio”; “Enthimema”; and “Exemplum.” 119 Chéron, 1622: “Non faciunt scire nisi vi silogismi [sic pro syll-­] n[ecessa]rii.” 120 Proverbs 9:1. Wirth, 1979, 213–­66. For another thesis print showing the house of Wisdom, see Lechner, 1985, 66. 121 Proverbs 8:34. 122 Ecclesiastes 1:8. 123 Chéron, 1622: “Voluntary action is of the intellect” (Praxis est intellectus); and “Voluntary action is in the will” (Praxis est in voluntate). 124 “Baco” is an abbreviation for John Baconthorpe’s name. 125 Bulwer, 1644, 84. 126 Ripa’s personification of philosophy (Filosofia) holds a book that exposes the secrets of nature and their causes (1603, 162–­64). On the personification of philosophy, see Hope and McGrath, 1996, 161–­88 (179–­82).

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127 Ripa’s “Mathematics” (Mathematica) also employs a compass to draw on a tablet, in order to show the practical application of this discipline (1603, 307–­9). 128 A dove also flies above Theology in an engraved frontispiece by Jan II Collaert (c. 1561–­c. 1620), based on a design by Peter Paul Rubens (1577–­1640), to a Biblia Sacra, published in Antwerp in 1617. Leesberg and Bowen, 2006, N.H. 1946, 152 and 154–­55.

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chapter 3  the visible order of student lecture notebooks Delisle, 1874, 2:243–­44: “Le fonds des Cordeliers, composé de cent cinquante et un manuscrits . . . conservait à peine la trace de la riche collection de manuscrits qui dut exister dans cette maison du XIIIe au XVe siècle. . . . De misérables cahiers d’écoliers y sont en majorité.” In part because of the attitude exemplified by Delisle’s statement, student notebooks have rarely been addressed in scholarly writings. One notable exception is a recent article by Jacob Schmutz that presents the first catalogue and systematic study of the written content of the notebooks created by philosophy and theology students and previously held by the Grand Couvent. Of the 133 manuscript notebooks, those in philosophy include 80 from lectures given at the Grand Couvent, 5 from lectures at the Collège du Plessis-­Sorbonne, 2 from lectures at the Collège des Grassins, and 2 from lectures at the Collège de Clermont. Most of the notes taken at these latter three colleges appear to have been written by Franciscan students who attended philosophy lectures outside the Grand Couvent. Schmutz, 2008b, 365–­472. The BnF also holds a collection of seventeenth-­and eighteenth-­century manuscript notebooks from the Benedictine Abbey of Saint-­Germain-­des-­Prés, catalogued as “Fonds Latin”: 12985–­12989 and 13978–­14004. Ann Blair argues that student manuscripts reveal the structure of the natural philosophy course taught by Jean-­Cécile Frey (c. 1580–­1631) between 1607 and 1631 at the Collège de Montaigu (1993, 95–­158). See also Blair, 2010a, 303–­16. See the following notebooks in the Département des Manuscrits of the BnF in Paris, catalogued as “Fonds Latin”: 18143–­18163; 18438–­18453; and 18456–­18494. The Leuven notebooks are dispersed in a variety of collections. The following notebooks are held by the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB in Brussels: 15432–­15434; 19376 D; 21907 D; II 168; II 1245; II 1249; II 4269; II 4272; II 4480; II 5056; II 5059; and II 5339. About 150 illustrated notebooks from the University of Leuven are catalogued under “Leuven University college dictata, list C” in the Central Library of the KU Leuven. This collection of notebooks was the subject of an exhibition in 2012 that was accompanied by an edited volume, which offers an inventory of student notebooks in the Central Library, as well as in the Campusbibliotheek Arenberg, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek, Museum Leuven, and Abdij van Berne in Heeswijk: Vanpaemel et al., 2012, 293–­328. The 152 notebooks conserved in the archives of the Université catholique de Louvain in Louvain-­la-­Neuve, of which 74 come from the Faculty of Arts, are catalogued under “la collection C.” On this collection, see Mirguet, 2003. For notebooks from the University of Leuven in other collections, see Françoise Hiraux, “Introduction,” in Mirguet, 2003, 13–­84 (75–­79). See also the 43 illustrated notebooks from the University of Leuven, the Priest Seminary of Liège, the College of Douai, and the English Jesuit college of Liège that are held in the General Library of the University of Liège and cited in appendix 1 of Opsomer, 2000, 155–­84 (179–­80). In the Pembroke College Manuscripts of the Cambridge University Library Department

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of Manuscripts is a physics and metaphysics notebook that contains seven prints published in Leuven, as well as a drawing of two kinds of thermometers (MS 266). The humanist scholar Benedetto Varchi (1502/3–­1565), in public lectures given at the Accademia Fiorentina in 1547, was the first to relate disegno to philosophical explanations of cognition. Varchi’s theory of disegno was inspired by the model of human thinking articulated in the sixth book of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. See the following discussions of disegno in Italian sixteenth-­century art theory: Williams, 1997; Summers, 1987; Malmanger, 2000; Cole, 2002, chap. 4; Marr, 2011, 171–­76; Barzman, 2000, 149–­51; and Panofsky, 1968, 60–­68. Translation from Marr, 2011, 172. Vasari, 1906, 1:168–­9. Aristotle, Metaphysics, 981a5–­7. Translated by Jonathan Barnes and I. Bywater in Aristotle, 1984, vol. 1, Posterior Analytics, 97b25, 161, and vol. 2, Poetics, 1451b1, 2323. In the Poetics (1450b24–­31), Aristotle likewise emphasizes the significance of the arrangement of the whole of a tragedy to its parts (i.e., a beginning, middle, and end). Cellini’s designs were ultimately not chosen to represent the academy. An emblem was approved only in 1597, after his death. Cellini refers to the diamond frame in his explanatory essay on the seal. He writes: “No shape is more appropriate than the square, first because all things made by nature—­which we seek to imitate—­are composed of four things . . . and secondly because the principal arts that depend upon design are four.” He identifies these arts as painting, sculpture, architecture, and gold-­and silversmithery (or celateria). The four things that constitute everything are the elements: earth, water, air, and fire. Translation from Williams, 2014, 225 and 229n1. The lozenge is replaced by an oval in the study for the seal held by the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung in Munich (inv. no 2247), which is considered to be the last of the five drawings. Translation by Williams, 2014, 225 and 229n1. Cole, 2002, 121–­27. Translation by Williams, 2014, 225. Translation by Williams, 2014, 225 and 229n1. Calamandrei, 1971, esp. 140. See Charles Dempsey’s contention that early modern art theorists based the principles of their arguments for the philosophical elevation of disegno on those developed for theories of representation through language and rational discourse, i.e., on the philosophy of Logos. Dempsey, 2009, 43–­53. Thanks are due to Michael Cole for discussing this aspect of the seal with me. Translation from Alberti, 2004, 89. Erasmus, 1985, 398 and 399. Bermingham, 2000. Reilly, 2004, 26–­52. Castiglione, 1584, 42. Locke, 1693, 191. See Fowler, 2010, 3. Jollain, 1685, 4–­5. As pointed out by Fowler, 2010. As Christoph Lüthy has emphasized, Descartes’s integration of verisimilar imagery with geometrical figures was not uncommon and can be found in many early modern publications dealing with applied geometry (2006, 100). van Vaeck, 2006, 85–­92 (88). Hiraux, 2003, 47 and 57.

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30 On the history of the University of Leuven, see Aubert et al., 1990. See also Verweij, 2008, 175–­76; and Hiraux, 2003, 36. 31 Vanpaemel, 2011, 241–­54 (243). The first nine months were devoted to logic, followed by eight months on natural philosophy (which included sections on cosmology and astronomy), and another four months dedicated to metaphysics and ethics. The final three months were devoted to repetitions or revisions of the lessons. In 1526 there were eighty-­seven students in the pedagogy of the Lily and sixty students in the pedagogy of the Pig. Courses in eloquence and moral philosophy as well as disputations, exams, and ceremonies took place in the Vicus, the building given to the Faculty of Arts by the town in 1426. Hiraux, 2003, 21, 37, and 48. On the meaning of the term repetitio in university statutes, see Maierù, 1994, 59–­62. 32 Verweij, 2008, 176. For another drawing celebrating the pedagogy of the Pig, see van Vaeck, 2002, 285–­326 (299–­300 and fig. 28a). 33 MS Brussels, BRB, II 168, 109r: “Venatum exierat Porcus per devia silvae / Lilia falconem castraque capta refert.” This inscription forms an elegiac couplet. 34 Verweij, 2008, 176. 35 The incorporation of moral philosophy within the philosophy curriculum of Paris and Leuven was unusual; in Spanish colleges and the Jesuit Collegio Romano, for instance, ethics was taught in moral theology courses and was not part of the philosophy curriculum. Schmutz, 2008b, 400. 36 Schmutz, 2008b, 376. Brockliss, 1981b, 131–­68 (131). 37 Piana, 1959, 43–­122 and 390–­426 (302 and 400). Schmutz, 2008b, 383 and 383n67. 38 These numbers are based on lists of classmates that philosophy students at the Grand Couvent wrote into notebooks now held by the Département des Manuscrits of the BnF in Paris. See, for example, Fonds Latin 18491, fol. 1r; Fonds Latin 18489, fol. A; Fonds Latin 18488, fol. 158v; and Fonds Latin 18481, fols. 296v, 297r, 297v, 298r, 298v. Cited in Schmutz, 2008b, 385. 39 Piana, 1959, 304 and 400. The two-­year philosophy curriculum is outlined in Réformation de l’Université de Paris (Anonymous, 1601, 28–­32). 40 A youth could not be admitted to study philosophy “nisi quintum decimum suae aetatis annum compleverit et non praetendit faciem nimis puerilem” (unless he has completed the fifteenth year of his age and does not show a face that is too boyish). Bibliothèque Auxerre, MS 68 fol. 41r. Quoted in Beaumont-­Maillet, 1975, 91. 41 Schmutz, 2008b, 387. 42 Piana, 1959, 392–­93. Schmutz, 2008b, 387n80. 43 Piana, 1959, 396: “quibus non licebit contra mentem Doctoris Subtilis docere, dictare aut sustinere.” Schmutz, 2008b, 387n80. 44 See chapter 2, n. 24. 45 Details on the structure of lectures in this paragraph are drawn from Brockliss, 1996, 565. 46 In the Leuven pedagogy notebooks, identical texts appear in notebooks belonging to different students, indicating that they took dictation from the same lecture or from different professors who read the same lecture. Smeyers, 2012, 73–­90 (73). Vanpaemel, 2011, 243. 47 Schmutz, 2008b, 381. 48 Schmutz, 2008b, 381. 49 Brockliss, 1996, 565–­66. 50 See, for example, Eustachius, 1609. Brockliss, 1987, 190. 51 Although this study focuses on notebooks from the Universities of Paris and Leuven, students at other educational establishments also integrated visual materials into their notes. See, for example, the

52 53

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56 57

58

59

60

61

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illustrated lecture notebooks advertised in Roger Gaskell, Print/Manuscript catalogue 48 (November 2012), items 8 (Jesuit Collège de la Trinité in Lyon, 1689–­1690); 11 (University of Cologne, 1709–­1711), 12 (College of Douai, 1726), and 13 (College of Douai, 1739–­1740). See also the following eighteenth-­century metaphysics manuscript, which includes ink drawings and engravings, one of which is signed by the Parisian publisher Pierre Mariette (c. 1603–­1657): Glasgow University Library, SMM3. I am grateful to Jean Michel Massing, Robert MacLean, and David Weston for drawing my attention to this manuscript. On the binding of the lecture notes in Leuven, see Cockx-­Indestege, 2012, 91–­106. Vanpaemel, 2012, 170. Françoise Mirguet offers an index of printmakers and printers associated with prints in Leuven notebooks (2003, 568). See also the publisher identified as “P. POVGEOIS ex[cudit] Proche les Cordelise [sic] du grand Couven.[sic] A Paris” (Printed by P. Pougeois, near the Cordeliers of the Grand Couvent in Paris) on a print of the tree of Porphyry: Coulot and Storne, 2009, 127. These lists of publishers cannot claim to be complete, as publishers are not always identified on the notebook prints. For reproductions of prints sold by Hayé that were based on the Engelgrave and a Matre Dei emblems, see van Vaeck, 2012, 241–­71. On the appropriation of prints from these emblem books, see van Vaeck, 2002, 294; idem, 2006, 85–­88; and de Smedt, 1999, 91–­108. Vanpaemel, 2011, 245. Schillings, 1963, vol. 6, 249 no. 48. There was also a ban on selling books to students under the age of twenty-­five, which book vendors do not appear to have obeyed. Brussels, Archives générales du Royaume, Ancienne Université de Louvain: 64, fol. 333r–­v, Assemblée du Conseil académique du 23 avril 1622; and 66, fol. 195v, assemblée du Conseil acad., 13 décembre 1638. Cited in Delsaerdt, 1990, 63–­89 (64–­65). On Hayé, see also University Archives of the University of Leuven, coll. Vingeroedt, P 103. Cited by van Vaeck, 2002, 293n15. On visual materials in the Leuven notebooks, see van Vaeck, 2002, 285–­326; idem, 2006, 85–­92; d’Haenens, 1994, 401–­41; Vanpaemel et al., 2012; Opsomer, 2000, 155–­84; and Hiraux, 2003, 68–­70. Although it is certainly true that logic and natural philosophy notebooks contain far more illustrations, there are some surviving illustrated metaphysics student lecture notebooks (see, for example, in the Central Library of the KU Leuven MS 227 and MS 227), as well as illustrated moral philosophy notebooks (see, for example, Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18466). See the drawing and calligraphic lettering from the 1477 and 1482 Leuven logic notebooks reproduced in figs. 1 and 2 in d’Haenens, 1994, 401–­42 (415). See also the pen drawings in the logic notebook created in 1513–­14 by a student at the pedagogy of the Castle: KU Leuven, MS 237, fols. 10v, 58v, 138r, 152r, and 156v. Albert d’Haenens describes the Leuven notebooks as luxury items and compares them to the alba amicorum, because they functioned to remind students of their days at the university (1994, 409). Van den Merssche’s title page in fig. 95 is an example of this form of print. For an inventory of factotum title pages from Leuven student notebooks, see appendix 1 in Vanpaemel et al., 2012, 213–­26. These printed title pages emerge in Leuven toward the mid-­seventeenth century: Vanpaemel, 2011, 244. On this type of frontispiece, see Vanpaemel et al., 2012, 217. MS KU Leuven, 210, fol. 2r. Regarding this “fill-­in-­the-­blank” print, see Vanpaemel et al., 2012, 224.

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64 In recent years scholars have grown increasingly aware of the importance of frontispieces and title pages in conveying ideas. Volker Remmert has shown how these pages could expressly transmit ideas that were only implied in the accompanying mathematical texts (2005). 65 On this type of title page, see Vanpaemel et al., 2012, 217. 66 Papy, 2012, 109. A chronogram is an inscription in which some letters that are set apart from others denote, through numerical values, a date. 67 For prints published by Vallet of the Madonna and Child and a personification of physics, see the following notebooks: MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18443, fol. 36r and MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18476, fol. Br. Personifications were also sometimes positioned at the start of subsections in notes. See the print of Logic published by Martin: MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18442, 24v. Prints showing personifications of disciplines, philosophers, rulers, and religious imagery were also presented in the midst of the notebooks. 68 On the house of Wisdom, see Wirth, 1979, 213–­66. See also Grafton, 2009, 98–­113. 69 The “topping out” ceremony, in which people placed a bough on a newly finished roof, was intended to safeguard the building’s future inhabitants. The copperplate used to make this engraving was used to make emblem 31 in Engelgrave’s Lux Evangelica (1652, 313). A red and brown ink drawing of a newly constructed house with a shrub on its roof, accompanied by this same inscription, appears in a Leuven notebook made in 1755–­56 and held by the Université catholique de Louvain (MS C 4, fol. 672r). 70 Opsomer, 2000, 157. 71 Rosenthal, 1971, 204–­28. 72 Thesis prints do not appear to have been inserted into the notebooks of students in Leuven. They do appear, however, in student notebooks from other universities; see, for instance, the notebook from the University of Cologne that contains a thesis print and is advertised in Gaskell, Print/Manuscript catalogue 48 (November 2012), item 11. 73 Paris, BnF, Département des Manuscrits catalogued under “Fonds Latin”: 18458, fols. 92r, 188r, 189r, 318r, and 361r. 74 See the following thesis prints in Paris, BnF, Département des Manuscrits catalogued under “Fonds Latin”: 18460, fol. 123r; 18445, fol. 153r; 18448, fol. 113r; 18470, fol. 325r; 18471, fol. 669r; 18446, fol. 319r; 18480 fol. 203v; 18475, fols. 180r and 241r; and 18487, fol. 210r. A complete illustrated thesis print can be found in Fonds Latin 18450, fol. 522r. 75 The prints are based on images in texts by Descartes such as the Essais (1637), the Principia philosophiae (1644), and the French and Latin editions of his posthumously published physiology treatise on man, as well as in Cartesian textbooks, such as the Fundamenta physices by Henri Regius (1598–­1679). On the inclusion of Cartesian images in the notebooks of Leuven students, see Vanpaemel, 2011, 241–­54; idem, 2012, 177; and Opsomer, 2000, 166–­76. Geert Vanpaemel has argued that the prevalence of Cartesian images in Leuven notebooks demonstrates a broad resolve for reform in both the student and teaching populations; he notes, however, that “the most important or famous Cartesian pictures [of his vortex theory and the corpuscular nature of light] are absent.” 2011, 249. 76 Schuyl was a professor of philosophy at the Lyon academy of Bois-­ le-­Duc. His engraving was made for a Latin edition of Descartes’s physiology treatise that was published in 1662 (after Descartes’s death). Blendeff ’s copy was printed with a different copperplate from the one originally used by Schuyl. In 1684 Blendeff was made the university’s “iconograph.” Hayé also published an engraving after Schuyl’s image

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of the heart: Vanpaemel, 2011, 247. The notebook copies of Schuyl’s engraving of the heart are also discussed in Opsomer, 2000, 167–­68 and 182n50. For another pen drawing of the human heart, see MS KU Leuven, MS 262, fol. 286r. Van den Biesche’s drawing could also be copied from a print of the heart published by Hayé and reproduced in Vanpaemel et al., 2012, 273. Vanpaemel, 2011, 250. See Brockliss, 1981a, 33–­69 (43–­46). For prints of these three systems in a notebook created in the Grand Couvent around 1690, see BnF, Fonds Latin 18486, fols. 163r and 165r (Ptolemaic system), 168r (Copernican system), and 173r (Tychonic system). For drawings of the Copernican and Tychonic systems in a notebook formerly owned by the Grand Couvent that includes notes for a course taken in the Collège du Plessis in 1683, see BnF, Fonds Latin 18479, fol. 162v[?]. Brockliss, 1981a, 45–­46. Maurits Sabbebibliotheek, Collectie Grootseminarie Mechelen, GSM cod. 102, fols. 379r (Copernican system), 381r (Ptolemaic system), and 383r (Tychonic system). MS KU Leuven, MS 261, fols. 600r (Ptolemaic system), 604r (Tychonic system), and 607r (Copernican system). MS Brussels, BRB, II 1249. For another philosophy notebook belonging to van Colen in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB, see II 1245. The dogs are copied from Collaert’s Three Dogs. The monkey at the lower left of the engraving is based on the monkey in Collaert’s A Monkey, a Porcupine, Two Hedgehogs, a Buffalo and a Fox. The monkey in the lower right corner is a copy of another depicted near the center of Collaert’s Three Cats and Two Monkeys. See Leesberg and Balis, 2005c, N.H. 1471, pp. 171 and 178; N.H. 1477, pp. 172 and 181; and N.H. 1481, pp. 173 and 183. The first monkey is represented again in the lower left corner of folio 356r. The other monkey on this folio is copied from the lower right corner of Collaert’s Three Cats and Two Monkeys. Van Colen also copied engravings of other animals in Collaert’s prints. For instance, van Colen’s sketch of an elephant standing beside a palm tree on folio 186r is based on Collaert’s engraving Two Elephants and a Rhinoceros. The lion, drawn below the elephant, is based on Collaert’s A Leopard and Two Lions. See Leesberg and Balis, 2005c, N.H. 1464, pp. 169 and 175; and N.H. 1470, pp. 170 and 178. A title page is missing from this notebook; however, the year 1639 is marked on folio 66r. The print does not identify an engraver or designer. The inscription “rue St. jacques a l’etoile” (rue St Jacques at the star) designates the publisher as Gabriel Martin. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18442, fol. 2v. There was a tradition at the Jesuit College in Brussels of employing artists and calligraphers to copy into manuscripts the images of emblems and other similar genres that had been invented by students of the college and had been exhibited publically at annual exhibitions. Karel Porteman argues that the artists would also have worked with students to create original images for the exhibitions: 1996, 32. Michiel Verweij characterizes the illustration as a “gravure” (engraving or etching), but to my eye the image appears to have been drawn, not printed (2008, 176). MS Brussels, BRB, II 168, 2v: “Timor Domini initium sapientiae.” Psalms 110:10; Proverbs 1:7; Proverbs 9:10; Ecclesiasticus 1:16; and Ecclesiasticus 25:16. The phrase “Initium Sapientiae Timor Domini” is inscribed at the beginning of the 1648–­50 logic notebook by Joannes Wouters: Museum Leuven, MS H/16/W, fol. 1r. I am grateful to Ko Goubert for his assistance in enabling me to view this manuscript.

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90 It is common to find calligraphic lettering in the notebooks of Leuven students. See the following manuscripts in KU Leuven: 260, fol. 1v; 259, fol. 9r; 256, fols. 0v, 142v, 149r, and 199r; 238, fol. 79r; 208, fols. 1r and 28v; and 204, fol. 4v. 91 Van den Merssche’s notebook also contains drawings inspired by the works of David Teniers and Adriaen Brouwer, and landscapes that, as Verweij notes, resemble images found on tiles from the period (2008, 176). 92 Collaert’s Orpheus and the Animals, which is after Adam van Noort, is reproduced in Leesberg and Balis, 2005b, N.H. 1170, pp. 136–­37. 93 Reproduced in Luijten, 2004, N.H. 200, pp. 236–­37. 94 van Vaeck, 2006, 89; idem and Verberckmoes, 2012, 187–­212 (196–­204). 95 For the Callot etching, see BM, Prints & Drawings, X,4.476. 96 For the Callot etching, see Callot, Capricci di varie figure, BM, Prints & Drawings, X,4.438. 97 For the Callot etchings, see BM, Prints & Drawings, 1861,0713.1050; and BM, Prints & Drawings, X,4.438. 98 For the Callot etching, see BM, Prints & Drawings, 1861,0713.882. 99 On Fortuna, see Panofsky, 1966, 305–­26. This collage of Fortuna as well as van Cantelbeke’s collage of movement in location are discussed in van Vaeck, 2002, 297–­98. 100 For the Callot etching, see BM, Prints & Drawings, X,4.460. Van Vaeck, 2012, 196. Van Cantelbeke signs his name in the bottom right corner of his drawing. 101 For the Callot etching, see BM, Prints & Drawings, 1861,0713.1059. 102 For the Callot etching, see BM, Prints & Drawings, 1861,0713.1064. 103 Meurisse, 1614: “Finis sophistarum est decipere: quod ut faciant respondentem ad quinque metas redigere conantur, scilicet redargutionem, falsum, paradoxum, soloecismum, nugationem.” Aristotle Sophistical Refutations, 165b14–­165b17; idem, 1590, 1:174: “quae sunt quinque: Reprehensio, falsum, incredibile, quodque sit contra omnium opinionem, soloecismus: & quintum, cogere eum, quicum disputant, nugari.” See also idem, Sophistical Refutations, 165a20–­165a23; and idem, 1590, 1:174. 104 Plutarch, 1600, 129: “Ubi ad discendas artes se contulit omnibus praeceptoribus sic satis se morigerum praebuit: tibia tantum canere noluit, illiberalem eam & ingenuo indignam artem iudicans: nam plectrum quidem & lyram nihil de figura & forma quae liberalem hominem deceret, deminuere: fistulam autem inflantis vix etiam a familiaribus faciem agnosci: praeterea lyram una eo qui utitur canente, sonum suum edere: tibiam eius qui uteretur os obstruere, vocemque intercludere.” 105 Castiglione, 1584, 58.

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chapter 4  visual thinking in logic notebooks and alba amicorum Bocheński, 1961, 140. For squares of opposition in notebooks held by Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB, see 15432–­15434, fols. 61v and 62r; 19376 D, fol. 265v; II 4272, fol. 347r; and II 4480, fol. 59v. For a typical example of a square of opposition in a Leuven notebook, see the following manuscript in the KU Leuven: 250, 284r. Aristotle, 1590, 1:23. Idem, On Interpretation, 17b20–­21. Eustachius, 1609, 1:182. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18443, fol. 169r. Another square of opposition featuring modal propositions is included in Eustachius’s textbook Summa philosophiae quadripartita. This diagram features variations on propositions already noted in several of

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the philosophy notebooks discussed above, namely, “homo est animal,” “homo est lapis,” and “homo est justus.” Eustachius, 1609, 1:182. See the following squares of opposition in notebooks held by the Département des Manuscrits of the BnF in Paris, all catalogued as “Fonds Latin”: 18456, fols. 16r, 20v, and 105r; 18457, fol. 212v; 18442, fol. 7v; 18444, fols. 226r, 226v, and 228r; and 18448, fol. 149v. It has not been possible to identify the name of the student taking notes or the teacher of the course. The date appears on fol. 327v. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18459, fols. 164r, 190v, 191r, 193v, 194r, and 186r. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18463, fol. 137r. The date is written on fol. 129r. On fol. 167v, the teacher Charles Magnien is identified. The student drew another square of opposition, fol. 74r. Aristotle, 1590, 1:23. Idem, On Interpretation, 17b6–­17b26. This proposition is also cited in d’Abra de Raconis’s popular textbook (1633, 295). University of Virginia, Ex Chrono (reg), 27. I am grateful to Volker Schröder for drawing my attention to this manuscript. Thanks are due to Alexander Marr, Michael Michael, and Henrietta Ryan for drawing my attention to this image. Marks, 1993, 182. Sherman, 2000. Porphyry, Isagoge, 2.10–­11. Aristotle, 1590, 1:2. Porphyry, Isagoge, 4.15–­20. Aristotle, 1590, 1:2. Esmeijer, 1978, 42. Blum, 1999, 18–­49. Porphyry, Isagoge, 4.18–­19. Aristotle, 1590, 1:2. Porphyry, Isagoge, 11.18–­19. Aristotle, 1590, 1:5. Porphyry, Isagoge, 11.22–­24. Aristotle, 1590, 1:5. One such illustration of a Porphyrian substance-­tree is included in the textbook of Eustachius. The most general genus on Eustachius’s diagram is substance, but his tree is otherwise essentially identical to the one published by Jollain. Whereas the annotation “Linea Directa” is inserted onto the central branch of Jollain’s print, the words “Linea Recta” (straight line) are inscribed instead onto the corresponding portion of the Porphyrian tree in Eustachius’s diagram; similarly, whereas on Jollain’s print the annotation “linea Collateralis” appears on the line that connects all of the differences on the left, in Eustachius’s print the words “Linea Indirecta” (indirect line) have been inscribed instead. See Eustachius, 1609, 1:84. A Porphyrian substance-­tree is also included in Giacomo Zabarella’s 1580 text Tabulae logicae, in which Zabarella presents Aristotelian logic with a series of diagrams. Directly above the most special species “man,” Zabarella draws a distinction that is not included in the Porphyrian trees discussed above, between “mortale” (mortal) rational animals, and “immortale” (immortal) rational animals, in order to distinguish between the species man and God. See facsimile of the Tabulae logicae edition published in Padua in 1580: Zabarella, 2003, 10. The names of Petrot and Bosquevert appear on fol. Fr. It seems probable that Bosquevert taught in a Franciscan school, possibly the Grand Couvent, as the students appear to be dressed in Franciscan habits on fol. 140 and the city of Paris is cited on fol. Fr. “Nomina eorum qui mecum rebus philosophicis studebunt”: MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18461, fol. Cr. MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18460, fols. 4r and 81r. Two trees of Porphyry are drawn inside the following anonymous and undated philosophy notebook: MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18460, fols. 89v and 108v. For the Callot etching, see BM, Prints & Drawings, 1861,0713.1133. Van Cantelbeke has omitted connecting lines in his diagram. van

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27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

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41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48 49

Vaeck and Verberckmoes, 2012, 198–­99. On the context of this print, see Appuhn-­Radtke, 1988, 13–­16. University of Virginia, Ex Chrono (reg), 36. Chéron, 1622: “Differentia formam” (The difference in form). I am grateful to Christophe Erismann for his advice on this detail. Meurisse, 1614: “Genera et species recta via gradiuntur.” Meurisse, 1614: “Differentiae via collaterali.” Meurisse, 1614: “Individua tanquam bases praedicatorum superiorum, infimum locum tenent.” The abstract nature of his reference to this iconography indicates the widespread understanding in early modern France of the form and terminology of this diagram. Porphyrian trees can be found in the following notebooks housed in the BnF, Département des Manuscrits, as “Fonds Latin”: 18462, fol. 97v; 18444, fol. 64v; 18463, fol. 31[?]; 18488, fol. 103r; 18158, fol. 35v; 18485, fol. 52r; and 18460, fols. 89v and 108v. Another tree of Porphyry is drawn into the notebook belonging to François Jutet, during a course taught by Jean-­Cécile Frey: Paris, BnF, MS Fonds Latin 6434, fol. 42r. See Blair, 1993, 131n12. See also the Porphyrian trees in the following manuscripts in the KU Leuven: 301, fol. 11r; 250 fol. 78r; and 206, fol. 8r. For trees of Porphyry in notebooks held by Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB, see 21907 D, fol. 88r; II 4272, fol. 78v; and II 4480 fol. 11r. A drawing of this diagram in colored ink from a notebook made in 1698–­99 appears in the collection of the Université catholique de Louvain in Louvain-­la-­Neuve, as MS C 24, fol. 10r. De Argumentatione has also been inserted into the following notebook in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: 19376 D, fol. 273r. Hans I Collaert’s The Dispute with the Doctors is reproduced in Leesberg and Balis, 2005a, N.H. 524, pp. 42 and 56. On philosophy disputations in Leuven, see Hiraux, 2003, 56–­57. The engraving has also been inserted into the following notebook in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: 19376 D, fol. 39v. Adriaen Collaert’s engraving Inde venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos is reproduced in Leesberg and Balis, 2005a, N.H. 731, pp. 245 and 249. Meurisse, 1614: “Partes physicae et integrantes reductive ad praedicamenta referuntur.” This translation is by J. Magee in Boethius, 1998, 888.a, pp. 40–­41: “Hominis enim corpus in partes suas ita divideres, in caput, manus, thoracem, pedes, et si quo alio modo secundum proprias partes fit recta divisio.” Idem, 1546, 646. This same engraving has also been inserted into the following notebook in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: 19376 D, fol. 18r. The only difference is irrelevant: the third letter in the Latin word for “physical” is an i in the notebook copy, and a y in Meurisse’s version. Meurisse also belonged to the Order of the Friars Minor. The proximity of Hayé’s workshop to the monastery is noted by van Vaeck, 2002, 295. Meurisse, 1614: “Aequivoca quorum nomen commune est, et ratio substantiae diversa.” A very similar definition of equivocation appears in Meurisse’s book on metaphysics (1623, 111). Aristotle, 1590, 1:8. Idem, Categories, 1a1–­2. See also Eustachius, 1609, 1:30. Aristotle, 1590, 1:175. Idem, Sophistical Refutations, 166a16–­18. This manuscript is either a dictation notebook or a copy of a printed manual. See van Vaeck and Verberckmoes, 2012, 205–­11. Aristotle, 1590, 2:526 and 528. Idem, Metaphysics, 1032a16–­20 and 1034a9–­10. Houses and piles of stones were popular examples of entities per accidens in this period.

50 The print also appears in the following notebook: MS Brussels, BRB, 19376 D, 31v. 51 Meurisse, 1614: “Univoca quorum nomen commune est, et ratio substantiae eadem.” 52 Aristotle, 1590, 1:8. Idem, Categories, 1995, 1a6–­7. 53 This print of univocally named things also appears in the following notebook: MS Brussels, BRB, 19376 D, 193r. 54 Thomassen, 1990, 170. Although they were initially created within a university context, people outside universities soon began making albums as well. 55 For monuments to friendship, see the following pages in alba in the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 74 H 2, fol. 62v; 121 C 6, 133; 70 K 31, fol. 1r; 74 H 1, 94r; 75 J 1, fol. 27r; 76 K 5, 236; 78 F 31, fol. 11v; 79 J 6, fol. 7r; 79 J 41, 95; 121 C 4; fol. 8r; 128 E 35, fol. 119r; 134 C 36, fol. 7r; 134 C 46, fol. 19v; 134 C 46, fol. 24v; and 135 J 14, fol. 54r. Scenes of friends can be found in the following alba in the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 76 K 5, 200; 128 E 35, fol. 79r. Entries on friendship can also be found in the following alba in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: 15698, opening image; and II 359, fol. 75r. See also Bodleian Library, MS Douce 21, fol. 125r. 56 See Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag, 133 C 14: B 177, fol. 1r; B 198, fol. 2r; and C 233 fol. 2v. For other representations of Fortuna, see the following pages in friendship albums in the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 70 K 29, 233; 74 F 19, fol. 52r; 74 H 48, 29; 74 J 37, fol. 8r; 79 J 46, fol. 120r; 131 E 25, 103; and 131 H 32, fol. 107v. Fortuna can also be found in the following alba in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: 21604, fol. 16r; and II 6335, fol. 131v. For Fortuna, see also Leiden University, BPL 2158, fol. 145r; and LTK 1077, fol. 160r. See also Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson D 936, fol. 96 r; and MS Ashmole 1, fol. 133r. 57 Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson D 936, fol. 131r. 58 Bovelles, 1510, fol. 116v. 59 For memento mori, see the following pages in alba in the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 79 F 19, fol. 39r; 74 H 43, fol. 71r; 74 H 43, fol. 77r; 74 J 37, fol. 9r; 75 J 1, fol. 139r; 75 J 48, fol. 161r; 76 H 6, fol. 140r; 98 J 18, fol. 12 r; 79 J 51, fol. 8v; 131 E 3, 87; 131 H 35, fol. 14r; 131 H 38, fol. 30r; 133 C 14, A 81, fol. 2v; 131 C 14, B 193, 2r; 133 H 27, fol. 84r; 133 M 5, fol. 149r; 133 M 63, fol. 441r; and 132 G 40, fol. 170r. Further memento mori can be found in the following alba in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: 11707, fol. 92r; 15698, fol. 8v; II 359, fols. 43r and 124r; II 6247, 66r; II 6335, fols. 126v and 131v; and III 858, between fols. 156v and 157r. See also the following pages in alba in Leiden University: BPL 2158, fol. 148r; BPL 2185, fol. 109r; BPL 2563A, fols. 108r, 120v, and 121r; LTK 901, fol. 144r; LTK 1077, fol. 148v; and LTK 2001, fol. 43?. In the Bodleian Library, see Ashmole 1, fol. 139r; and MS Douce 68, fol. 6r. For further reflections on the transience of life, see Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 131 E 3, 1; and 135 J 1, fol. 75r. 60 De Gheyn is far from the only noted artist who is known to have contributed to an album amicorum. In the friendship album of the van Valckenisse family (i.e., of Philip I, Philip II, and Andreas Valckenisse), we can find an entry by Rubens. His inscription consists of a circle with a dot at its center, accompanied by the inscription “Medio Deus omnia campo” (God is everything in the middle of the field). Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: MS II 1688, 127v. 61 For images of this proverb, see Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag, 133 H 28, fol. 79r. See also Leiden University, BPL 2563A, fol. 1 v; LTK 1077, fol. 146v; and LTK 2001, fol. 20r.

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62 Translated by Roger Aubrey Baskerville Mynors in Erasmus, 1991, 156. 63 For images of scholars and philosophers at work, see Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 76 H 6, fol. 54r; 76 H 6, fol. 140r; 79 L 10, fol. 91r; 79 L 51, fol. 35r; 79 L 51, fol. 46r; 131 E 25, 121; 131 H 26, 153; 133 H 27, fol. 84r; 133 H 27, fol. 88r; 133 M 5, fol. 148r; and 135 E 48, fol. 40r. Other drawings of scholars can be found in the following album in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB, II 359, fols. 108r and 139r. For images of celebrated humanists and early modern philosophers, see these prints in albums in the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag: 74 H 39, 10 (Joseph Scaliger); 131 E 7, fols. 10v (Pietro Bembo), 26 v (Agricola), 34v (Philipp Melanchthon), 41 r (Martin Luther), 57r (Thomas More), and 68r (Erasmus); 131 E 17, fols. 31 (Agricola), 82r (Erasmus), 92r (Agrippa), 105v (Juan Luis Vives), 129v (Alardus of Amsterdam), 131 v (Copernicus), 252r (Melanchthon), and 324r (Leonhart Fuchs); 132 G 12, fol. 49v (Justus Lipsius); and 133 M 86, fol. 55v (Scaliger). Portraits of Aristotle and Copernicus can also be found in the following album in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB: II 747, fols. 5r and 6r. 64 Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag, 135 E 48, fol. 2r. 65 For other images in alba amicorum that include flaps that expose what lies under women’s clothes, see Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Den Haag, 133 C 14, C 277, fol. 5r; and 130 E 27, fol. 139v. 66 On the “Homo bulla,” see Knipping, 1974, 1:86–­88. 67 For the images, see the album in the Cabinet des Manuscrits of the BRB, II 2254, fols. 161v (fire), 162v (air), 163v (water), and 164v (earth). 68 Ripa states that “Fuoco” (fire) holds “un bel vaso pieno di foco” (a beautiful vase full of fire) in both hands. He characterizes “Aria” (Air) as “sedendo sopra le nuvole” (sitting above the clouds). Ripa, 1603, 120–­21. 69 Translation by Salm in Goethe, 2007, lines 2044–­46, p. 159. chapter 5  the generation of art as the generation of philosophy 1 Hobbes, 2012, 3:1052 (emphasis in original). 2 On this passage and notion, which goes back to Philostratus, see Janson, 1961, 254–­66. 3 We learn from Pirckheimer’s explanatory text printed above the horses that reason is needed for an empire to last. Strauss, 1981, 421. Scholastic philosophers held intellect, will, and memory to be the faculties of the rational soul. 4 Alexander Marr is currently working on an article, entitled “Ratio” and forthcoming in Oxford Art Journal, that also explores this question. 5 Dürer’s partial circle brings to mind the famous story of Giotto’s supposed capacity to draw a perfect circle freehand. See Lavin, 2003, 37–­43. 6 Translation from Strauss, 1980, 536. The print is dated 1522, although it is believed to have been finished in 1518. 7 It is possible that this invention was inspired by the chariot allegory in Plato’s Phaedrus (246a–­254e). In this dialogue the workings of the human soul are compared with the functioning of a chariot in which the charioteer corresponds to the soul’s rational part, a white horse corresponds to the soul’s spirited part, and a black horse to the soul’s appetitive part. Other images of this myth denoting the harmony of the three parts of the well-­tempered soul can be found in Renaissance iconography. McGrath, 2011, 213–­20. Doorly, 2004, 255–­76. Skinner, 2008, 28.

8 Wehmer, 1963. Wood, 2008, 276–­79. Johann Neudörfer (1497–­1563) was another important calligrapher and lived on the same street as Dürer. See Meurer, 2014, 61–­82. 9 Wehmer, 1963, 9. 10 Koerner, 1993, 227. 11 Translation from Gage, 1980, 235. 12 Bach, 1996. Idem, 1999, 79–­99. Parshall, 1997, 4–­31. Idem, 2013, 400. 13 Koerner, 1993, 226. 14 Dürer, 1528, bk. 3, fol. T1r: “ir gemüt voller bildnuß das in müglich zu machen wer.” 15 Dürer, 2014, 86: “Darauß ist beschlossen, das kein mensch auß eygnen sinnen nymer mer kein schön bildnuß kün machen, es sey dan sach, das er solchs auß vil abmachen sein gemüt vol gefast.” Bach, 1999, 93. 16 Dürer, 2014, 86: “Das ist dann nit mer eygens genant, sunder uberkumen und gelernte kunst worden, die sich besambt, erwechst und seins geschlechtz frücht bringt.” Translation from Bach, 1999, 93–­94. 17 See Bach, 1999, 94. 18 Private communication in December 2015. 19 McLeod, 2000, 144–­92. 20 Translation from Dürer, 1977, 41. 21 Translation from Dürer, 1977, 43. 22 Meurisse and Gaultier may have been thinking of the many triumphal processions produced in France in this period. In early modern France official processions were carefully staged civic spectacles. The dedicatee of the Synopsis, Louis XIII, participated in several royal entry ceremonies. These ceremonies would have been familiar to the viewers of the broadside, who would likely have associated the image’s pomp and theatricality with this contemporary form of public performance. On the entrée royale, see Bryant, 1986. 23 I am thinking of the theories of Francisco Suárez (1548–­1617), the Coimbrans, Francisco de Toletus (1532–­1596), Antonius Rubius (1548–­1615), Eustachius, Bartholomäus Keckermann (1572–­1609), and others. My account draws on Hatfield, 2012, 2:951–­1002. For a study of this question, see also Spruit, 1995. 24 Hatfield, 2012, 2:957. 25 Meurisse, 1615: “formaliter, intellectus alter agens, alter possibilis, una est tamen realiter facultas, requirens necessario species intelligibiles ad intelligendum, quas producit speculando phantasmata.” 26 Meurisse, 1615: “Quinque sunt sensus externi . . . obiectum sensibile . . . potentia Dei absoluta sensu percipi potest.” (There are five external senses . . . Through the absolute power of God it [i.e., the sensible object] is able to be perceived by sense.) See Aristotle, 1590, 1:398; and idem, On the Soul, 424b20–­22. 27 The five-­pointed star held by the Soul in the frontispiece for Valladier’s La saincte philosophie de l’ame also presumably symbolizes the activity of the internal sense (see fig. 172). 28 Hatfield explains, however, “Toletus, Suárez, and Rubius were careful to observe that species could not be ‘formal images’, ‘pictures’, or ‘formal similitudes’ of objects” (2012, 2:957). 29 Zuccaro, 1607, 37. 30 Peter Parshall distinguishes Dürer’s approach to the generation of order from that of Leonardo: whereas one conjures order through the process of drawing itself, the other does so by projecting onto a preexisting but unformed visual field. See Parshall, 1997, 4–­31. 31 This work also appeared in Dutch and French editions in 1623 and 1625. On the plates in this book, see Melion, 2009, 153–­87. 32 Translation from Melion, 2009, 154. Sucquet, 1620, 358: “Vis modum meditandi nosse? intuere illum in mysterio Nativitatis.”

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33 As Walter Melion has shown in his study of devotional prints produced in Antwerp, Haarlem, and Amsterdam between 1550 and 1625, these engravings functioned to organize and to deepen meditation on the soul’s connection to God. The meditative prints of engravers such as Philips Galle (1537–­1612), Hendrick Goltzius (1558–­1617), and others have much in common with the philosophical plural images of Meurisse, Chéron, and Gaultier. All these engravings are never mere illustrations of texts; rather, they function to strengthen, to organize, and to extend meditation and reflection. Melion, 2009. 34 For this passage from La Dioptrique (Optics), see Descartes, 1985, 129 and 153–­54. Idem, 1996, 85: “de toutes ces petites images voltigeantes par l’air, nommées des especes intentionelles, qui travaillent tant l’imagination des Philosophes.” 35 Descartes, 1996, vol. 11, Les Passions de l’âme, pt. 1, art. 23, 346; see also idem, 1996, vol. 9, Principles, pt. 4, art. 191, 312–­13. 36 Descartes, 1985, 165. Idem, 1637, La Dioptrique, 32. 37 Descartes, 1985, 165–­66. Descartes, 1637, La Dioptrique, 33. This passage distorts the views of scholastic philosophers, who would not have agreed that mental images perfectly resemble the object they represent. Hatfield, 2012, 2:958. 38 Descartes, 1664, 76. 39 Lüthy, 2006, 98. 40 Descartes, 1664, 76. 41 On both editions, see Wilkin, 2003, 38–­66. 42 Descartes, 1664, eiiv and eiiir. 43 Descartes, 1664, 76. Idem, 1662, 85. 44 For arguments in favor of Schuyl’s image, see Zittel, 2009, 340–­41. 45 Hobbes, 2012, 2:36. 46 Leijenhorst, 2007, 97. 47 Hobbes, 2012, 2:16. On references to the sovereign as the “soul” of the state in the Leviathan, see May, 1959, 126. 48 Hobbes, 2012, 2:344. 49 Hobbes, 2012, 2:518. 50 As argued by Skinner, 1996, 5. 51 Aubrey, 1898, 1:329. 52 My discussion of this frontispiece, and of that of the De cive, below, is indebted to Skinner’s account of these images. See Skinner, 2008, 7, 11–­13; and idem, 2009b, 125–­26. See also Bredekamp, 2003, 141–­46. 53 Thucydides, 1629, A4r. For a geometrical diagram in Hobbes’s hand, see London, BL, Additional MS 4417, fol. 31v. 54 This presentation copy on vellum is in Chatsworth House in Bakewell, Derbyshire, where it is catalogued as “Hobbes MS A. 3: Elementorum philosophiae sectio tertia de cive.” Skinner, 2008, 99–­103; and idem, 2009b, 129–­31. 55 Translation and original in Hobbes, 1994, 1:139–­40: “As for the printed sheet which you sent me, I very much like the style of the type-­face and the size of the print.” 56 Translation and original in Hobbes, 1994, 1:155–­57. 57 Translation and original in Hobbes, 1994, 1:176–­77. 58 Translation and original in Hobbes, 1994, 2:693–­95. 59 Translation and original in Hobbes, 1994, 2:693–­95. Andrew Crooke (d. 1674) published the first London edition of the Leviathan. 60 For the attribution to Hollar, see Brown, 1978, 24–­36. Horst Bredekamp has offered convincing reasons for the attribution to Bosse (1999, 39–­52), which is also now accepted by Noel Malcolm (Hobbes, 2012, 1:133). See also Corbett and Lightbown, 1979, 221–­22. 61 Corbett and Lightbown, 1979, 221–­22. In his catalogue de Marolles refers to two volumes with 790 engraving by Bosse, but he does not

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mention the Leviathan frontispiece in particular (1666, 77). The abbé was acquainted with some of Hobbes’s friends, including Sorbière. For a letter written by Sorbière to de Marolles in Paris on September 15, 1656, see Sorbière, 1660, 394–­400. See also Hobbes, 2012, 1:133n129. As pointed out by Noel Malcolm in Hobbes, 2012, 1:134. On Bosse’s workshop, see Blum, 1924, 7–­8. We know Hobbes’s lodgings from the following comment of Jean-­Baptiste Lantin (1620–­1695): “Mr Hobbes composed his Leviathan in Paris. I saw him there in the old days; he had lodgings on the pont Saint-­Michel.” MS Paris, BnF, Fonds français, 23253, fol. 141r. Cited and translated in Hobbes, 2012, 1:88–­89. Hobbes, 2012, 2:254. Quentin Skinner has noted that in the manuscript version the heads are also looking at the sovereign, as they are staring straight at the viewer and Charles II was of course the primary recepient for whom this copy of the Leviathan was intended. Hobbes, 2012, 2:249. Bredekamp, 2003, 9. Hobbes, 2012, 2:16. Hobbes, 2012, 2:16. Hobbes, 2012, 2:244–­48. I am making use here of the analysis of Quentin Skinner on Hobbes’s theory of personation and representation (2009a, 343–­45). Thanks are due to Skinner for discussing this subject with me. Skinner, 2009a, 346. See Skinner, 2009b, 133–­34. I am grateful to Malcolm Baker for this observation. Hobbes, 2012, 2:192. Malcolm, 2002, 217–­33. Bredekamp, 2007, 40–­44. Aubrey tells us that Niceron was one of Hobbes’s friends, which is certainly possible, as both men were closely connected to Mersenne, to whom Hobbes refers in his autobiography as “the axis around which every star in the world of science revolved.” Aubrey, 1898, 1:367. Hobbes, 2012, 1:139. Hobbes, 1839, p. xci, lines 177–­78: “Circa Mersennum convertebatur ut axem / Unumquodque artis sidus in orbe suo.” Quoted and translated in Skinner, 2008, 14. Hobbes also mentions Niceron in De homine, citing one of his anamorphic wall paintings in the Minim Convent in Paris. See Hobbes, 1658, 25. As noted by Malcolm in Hobbes, 2012, 1:139. BL, MS Harl. 6796, fols. 193–­266. This manuscript, known as the “Latin Optical MS,” is a response to Descartes’s La Dioptrique. Although Descartes’s views on perception and physical motion were very similar to those of Hobbes, the latter disagreed with Cartesian dualism—­with Descartes’s notion of the mind or soul as incorporeal and yet able to receive motions of external objects. He writes in the Latin Optical MS, “Since vision is formally and really nothing other than motion, it follows that that which sees is also formally and strictly speaking nothing other than that which is moved; for nothing other than a body . . . can be moved.” Cited and translated in Malcolm, 2002, 14. Latin Optical MS, IV.14. See Hobbes, 1994, vol. 1, letters 29, 31–­34. Hobbes, 1971, 55, lines 380–­84. See Bredekamp, 2007, 42; and Malcolm, 2002, 202. Join-­Lambert and Préaud, 2004, 138. As argued by James Grantham Turner, 2012, 426–­28. Bodleian Library, Don. c.13 (1). Turner, 2012, 426–­28. Hobbes, 2012, 2:16. Horst Bredekamp similarly writes that the etching shows the moment of the state’s foundation and he argues that the commonwealth’s stability depends on a constant repetition of the founding moment. 2003, 106–­7.

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83 Cited and translated in Brett, 2010, 81. Hobbes, 1983, 79. 84 Hobbes, 2012, 2:260. 85 Aristotle characterizes the form of an object as the definition of its essence. Aristotle, Physics, 194b27; idem, 1590, 1:206. See also Cross, 1998, 13. 86 Meurisse (1615) presents the following account of privation: “And this privation is defined as having many parts, general and particular, and is neither a complete nothing, nor a rational entity, nor a real, positive entity, but with the opposite of natural form in the subject adapted to receive it.” (Datur privatio, eaque multiplex, generalis et particularis, quae non est purum nihil, nec ens rationalis, nec entitas realis positiva, sed negativo formae naturalis in sub[iec]to apto ad illam recipiendam.) Eustachius, in his influential philosophy textbook, opens his account of privation with this definition (1609, 2:35): “Privation, as it is here used, can be defined very well as the opposite of natural form in the subject adapted to receive it” (Privatio ut hic sumitur optime definiri potest: Negatio formae naturalis in subiecto apto ad illam recipiendam). 87 Colutius, 1611: “esse Materiam scilicet Forma[m] et privationem quae sunt Bases sup[er] quibus Theatri Machina continetur universa.” 88 Although I am not claiming that the detail from the Synopsis was a source for the Leviathan frontispiece, it is certainly possible that Hobbes and Bosse saw the broadside. The Synopsis met with broad approval and appeared in at least four different editions (see appendix 1). In the summer of the year, 1615, that the disputations associated with this thesis print were held in Paris, Hobbes was visiting the city with William Cavendish (c. 1590–­1628). We know Hobbes and Cavendish were in Paris from the allowance payments made to Cavendish by his father. See Skinner, 1996, 219. Hobbes could have again seen the Synopsis years later, when he was living in Paris and writing the Leviathan. (He lived in Paris from November 1640 to the end of 1651.) For his part, Bosse collaborated with Jean Messager, the publisher of the Synopsis, on other works, and he might have seen the Synopsis in the printer’s workshop. Bosse and Messager collaborated on the Affiche pour la comédie de Telaristus (c. 1636) (BnF, Est. Ed 30, rés.). Reproduced in Join-­Lambert and Préaud, 2004, 171. Not only were the thesis prints of Meurisse and Gaultier internationally renowned—­ their logic, metaphysics, and moral philosophy prints even appeared in London in English translation in the late 1630s—­but also Gaultier was one of the most celebrated and influential engravers of this period. English publishers clearly admired Gaultier’s work, since in 1613 he was asked to create the frontispiece for Henry Savile’s edition of St. John Chrysostom’s works, published in Eton. His two portraits of Henri IV and Louis XIII praying next to a window and before an open book, furthermore, likely inspired the representation by William Marshall (c. 1617–­1649) of Charles I (1600–­1649) kneeling in the frontispiece to the Eikon Basilike of 1649. Marshall, it should be noted, engraved the English edition of the metaphysics broadside of Gaultier and Meurisse. 89 See Bredekamp, 2003, 69–­72. 90 Hobbes, 2012, 2:260. 91 Merian is known to have copied works by Gaultier, such as his illustrations of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Stachel, 2013, 25–­30. It is certainly possible that he drew on the Synopsis here as well, though this sort of creation and cosmic iconography is too widespread to speak of a direct line of influence. The Vitruvian figure in Fludd’s Cosmi historia is also discussed in relation to the Leviathan in Brandt, 1987, 164–­88. 92 See Brett, 2011, 115–­41; eadem, 2010, 72–­102; and Leijenhorst, 2002. 93 Hobbes, 2012, 2:18.

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Translated and cited in Brett, 2010, 93. Hobbes, 2012, 2:260. As noted by Brett, 2010, 83. Brett, 2010, 83. I am grateful to Bradin Cormack for this suggestion. Hobbes, 2012, 2:249. Brett, 2010, 98. Hobbes, 2012, 2:554. Skinner, 2009a, 346. Skinner, 2009a, 346. Thanks are due to Daniel Garber for this point. Hobbes, 2012, 2:132 (emphasis in original). This quotation is translated by Malcolm from the Latin edition of the Leviathan. Hobbes, 2012, 3:1125. Skinner, 2008, 190. Another potential problem with interpreting the frontispiece as showing the generation of the commonwealth is that the dress of the figures composing the colossus suggests life in civil society. On the other hand, perhaps it is because the people are in the process of covenanting to submit to the sovereign that in the etching the figures no longer stare out at the viewer (as they do in the manuscript copy) but look directly up at the face of the giant instead. Hobbes, 2012, 3:1077–­78 (emphasis in original). Hobbes, 2012, 2:496. Quintilian, 2014, vol. 2, bk. 5, chap. 11, 455. Hobbes, 1637, 8. appendix 1  catalogue of surviving impressions of philosophical plural images Kaiser, 1923, 92. The dimensions of the broadside in Wolfenbüttel are 52.8 × 40.7 cm; its plate mark measures 48.4 × 37 cm. The dimensions of the broadside in Ulm are 51 × 39 cm. Both these broadsides consist of a single sheet of paper. Barbara Bauer cites the impressions of the Descriptio held by the HAB and the Stadtbibliothek in Ulm, as well as an impression held by the Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg that the curator in Coburg has been unable to locate (1985a, 2–­3). The former inventory number of the Coburg impression was Kp. B 119a. Bauer notes that the Coburg impression differs from the one held by the HAB and that a publisher is not identified. If found, this broadside would be the fourth surviving impression of the Descriptio from a later edition of the broadside that was based on the original print. The broadside held by the BRB measures 57 × 36.5 cm; its printed area extends to the edge of the page. The dimensions of the printed area below the dedication on the BnF impression are 47.8 × 36.4 cm. The total height of the print’s plate mark could not be measured. The dimensions of the printed area of the dedication on the BnF impression are 8.6 × 36.4 cm. The dimensions of the Albertina broadside are 58 × 37 cm; its printed area extends nearly to the edge of the page. The BRB, BnF, and Albertina broadsides consist of single sheets of paper. This broadside measures 65 × 49 cm. The dimensions of the plate mark of the area below the dedication are 48 × 36 cm. The dimensions of the plate mark of the dedication are 4.6 × 6.8 cm. The Houghton Library impression is cited by Jones, 2010, 409n12. Meurisse, 1614: “B[EATA] JOHANNA. Fundatrix Ord[inis] B[eatae] Mariae.” For additional information on Jeanne, see Gerlach, Schmucki, et al., 1974, 80–­81. Paris, Archives nationales, MC, CIX–­163. Cited by Grivel, 1986, 355. This impression is discussed in Chatelain, 2009, [n.p.]. The dimensions

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17

18

19 20

21

22

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of the broadside are 48.4 × 37.1 cm. The engraving is printed on a single sheet of paper. This impression is discussed by Ferguson, 1987, 9–­30. The dimensions of its plate mark are 56 × 37 cm. This impression is described by Malcolm Jones, who suggests William Marshall as the engraver (2010, 48–­50). Jones, 2010, 47–­52. Jones, 2010, 47–­48. Jones, 2010, 47. Arber, 1877, 4:379. Jones, 2010, 48. Cited by Jones, 2010, 408n5. The dimensions of the BRB broadside are 71.1 × 52.2 cm; the dimensions of the plate mark are 65.1 × 47.5 cm. In the Albertina impression, the sheets of the broadside have not been glued together: the dimensions of the bottom sheet (no. 46) are 31.7 × 46.7 cm, and the dimensions of the upper sheet (no. 45) are 33.2 × 46.4 cm. The dimensions of the BnF broadside with the AA4 shelfmark are 64.8 × 47 cm. The size of the printed area on the BnF broadside with the AA5 shelfmark is 65 × 47.25 cm, and its plate mark measures 65.5 × 47.8 cm. The impressions in the BRB and BnF consist of two sheets of paper that are glued together. Bauer cites the impressions in Wolfenbüttel, London, and Munich (1985b, 6–­7). The dimensions of the printed area of the British Library impression are 63.7 × 46 cm, and the size of this broadside is 65.5 × 47.4 cm. The dimensions of the Coburg broadside are 66 × 50.1 cm, and its plate mark measures 65.6 × 46.8 cm. The dimensions of the printed area on the Wolfenbüttel impression are 64.2 × 46.2 cm; the size of its plate mark is 65.8 × 46.8 cm. The Wolfenbüttel, Coburg, and British Library impressions consist of two sheets of paper that have been glued together. In the Munich impression, the sheets of the broadside have not been glued together: the dimensions of the bottom sheet are 32.2 × 46.8 cm, and the dimensions of the upper sheet are 33.8 × 46.6 cm. The size of the BnF broadside is 64.7 × 47.1 cm. This impression consists of two sheets of paper that have been glued together. Jacob Schmutz cites the impression held by the Museo francescano di Roma (Inv. nr. 674/2b): 2008b, 452. The Museo francescano broadside could not have been published before 1637. Cited by Jones, 2010, 408n5. The dimensions of the BnF impression are 55.8 × 40.2 cm. The dimensions of the BRB broadside are 55.7 × 40.1 cm; the printed area extends to the edge of this broadside. The dimensions of the Fitzwilliam Museum impression are 54.5 × 40.8 cm; the printed area extends to the edge of this broadside as well. The dimensions of the Albertina impression with shelfmark “HB137, number 43” are 56 × 40.5 cm, and the dimensions of the Albertina impression with shelfmark “F.I.1, number 68” are 56 × 40 cm. These broadsides are all printed on a single sheet of paper. This broadside measures 62 × 42.5 cm. This impression consists of two sheets of paper that have been glued together. This impression is cited by Jones, 2010, 409n14; and Grivel, 1994, no. 174, p. 432. The BnF broadside measures 56.5 × 40.7 cm and consists of a single sheet of paper. The Museo Francescano broadside measures 56.5 × 40.7 cm and is discussed in Gieben, 1990, 683–­707. The Museo Francescano impression is also cited by Schmutz, 2008b, 452. The dimensions of this broadside are 52.7 × 40.4 cm. It consists of a single sheet of paper. This impression is cited by Schmutz, 2008b, 452n253.

n ot e s t o c h a pt e r f iv e – a p p e n d ix o n e

25 Jones, 2010, 50. Arber, 1877, 4:379. 26 The Houghton Library broadside measures 55.8 × 41.2 cm and consists of two sheets of paper that have been joined together. This edition of the broadside was advertised by Walton in 1659, along with the logic broadside. Jones, 2010, 50. 27 The dimensions of the printed area of the BnF impression are 73.9 × 48.6 cm. The size of the plate mark of the Vatican impression is 73.3 × 48.5 cm; the dimensions of its printed area are 72.8 × 47.8 cm. 28 This impression is discussed by Bauer, 1985e, 20–­21. The size of this impression’s plate mark is 73 × 47.2 cm. This broadside consists of two sheets of paper that have been glued together. 29 The dimensions of the printed area of this impression are 72 × 47.1 cm. The broadside consists of two sheets of paper that have been glued together. This impression is discussed by Bauer, 1985d, 16–­17; and Jones, 2010, 50–­51. 30 Please note: “||” demarcates the place where Democritus’s bust and pedestal intervenes; and “//” demarcates the end of a printed line. 31 Arber, 1877, 4:386. Cited by Jones, 2010, 50. 32 Arber, 1877, 4:386. Cited by Jones, 2010, 51. 33 The dimensions of these Museo francescano impressions are 56 × 39.8 cm; the printed area extends to the edge of these impressions. Jones notes the existence of two impressions in the Museo francescano (2010, 51). Schmutz also cites the two impressions in the Museo francescano (2008b, 452). The measurements of the Albertina impression are 56.1 × 40 cm; the printed area extends nearly to the edge of this impression. 34 The dimensions of the printed area of the central broadside are 56.35 × 40 cm. The size of the entire broadside, including the appended Latin text, is 58.3 × 83.4 cm. 35 The dimensions of this broadside are 52.5 × 39.8 cm. The printed area extends to the edge of the broadside, which consists of a single sheet of paper. 36 The BnF broadside measures 61 × 42.2 cm; this broadside is made of two sheets of paper that have been glued together. The size of the British Library impression of the bottom of this engraving is 44.6 × 34.3 cm; the dimensions of the printed area are 41.3 × 31.5 cm. The British Library impression is cited by Jones, 2010, 51. Jones also notes the existence of an entire impression of the broadside in the BM’s Department of Prints and Drawings that is cited in the British Library Catalogue and has been misplaced (2010, 51). 37 This broadside measures 56.5 × 40.1 cm and consists of a single sheet of paper only. This impression is cited by Jones, 2010, 51. 38 The size of the Princeton broadside is 74 × 47 cm; its plate mark measures 72.7 × 45.4 cm. The dimensions of the printed area on the BnF impression are 72.3 × 44.9 cm; its plate mark measures 72.8 × 45.5 cm. The size of the BRB broadside is 77.4 × 48.8 cm; the dimensions of its plate mark are 72.5 × 44.85 cm. The dimensions of the Albertina broadside are 72 × 44.5 cm; its printed area extends to the edge of the broadside and its highest section is cropped slightly. These broadsides are all made of two sheets of paper that have been glued together.

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INDEX

Abra de Raconis, Charles François d’, 87, 94, 280n29, 280n35, 280n58, 280n61, 281n69 Academia naturae curiosorum (Academy of those Curious about Nature; Leopoldina), 41–­42 Académie française dictionary, 1694, 3 Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture, 13 Accademia del Disegno, 118, 120 accident: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94, 94 (fig. 62), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 19); in Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 2); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 94, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 10); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Laurus metaphysica, 242 (Appendix 2, III, segment 4, 10) Adam, 128, 137–­38, 138 (fig. 115) Aegidien school, Braunschweig, Germany, 41 Aelhuijsen, Johannes van, album of, 168 (fig. 160), 169 Alberti, Leon Battista, 120, 183 album amicorum (friendship album), 3, 38, 115, 127, 143, 164, 166–­7 1, 284n60; Aristotle in, 166 (fig. 155); de Gheyn II drawing in, 167 (fig. 158); Eloquentiae Latinae Triumphus in, 168 (fig. 160), 169; Fortune in, 167, 167 (fig. 157); friendship in, 166–­67, 166 (figs. 155, 156); Homo bulla in, 168 (fig. 159), 169; humor in, 38, 169–­70;

memento mori in, 167; of van Valckenisse family, 287n60. See also Stammbuch; Vriedenboek Alcibiades, 143, 145 Aldrovandi, Ulisse, 67 Alembert, Jean le Rond d’, Encyclopédie, 69, 279n112 Alexander the Great, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 90 allegory, 1, 15–­16, 17, 28–­34, 48–­52, 53 (fig. 22), 71, 274n45, 275n84, 285n7 alphabet, 53–­54, 54 (fig. 23), 119–­20. See also calligraphic lettering Altdorfer, Albrecht, 33–­34 Amiens Cathedral, 18, 19 (fig. 8) Anagni, cathedral of, 275n84 analogy, 37, 121, 125, 130, 133, 202; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 89, 97, 97 (fig. 68), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 26); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 82, 84; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 97, 97 (fig. 67), 99, 111, 143, 159, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 45); in Winkelmann’s Logica memorativa, 110 (fig. 88), 111, 111 (fig. 89), 112 (fig. 90) anatomical woodcuts, 54–­58 anatomy, 54–­58, 134, 135, 135 (figs. 108, 109, 110) Andreae, Hieronymus, 174, 175, 180 Anne (queen of Austria), 61, 215 Annonciades, 211 Antwerp Guild of Saint Luke, 127 Apin, Siegmund Jacob, 37, 47; and Buno, 48; cabinet of curiosities of, 66–­68; on Chéron and

303

Gaultier’s Typus, 52–­53, 68; collection of printed curiosities of, 166; Dissertatio de variis discendi methodis memoriae causa inventis earumque usu et abusu, 41–­72, 111; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 52, 58–­59; and Morhof, 68–­69; and Murner, 58; on problems with philosophical images, 37, 41, 53, 66–­7 1; and Tabula Cebetis, 48; and Vesalius, 45, 54; and Winkelmann, 69 apprehension, 77, 80, 82, 82 (fig. 40), 98–­99, 99 (fig. 73), 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 17), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 4–­5), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 2) Apuleius of Madaura, On Interpretation, 147 arabesques: in Dürer and Pirckheimer’s Triumphal Chariot, 174 (fig. 165), 175–­80, 175 (fig. 166); in The Prayer Book of Emperor Maximilian I, 176, 177 (fig. 169), 178 argumentation: and van Campen, 160 (fig. 139), 160–­61; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 104–­5, 107, 107 (fig. 86); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 83, 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 1), 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 8); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 102 (fig. 79), 107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 5) Ariew, Roger, 280n24 Aristotelianism, 3, 38, 87, 136; and Catholic church, 34–­35; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77,

109; and cognition, 98, 180–­83; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 79, 84; and curricula, 5, 36, 87, 136; and Descartes, 36, 184, 187; and earth and cosmos, 136, 170–­7 1; and Franciscans, 87, 122, 129; and generation, 200–­201; and Hobbes, 187–­88, 203, 206–­9; and Ludot, 75; matter, privation, and form in, 200–­203, 203 (fig. 191), 206; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 20, 77, 87, 92; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 4, 182; and psychology, 180; Scotist, 87, 122, 129; and sensory data and intellect, 98; and stemmata, 17; and student notebooks, 38; and Testa, 13; and theology, 34–­35; visual representation in, 3, 5, 200; and Zabarella, 286n21 Aristotle: attacks on, 34–­37; and cabinets of curiosities, 67; and van Cantelbeke, 128, 140; Categories, 77, 95, 164; categories of, 80, 82, 94–­95, 96, 111, 203, 280–­ 81n62; challenges to orthodoxies concerning, 5; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 88–­89, 90, 94–­95, 96, 97; circular arguments in, 102; and columns of Hercules, 131, 131 (fig. 104), 132 (fig. 105); and Colutius, 21, 23; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 82; and Comenius, 46; and complete vs. incomplete entities, 96 (fig. 66), 97, 110 (fig. 88), 111, 112 (fig. 90); and de Chevaigné’s notebook, 129;

Aristotle (cont.) demonstrations in, 83, 100, 101 (fig. 78), 101–­3, 107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 9), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 2–­3), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7); as depicted in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 88–­89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 20); as depicted in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 87, 87 (fig. 44), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 2); and de Piles, 43; dialectical deductions in, 83, 103, 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 52 and 54), 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 4 and 5); different schools of interpretation of, 35; and drawing, 5; equivocation in, 110 (fig. 88), 111, 111 (fig. 89), 112 (fig. 90), 163, 163 (figs. 144–­47), 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 66); Eudemian Ethics, 5; examples and enthymemes in, 107, 107 (fig. 86), 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 7 and 8), 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 8), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 3); and form, 35, 200–­202, 201 (fig. 188), 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 8); and form and essence, 289n85; and form and matter, 200–­201, 203, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 3–­8); and Frege, 37; and generation, 200–­201, 203, 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 1), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 4); and Hobbes, 206, 207–­9; and inductions, 107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 6), 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 8), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 3); On Interpretation, 5, 77, 147, 148, 150; and Jodoigne’s notebook, 129; and knowledge, 5, 46, 83, 100, 101, 103, 104, 107; and logic, 2, 4, 20, 37, 38, 75–­112; and Marlowe, 34; and matter, 35, 200–­202, 201 (fig. 187), 202 (fig. 190), 214, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 3 and 4); and memory, 5, 28; On Memory, 5; and mental images, 5, 28, 181–­82, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); Metaphysics, 43, 88, 89, 97, 164; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 87, 87 (fig. 44), 92, 94–­95, 96, 97, 109; Nicomachean Ethics, 5, 90, 166 (fig.

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155), 166–­67, 283n5; Nicomachean Ethics (Neapolitan manuscript, c. 1500), frontispiece to book 1 of, 5, 70 (fig. 30), 90, 166–­67, 166 (fig. 155), 283n5; Organon, 34, 77, 97; and phantasma, 5, 181–­82, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); and philosophy lectures, 125; Physics, 287n85; Poetics, 15, 117, 281n9; Politics, 5, 97, 120; Posterior Analytics, 77, 100–­102, 117, 280–­81n62; and prime matter, 200–­203, 201 (fig. 187), 202 (fig. 190), 203 (fig. 191), 214, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 3 and 4); Prior Analytics, 77, 101–­2, 107; and privation, 200–­203, 201 (fig. 189), 203 (fig. 191), 206, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 5 and 6); and Ramus, 17, 34, 35; and reason/ratiocination, 77; regulation of teaching of, 36; in Reisch, 79–­80; Rhetoric, 15; and sensory data, 98, 181, 182; and sensory impressions, 46; Sophistical Refutations, 77, 163; On the Soul, 5, 230 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 1); and square of opposition, 147–­51; subalternation in, 102, 223 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 27, 34 and 35); and syllogisms, 77, 100, 102, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 4), 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 9); on thought, 5; Topics, 77, 103; universal judgment in, 117; and universals, 107, 117; and universities, 38; univocals in, 164, 165 (figs. 151–­53); and Vasari, 117; visual representations in lectures of, 5, 128 (fig. 98), 129 (figs. 99, 100); wonder in, 88 Arius, 30–­31 art of memory (ars memoriae), 28–­ 29, 41, 43–­45, 47–­53, 69, 71, 120, 158, 183, 184, 186–­87, 187 (figs. 176, 177), 275n73 astronomy and cosmology, 80, 134, 136, 170–­7 1, 276n113 Athena, 169 Aubrey, John, 188, 289n74 Augustine, 29, 30, 31 (fig. 15), 91–­92, 92 (fig. 57) Averroes, 30–­31 Bacci, Andrea, 274–­75n65; De theriaca quae ad instituta veterum Galeni, 275n66; Tabula seu rota proprietatum occultarum, 275n66

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Bacci, Andrea, and Natale Bonifacio, Ordo universi et humanarum scientiarum prima monumenta, xvi, 20–­21, 22 (fig. 10), 28 Baconthorpe, John, 109, 280n43 Baker, Samuel, 212 Bartolus of Sassoferrato, 29 Baxandall, Michael, 34 Becker, Charles-­Henri (publisher), 126 Belvedere torso, 57, 57 (fig. 26) Benjamin, Walter, 16 Berey, Claude-­August, 278n89 Bianchi, Cristoforo. See Colutius, Philander, and Cristoforo Bianchi, Logicae universae typus Bible, 29, 30, 36, 39, 109, 136, 138, 166; Genesis, 202; Genesis 3:5, 171; 2 Paralipomenon 1:10, 280n31; Job 28:12, 88; Job 28:13, 280n37; Job 28:18, 91; Job 34:27, 282n109; Job 41:24, 192; Proverbs 3:13, 280n40; Proverbs 8:34, 282n121; Proverbs 9:1, 282n120; Proverbs 9:3, 280n27; Proverbs 20:8, 279n11; Ecclesiastes 1:8, 282n122; Ecclesiastes 10:10, 90; Ecclesiasticus 1:26, 280n30; Ecclesiasticus 3:22, 90; Ecclesiasticus 6:21, 280n48; Wisdom 5:6, 282n108; Wisdom 10:8, 280n38 Biesche, Michael van den, notebook of, 134, 135 (fig. 110), 136, 136 (fig. 112), 285n77 Bitaud, Jean, 35 Blaeu, Pieter, 191–92 Blaeu, Willem Janszoon, 67 Blair, Ann, 282n2 Blancus, Christophus, 214, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 1) Blendeff, Lambert (publisher), 126, 134, 284–­85n76 Boethius, 80; Consolatio philosophiae, 280n41; De divisione, 162; De topicis differentiis, 103 Bologna, Michael of, 91–­92, 92 (fig. 56), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 37), 280nn42–­43 Bolswert, Boëtius à, Via vitae aeternae, 183–­84, 185 (fig. 175) Bolzoni, Lina, 28 Bonaiuto, Andrea di, The Triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas, 30–­31, 32 (fig. 16) Bonaventura, St., 122, 241 (Appendix 2, III, segment 3, 26) Bonifacio, Natale. See Bacci, Andrea, and Natale Bonifacio, Ordo uni-

versi et humanarum scientiarum prima monumenta Bonifacio, Natale, Ordo universi et humanarum scientiarum prima monumenta, xvi, 20–­21, 22 (fig. 10), 28 Bonnart, Henri (publisher), 126–­27 Borghese, Scipione, 23 Bosquevert, Etienne, 153, 286n22 Bosse, Abraham, 38, 174, 206, 207, 209; and Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture, 13; frontispiece for Jean Dubreuil’s La Perspective pratique, 208 (fig. 194), 209; frontispiece to Leviathan (etching), 192, 193 (fig. 181); frontispiece to Leviathan (pen and ink), 192, 194 (fig. 182); L’Homme fourré de malice, 196, 199 (fig. 185); Manière universelle de M. Desargues, 183, 183 (fig. 174); and Messager, 289n88 Bourbon, Henri de, 61 Bovelles, Charles de: Liber de intellectu, 167, 182–­83, 183 (fig. 173), 201, 202 (fig. 190); prime matter in, 201, 202 (fig. 190) Brahe, Tycho, 134, 136 Bredekamp, Horst, 289n82 Brett, Annabel, 203, 206 Briere Jr., 277n71 Brinck, Ernst, album of, 167 broadsides, 3, 4, 58, 59, 60, 63 Brockliss, Laurence, 276n115 Budde, Johann Franz, Elementa philosophiae instrumentalis, 42 Bulwer, John, 109; Chirologia, 279n10, 280n47 Buno, Johannes, 37, 52; Memoriale institutionum juris, 48, 50–­51 (fig. 21); Neue Lateinische Grammatica in Fabeln und Bildern, 40, 48, 49 (fig. 20) Burgkmair, Hans, 174, 176 Buschweiler, Matthäus, 28, 214. See also Colutius, Philander, and Matthäus Buschweiler, Physica seu naturae theatrum in typum totius philosophiae naturalis calligraphic flourish, in Dürer and Pirckheimer, 174–­76, 174 (fig. 165), 177 (fig. 169) calligraphic lettering: in van Colen notebook, 136; in van den Mers­ sche’s notebook, 138, 139 (fig. 116); in Wagner’s writing book, 175, 175 (fig. 168)

Callot, Jacques, 13; Balli di Sfessania, 38, 140, 140 (fig. 118), 141 (fig. 119), 143, 143 (fig. 122), 144 (fig. 123); Capricci di varie figure, 38, 140, 141, 142 (fig. 121), 156 (fig. 134), 157; Varie figure gobbi, 38, 140, 141, 142 (fig. 121), 143, 145 (fig. 124) Campen, Wilhelmus Gerardus van, notebook of: and De Argumentatione engraving, 160–­61, 160 (fig. 139); and “De equivocis” engraving, 163, 163 (fig. 144); dog, fish, and star in, 163; and “Entia per accidens” engraving, 164, 164 (fig. 150); Man with walking stick engraving in, 162, 162 (fig. 143); Quid sunt univoca engraving in, 165 (fig. 152); and universals, 161, 161 (fig. 140); univocals in, 164, 165 (fig. 152) Cantelbeke, Henricus Joannes van, notebooks of, 133, 157, 286n26; and Callot etchings, 140 (fig. 118), 141 (fig. 119), 144 (fig. 123), 145 (fig. 124), 156 (fig. 134); and colored pen drawing of procession, 133, 133 (fig. 107); and columns of Hercules, 131, 131 (fig. 104); division in, 140–­41; factotum title page of, 127–­28, 128 (fig. 98); flag symbolizing signs in, 141; Fortuna in, 143, 143 (fig. 122), 167; and image of Charles V, 131, 133 (fig. 106); movement in location in, 141, 142 (fig. 121); Tree of Porphyry in, 156 (fig. 135) Carmelites, 4, 87, 91, 92, 109, 216, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 1, 2), 280n43 Carruthers, Mary, 28 Cars, Jean François (publisher), 126 Cartesianism, 36, 43, 71, 121, 129, 134, 184, 186–­87, 276n115, 289n75 Cartesian textbooks, 134 Castiglione, Baldassare, Il Cortegiano, 120, 145 categories: of Aristotle, 77, 80, 82, 94–­95, 96, 111, 203, 280–­81n62; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94–­95, 95 (fig. 64), 96, 111, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, 3–­12); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 82, 82 (fig. 39), 248 (Appendix 2, IV, 17–­ 26); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 94–­95, 96, 111, 219–­20 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 17–­

3 05

26); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Laurus metaphysica, 242–­43 (Appendix 2, III, segment 4, 9–­19) Caussin, Nicolas, Electorum symbolorum . . . syntagmata, 274n64 Cavendish, William, 2nd Earl of Devonshire, 289n88 Cavendish, William, 3rd Earl of Devonshire, 190 Cebes of Thebes, 48, 52, 53 (fig. 22) Cecill, Thomas, frontispiece to Hobbes’s Thucydides, 188, 189 (fig. 178) Cellini, Benvenuto, 118–­20, 283n10, 283n11; alphabets of, 119–­20; project for seal of Accademia del Disegno (BM, London), 118–­20, 118 (fig. 92); project for seal of Accademia del Disegno (BM, London) (detail of fig. 92), 114 Cennini, Cennino, 174 Cesi, Federico, 17 Champvallon, François Harlay de, 36 chariot, 169, 174, 175, 287n7 Charles II, 192, 194 (fig. 182), 196 Charles V (emperor), 131, 133 (fig. 106) Chauveau, François: and Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture, 13; thesis print of with singular image, 20, 21 (fig. 9); and Vasari, 117 Chéron, Jean, 5, 15, 16; and Apin, 37, 42; communication with Gaultier, 273n27; dedication by, 61; and disputations, 60; imagery and theses in, 63; and Isidore of Seville, 282n110; and later thesis prints, 20; official approval of, 35; and three operations of mind, 80 Chéron, Jean, and Léonard Gaultier, Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas, 4, 12 (fig. 4), 37, 75, 216, plate 2; accident in, 94, 94 (fig. 62), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 19); and alba amicorum, 166; Alexander the Great in, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 90; analogy in, 97, 97 (fig. 68), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 26); animals in, 93; Apin on, 52–­53, 68; appetite in, 88, 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 17); apprehension in, 98–­ 99, 99 (fig. 73), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 2); architectural features in, 93, 95; argumentation in, 104–­5, 107, 107 (fig. 86); and

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Aristotelian logic, 77, 109; and Aristotle, 88–­89, 90, 94–­95, 97; and Aristotle’s categories, 94–­95, 95 (fig. 64), 96, 111, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, 3–­12); Baconthorpe in, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 4); Bible in, 109; body parts/human limbs in, 97, 162, 162 (fig. 142); cannons in, 101; Carmelites in, 92; Chéron depicted in, 77, 78 (fig. 35), 87, 92; Chimera in, 98, 98 (fig. 70); civil law in, 91, 91 (fig. 55); cliff in, 88; columns of Hercules in, 108 (fig. 87), 131, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 9); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 79, 84; complex entities in, 98, 98 (fig. 72), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 27); concepts in, 93–­98; and conceptual relationships, 77; courtyard in, 93, 97; crying in, 99; definition in, 93, 94 (fig. 60), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 1); demonstration in, 100–­101, 104, 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7); difference in, 94, 158, 158 (fig. 137), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 17); Diogenes in, 89; and disputations, 61; division in, 99, 100 (fig. 75), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 4); division of whole into parts in, 162, 162 (fig. 142), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 28); doctor in, 97; dog, fish, and star in, 163, 163 (fig. 146); Duns Scotus in, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 5); entities in their own right in, 97, 163–­64; entities per accidens in, 97, 163, 164, 164 (fig. 149), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 22), 286n49; equivocation in, 97, 163, 163 (fig. 146), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 23); error in, 100, 105 (fig. 83); ethics in, 109; experience in, 90, 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 23); faith in, 104, 104 (fig. 81), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 6); female with three faces in, 100, 100 (fig. 77), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 1); field framed with rocky cliffs in, 87; five predicables in, 94, 268–69 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 15–­19); flag symbolizing signs in, 141, 141 (fig. 120), 269 (Appen-

dix 2, VI, segment 4, 10); and garden, 77, 78; genus in, 94, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 15); God in, 96, 108, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 3); Heraclitus in, 99, 100 (fig. 76), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 5); heresy in, 91; ignorance in, 88, 105; incomplete entities in, 97, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 24); individuals in, 96, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 3); intellect in, 98–­99, 99 (fig. 73), 101, 109, 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7); internal and external loci in, 104, 104 (fig. 82), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 4 and 5); and invention, 87–­88, 90, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 1, 3), 266–­68 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 3, 12, 23, 25, 32, and 41); judgments in, 93; key to temple of wisdom in, 100; knowledge in, 88, 90, 91 (fig. 52), 93, 100, 101 (fig. 78), 104, 107; and la Bigne and Gaultier, 105, 106 (fig. 84); and landscape, 77, 84, 87; and logic, 52, 77, 78, 87–­88; logic in, 77–­78, 91, 91 (figs. 54, 55), 92, 93, 94 (fig. 61), 97, 105, 108, 109, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 41); mathematics in, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3); and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 75, 77, 84–­109; Michael of Bologna in, 91–­92, 92 (fig. 56), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 37), 280n42; mind in, 93–­98, 93 (fig. 58), 99–­100, 108; mind’s first operation in, 93–­98, 93 (fig. 58), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 2); mind’s second operation in, 98–­100, 99 (fig. 73), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 1); mind’s third operation in, 100–­107; naked woman with long hair in, 93, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 2); natural signs in, 99, 100 (fig. 76), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 5); old man in, 94; opinion in, 100, 104, 104 (fig. 81), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 6); organizational and intellectual principles of, 79; papacy in, 91, 91 (fig. 54), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 31); Parmenides in, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19); philosophy in, 87–­90, 88

Chéron, Jean, and Léonard Gaultier (cont.) (figs. 46, 47), 89 (fig. 48), 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3); physics in, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3); Plato in, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19); political wisdom in, 89; Porphyry’s predicables in, 94, 94 (fig. 62), 158, 158 (fig. 137), 268–69 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 15–­19); and Porphyry’s tree, 158, 158 (fig. 137), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 17); predicated things in, 96; property in, 94, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 18); propositions in, 93, 98–­99, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 8); Publilius Syrus in, 90, 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 26); reason in, 90; role of, 59; rowboats in, 100–­101, 104–­5, 107, 107 (fig. 86); sailboat in, 104–­5, 105 (fig. 84); segment 1 of, 87, 266 (Appendix 2, VI); segment 2 of, 87–­92, 266–­68 (Appendix 2, VI); segment 3 of, 87, 93–­98, 268–­69 (Appendix 2, VI); segment 4 of, 87, 98–­100, 269 (Appendix 2, VI); segment 5 of, 87, 89, 100–­107, 269–­7 1 (Appendix 2, VI); segment 6 of, 87, 108–­9, 271 (Appendix 2, VI); segments of, 86 (fig. 43); sensory data in, 98–­99, 99 (fig. 73); sensuous pleasures in, 91; signification in, 141, 141 (fig. 120); signs in, 99, 141, 141 (fig. 120); sirens in, 90–­91, 263 (Appendix 2, V, segment 2, 2); Socrates in, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19); Solomon (Salomon) in, 88, 88 (fig. 46), 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 4); sophists in, 104–­5, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 8); species in, 94, 96, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 16); St. Augustine in, 91–­92, 92 (fig. 57), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 36); students in, 77, 78 (fig. 34), 87, 92, 93, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 2); substance in, 95–­96, 95 (fig. 64), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 3); syllogisms in, 100–­101, 100 (fig. 77), 101 (fig. 78), 104, 104 (fig. 81), 105 (fig. 83), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 1); teachers in, 87, 268 (Appendix

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2, VI, segment 2, 38); temple of house of Wisdom in, 108–­9, 108 (fig. 87), 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 1 and 2); tents in, 104, 104 (fig. 82); terms and propositions in, 99; Tetragrammaton in, 108, 108 (fig. 87); Thales in, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19); theology in, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3); topical syllogisms in, 104, 104 (fig. 81), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 6); transcription of text of, 266–­7 1; travelers in, 87, 92; truth-­values in, 93; and visual commentaries, 77; voluntary action in, 109; walled spaces within, 87; and Willems, 130; will in, 101, 101 (fig. 78), 109, 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7); and Winkelmann, 69, 111, 112; wisdom in, 52, 88, 90–­91, 90 (figs. 50, 51), 91 (fig. 53), 100–­101, 108–­9, 108 (fig. 87), 131, 266–­68 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 5, 11, 16, 21, 23, 27, 29, 30, 32, 33, 39, 40, 41), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 1), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 4), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7), 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 8); wonder in, 88, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 12); wreath in, 99; Zeno in, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19) Chevaigné, Aubin de, notebook of, 137, 153, 154 (fig. 131); factotum frontispiece to, 129 (figs. 99, 100); title page of, 128–­29 Chevallerau, Wilhelmus, album of, 166–­67 Chimera, 97–­98, 98 (figs. 69, 70), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 41), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 21) Chirius Consultus Fortunatianus, 29 Cicero, 15, 80, 167, 169; Academica, 277n12; and di Bonaiuto, 30; De natura deorum, 277n12; On Invention, 280n26 civil law, 91, 91 (fig. 55), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 34) Clave, Étienne de, 35, 275n98 Clerselier, Claude, L’Homme de René Descartes, 186–­87, 187 (fig. 177) cognition/thought, 1; and Aristotelian scholasticism, 181–­82; Aristotle on, 5; and Bacci and

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Bonifacio, 20; and creation of art, 38, 173–­87; and Descartes, 38, 184, 186–­87; and disegno, 182; and drawing, 174; and Dürer, 178, 179–­80; early modern accounts of, 2, 173–­88; and Hobbes, 187–­88; and images, 2, 173–­87; and intentional species, 181–­82; and Meurisse, 180–­82, 230–­32 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 1–­8); phantasms in, 181–­82, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); and print making, 45, 182; and Zuccaro, 182 Colen, Ludovicus van, notebook of, 136, 137 (fig. 113), 138, 140 (fig. 117), 285n84 Collaert, Adriaen, 136, 138; Inde venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, 161; A Leopard and Two Lions, 285n84; A Monkey, a Porcupine, Two Hedgehogs, a Buffalo and a Fox, 285n84; Three Cats and Two Monkeys, 285n84; Three Dogs, 285n84; Two Elephants and a Rhinoceros, 285n84 Collaert, Carolus, Topsy-­Turvy World, 138 Collaert, Hans, I, The Dispute with the Doctors, 160 College, Stephen, A Raree Show, 196, 199 (fig. 186) Collège de Clermont (Collège-­ Louis-­le-­Grand), 20, 134 Colutius, Philander, 20–­21 Colutius, Philander, and Cristoforo Bianchi, Logicae universae typus, 21, 23, 24–­25 (fig. 12), 37, 79–­84; apprehension in, 80, 82, 82 (fig. 40), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 5); and architecture, 79, 84; Aristotle in, 37; cannons in, 83–­84, 84 (fig. 41); concepts in, 82; defense tower in, 37, 79, 109, 195; and dialectic, 83; filial relationship in, 82, 82 (fig. 39), 248 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 19 ); gaze in, 80, 82 (fig. 40); and logic, 79; mind’s first operation in, 80, 82, 82 (fig. 40), 84, 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 4); mind’s second operation in, 80, 82, 84, 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 4, 1); mind’s third operation in, 80, 83, 84, 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 1); mind’s three operations in, 80–­83; organizational and intellectual principles

of, 79; philosophical and military battles in, 37, 84, 104; Porphyry’s predicables in, 80, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 2); and Reisch, 79, 80; square of opposition in, 150, 150 (fig. 128), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 4, 2); surviving impressions of, 214; syllogisms in, 80, 83–­84, 84 (fig. 41), 100, 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 8 and 9); tower in, 80; transcription of text of, 245–­56; warfare in, 37 Colutius, Philander, and Matthäus Buschweiler, Physica seu naturae theatrum in typum totius philosophiae naturalis, 23, 26–­27 (fig. 13), 28; beauty in, 201, 201 (fig. 188); Dey’s English-­language editions of, 28; form in, 200, 201, 201 (fig. 188); and generation, 200, 201; natural philosophy in, 201; prime matter in, 200, 201, 201 (fig. 187), 214; privation in, 200, 201, 201 (fig. 189); skull, head, and stone in, 201; surviving impressions of, 214–­15; and University of Leiden anatomy theater, 67; Wolfenbüttel impression of, 28 Comenius, Jan Amos, 37; Orbis sensualium pictus, 45–­48, 46 (figs. 18, 19) commedia dell’arte, 140, 143, 143 (fig. 122) concepts: and Aristotle’s On Interpretation, 77; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 93–­98; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 82; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93–­98 conceptual abstraction, 69, 71 conceptual relationships: and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 77; organization by, 17, 18, 37, 63, 77 Copernican system, 134, 136, 136 (figs. 111, 112) Copernicus, Nicolaus, 36, 67 Corrozet, Giles, 52 Cortona, Pietro da, 59 Cosimo I de’ Medici, 119 cosmology. See astronomy and cosmology Cousin, Jean, L ’art de portraicture, 120–­21 Couvreux, Georges: notebook of, 149, 149 (fig. 126); title page of, 129

Cox, Balthasar, notebook of: Cor humanum in, 134, 135 (fig. 108) Cropper, Elizabeth, 274n38 Csombor, Márton Szepsi, 274n30; Europica varietas, 4–­5 curiosities: cabinet of, 3, 67–­68, 195, 209; philosophical plural images as, 66–­68, 71 curiosity, concept of, 68 Daedalus, 29 da Giacomo, Niccolò, Augustine and the Allegory of Knowledge, 29, 31 (fig. 15) Dario, Agostino, Opus de anima, 274–­75n65 Davenant, Sir William, Gondibert, 196 Day, Richard, 274n29. See also Dey, Richard De Argumentatione (unattributed engraving in van Campen notebook), 160–­61, 160 (fig. 139) “De equivocis” (Concerning equivocation) (engraving), 163 (fig. 144) definition, 93, 93 (fig. 59), 94 (fig. 60), 219 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 14), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 6), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 1) Delisle, Léopold, 115, 282n2 Delminio, Giulio Camillo, 275n73 Democritus, 201 (fig. 187), 279n12 demonstration, 83, 100–­103, 101 (fig. 78), 102 (fig. 79), 104, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 9), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 2 and 3), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7) Dempsey, Charles, 283n17 Denique, Petrus (publisher), 126 Desargues, Girard, 38, 183 Descartes, René, 134, 174; and Aristotelianism, 36, 184, 187; ban on teaching of, 36; and cognition, 38, 184, 186–­87; and communication, 43; and de Chevaigné’s notebook, 129; La Dioptrique, 121, 121 (fig. 93), 184, 187, 289n75; Essais, 284n75; and geometry, 121, 283n27; and images, 184, 186, 283n27; and intentional forms, 184; and Jodoigne’s notebook, 129; and Leuven notebooks, 284n75; L’Homme de René Descartes (ed. by Claude Clerselier), 186–­87, 187 (fig. 177); on memo-

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ry, 186–­87, 187 (figs. 176, 177); on perception and physical motion, 289n75; Principia philosophiae, 284n75; and prints, 43; Renatus Des Cartes de homine (ed. by Florentio Schuyl), 134, 135 (fig. 109), 186–­87, 187 (fig. 176); and twin predicates for certainty, 71 Dey, Richard, 4, 28, 212, 274n29, 277n10; An Artificiall Table of Morall Philosophy (translation of Meurisse and Gaultier’s Tableau), 215; and Colutius and Buschweiler, Physica, 28, 215; and Laurus metaphysica, 213; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 75; and Ordo universi, 28; and Tableau, 215 Dialectica sive ad logicam manuducti: equivocally named things in, 163, 163 (fig. 147); univocals in, 164, 165 (fig. 153) Diana of Ephesus (Artemis Polymastia), 119 Diderot, Denis: Encyclopédie, 16, 69; Salon of 1767, 16 difference: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94, 158, 158 (fig. 137), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 17); in Colutius and Buschweiler, Physica, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 2); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93, 158–­59, 217 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 6), 217 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 8) Diogenes, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19) disegno, 283n17; and Accademia del Disegno, 118; and Cellini, 119, 120; as drawing and mental design, 174; and thought, 182; and Varchi, 283n5; and Vasari, 116–­17, 182; and virtue, 119; and Zuccaro, 182 disputations, 1, 35, 59–­61, 63, 103, 109, 125, 133, 160, 195 dissections, 54–­58, 134 dissimilarity, problem of, 68–­69 division: and van Cantelbeke, 140–­41; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 99, 100 (fig. 75), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 4); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 99, 99 (fig. 74), 141, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 2) division, of whole into parts: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 162, 162 (fig. 142), 269 (Appen-

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dix 2, VI, segment 3, 28); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 161–­62, 162 (fig. 141), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 8) Dominicans, 30, 278n88 Donatus, 30, 80 drawing, 115; and Aristotle, 5; and van Cantelbeke, 140; and cognition, 174; and Dürer, 179–­80; philosophical uses of, 116–­21; and reason, 174 Dubreuil, Jean, La Perspective pratique, 208 (fig. 194), 209 ductus, rhetorical concept of, 29 Duns Scotus, John, 122; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 5); and de Chevaigné’s notebook, 129; depicted tonsured and in Franciscan habit, 279n10; and Meurisse, 280n24; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 87, 87 (fig. 45), 92, 96; subalternation in, 102 Dürer, Albrecht, 13, 38, 288n30; Aesthetic excursus, 178; and Bosse, 183; and drawing, 179–­80; on images, 178; and mathematics, 179; The Prayer Book of Emperor Maximilian I, 176, 177 (fig. 169), 178; and rational knowledge, 178; and thought, 179–­80; Underweysung der Messung, 179–­80, 179 (fig. 170); Vier Bücher von menschlicher Proportion, 178 Dürer, Albrecht, and Willibald Pirckheimer: Triumphal Chariot of Emperor Maximilian I, 174–­80, 174 (fig. 165), 175 (fig. 166) Dutoux (Franciscan friar in Petrot), 154, 155 (fig. 132) Edict of Saint-­Jean-­de-­Luz, May 1660, 13 Eloquentiae Latinae Triumphus, 168 (fig. 160), 169 Elsevir, Louis, 191 emblematics, 78, 95, 99, 127, 164, 165 (fig. 154) emblem books, 95, 99, 160, 164, 165 (fig. 154), 170 enargeia, rhetorical concept of, 44 Engelgrave, Hendrik, Lux Evangelica, 127, 160, 284n69 engraving, 276n34; and Descartes, 184, 186; intaglio, 13; Netherlandish, 52; status of, 13; technologies of, 68, 276n34

“Entia per accidens” (engraving), in van Campen, 164, 164 (fig. 150) equivocation, 163; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 163 (fig. 146), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 23); in Dialectica sive ad logicam manuducti, 163 (fig. 147); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 163 (fig. 145), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 44) Erasmus, Desiderius, 120; Adages, 169; Convivium religiosum, 78 error: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 100, 105 (fig. 83); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 102 (fig. 79), 107 Eton College, England, stained-­ glass window (1521), 146 (detail of fig. 129), 150, 151 (fig. 129) Euclid, 30, 80 Eusebius, 78 Eustachius a Sancto Paulo, 87, 94, 181, 281n72; Summa philosophiae quadripartita, 285–­86n5, 286n21 Eve, 137–­38, 138 (fig. 115) Flemish engravers, 13 Florence: cathedral, campanile of, 29, 30 (fig. 14); and Cellini, 119; Santa Maria Novella, 30 Floris, Frans, 52; Tabula Cebetis, carta vitae, 52, 53 (fig. 22) flourish. See calligraphic flourish, in Dürer and Pirckheimer Fludd, Robert: Cosmi historia, 203, 205 (fig. 193); Utriusque cosmi . . . metaphysica, physica atque technica historia, 20, 23 (fig. 11) form: and Aristotle, 35, 200–­201, 203, 289n85; in Colutius and Buschweiler, Physica, 201, 201 (fig. 188); in Hobbes, 203, 206–­8; in Meurisse and Gaultier, Clara totius physiologiae synopsis, 172 (detail of fig. 191), 202, 203 (fig. 191), 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 7–­8) forms, Platonic, 69, 117 fortune: in alba amicorum, 167; and van Cantelbeke, 143, 143 (fig. 122), 167; drawn in album amicorum, 167 (fig. 157); in Grossmann, 167; iconography of, 167; wheel of, 167, 170 Francis, St., 137 Franciscan order, 122; Convent of the Friars Minor, Paris, 61; and Duns Scotus, 87; and extrava-

Franciscan order (cont.) gantly illustrated thesis prints, 66; reorganization of, 278n96; Statuta generalia pro utraque Familia (1612), 61, 66 Frege, Gottlob, 37 Fregoso, Federico, 145 Frey, Jean-­Cecile, 282n2 Fricasso (commedia dell’arte character), 140 frontispieces, 54, 69, 71, 78, 79, 89, 93, 105, 127–­30, 190; as conveying ideas, 173, 180, 188–­89, 190–­91, 192–­209, 284n64; in rhetorical texts, 274n64 Fuchs, Leonard, 37, 46; De historia stirpium, 45 Fumaroli, Marc, 274n64 Furetière, Antoine, Dictionnaire universel, 2–­3 Gadamer, Hans-­Georg, Truth and Method, 16 Galenic tradition, 57 Galilei, Galileo, 5 Galle, Jan, 130 Galle, Philip, 288n33; Tabula Cebetis, carta vitae, 52, 53 (fig. 22) Ganière, Jean (publisher), 126 Gantrel, Estienne, 278n89 Gantrel, Stephanus, engraving after Poussin’s Rest during the Flight into Egypt, 63, 64 (fig. 28) garden: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77, 78, 84; in Gaultier’s frontispiece to Renou’s Institutionum, 78; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 75, 77, 78, 92; and philosophical dialogues, 78; and student notebooks, 125, 126, 133, 145 Gaultier, Léonard, 4, 5, 15, 16, 20, 28; and Apin, 37, 42; and Bacci and Bonifacio, 20; and disputations, 60; and Franciscan prohibition of thesis prints, 66; frontispiece for Savile’s edition of St. John Chrysostom’s works, 289n88; frontispiece to Renou’s Institutionum pharmaceuticarum libri quinque, 78, 79 (fig. 36); frontispiece to Valladier’s La saincte philosophie de l’ame, 180–­ 81, 181 (fig. 172); illustrations of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, 289n91; and imagery and theses, 63; and Ludot, 75; and Marolles, 14–­15; Meurisse and Chéron’s commu-

308

nication with, 273n27; official approval of, 35; and portraits of Henri IV and Louis XIII, 289n88; reputation of, 289n88; and three operations of mind, 80; and Vigenere’s Les images, 279n79. See also Chéron, Jean, and Léonard Gaultier, Typus necessitatis logicae ad alias scientias capessendas; la Bigne, Marguerin de, and Léonard Gaultier, Bibliothecae veterum patrum et auctorum ecclesiasticorum; Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Artificiosa totius logices descriptio; Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Clara totius physiologiae synopsis; Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Laurus metaphysica; Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Tableau industrieux de toute la philosophie morale generation: and Aristotelian scholasticism, 172 (detail of fig. 191), 200–­203, 203 (fig. 191); and Aristotle, 200–­201; in Colutius and Buschweiler, Physica, 200, 201; and Hobbes, 38, 173, 196–­207; notion of, 38; process of, 173 Genova, Benigno da, 122 geometry, 16–­17, 18, 80, 121, 283n27. See also mathematics Gessner, Conrad, 67 Gheyn, Jacob de, II, 167, 167 (fig. 158), 287n60 Gionitus, 29 Giotto di Bondone, 29 God: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 95 (fig. 64), 96, 108, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 3); in Hobbes, 203; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 96, 96 (fig. 65), 97, 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 29) Godard, Stéphane, drawings by, 125, 126 (figs. 96, 97) Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 41–­42; and alba amicorum, 171; and Dürer, 176; Faust, 71–­72, 171; Schriften, 71–­72, 72 (fig. 31) Goltzius, Hendrick, 67, 288n33 Gomez, Christophoro, Spatiosus campus philosophiae, 150, 158 Grand Couvent des Cordeliers, Paris, 1, 59–­60, 75, 115, 122, 128, 150, 153, 157, 211, 213; courses in logic at, 279n7; library of,

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282n110; notebooks from, 137, 282n2; and Paris scholars, 280n24 Gregory the Great, 43–­44 Gregory XV, 91 Grossmann, Buchard, album of, 167 Guenon, Franciscus, 63 Gutschoven, Gérard van, 186, 187 (fig. 177) Gymnasium Romanum (Sapienza), 20, 84, 214 Haenens, Albert d’, 284n60 Hayé, Jean de la, 282n110 Hayé, Michael (publisher), 126, 127, 128, 160, 162–­63, 164, 284–­85n76, 285n43 Hegel, G.W.F., Lectures on Fine Art, 16 Heliotte (Franciscan friar in Petrot), 153, 154, 155 (fig. 132) Henri IV (king of France), 35, 61 Heraclitus, 99, 100 (fig. 76), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 5) Hercules, columns of, 108 (fig. 87), 131, 131 (fig. 104), 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 9) heresy, 30–­31, 37, 91, 105 Hermans, Antonius, notebook of, 136, 136 (fig. 111) Heseler, Baldasar, 56 Heurne, Ottho van, 4 Heyden, Jacob van der, 13, 215 Hinde, Thomas (publisher), 212, 213 Hippocrates, 279n12 Hobbes, Thomas, 5, 289n75; and allegorical plural image, 209; and Aristotle, 206, 207–­9; and Bosse, 38; A Briefe of the Art of Rhetorique, 208; and College, 196; commonwealth in, 192, 195, 200, 203, 206, 207, 208; concept of power in, 206–­7; De cive, 190–­91, 191 (fig. 180), 200, 203; De corpore, 191, 203; and Descartes, 289n75; form in, 206, 207; generation in, 207; generation of civilization in, 203, 206; generation of commonwealth in, 290n106; and generation of knowledge, 173; history of culture in, 206; and Imperium, 190; Leviathan, 17, 173, 187–­209; map of Greece for Thucydides’s History, 188, 190 (fig. 179); matter in, 206, 207–­8; and medieval syntax, 207–­9; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 206; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 207; and Niceron, 289n74; and

optical experimentation, 196; parallels between sovereign and God in, 203; and Sorbière, 288–­ 89n61; soul in, 207; state in, 207; and stemmata, 17; translation of Thucydides’s History, 44, 188–­90, 189 (fig. 178); and visual eloquence, 188, 190–­92 Hobbes, Thomas, Leviathan frontispiece, 38, 91, 188, 192–­209, 193 (fig. 181), 194 (fig. 182), 203, 206–­7, 288–­89n61; financing of, 192; generation of body politic in, 202; generation of commonwealth in, 290n106; investigation of upward, 206; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 201, 202, 203, 289n88 Hofferus, Adrianus, album of, 167 Hollar, Wenceslaus, 192, 196 Homer, 15; Odyssey, 280n41 “Homo bulla,” 168 (fig. 159), 169, 170 Hondius, Petrus, album of, 170–­7 1 Hondt, Jodocus de, 67 Hone, Galyon, 150 Hoole, Charles, 46 Hope, William, 212, 213 Horace, 43, 279n12; Ars poetica, 43, 58 Hotson, Howard, 274n58 human heart, image of, 134, 135 (figs. 108, 109, 110) Huret, Grégoire, 13; thesis print of, 63, 65 (fig. 29) Huybrechts, Pieter, 162, 163 Huygens, Christiaan, 36 ignorance, 88, 91, 105, 128 illuminated manuscripts, 29, 31 (fig. 15), 69, 70 (fig. 30), 115, 116 images, 116; and Apin, 37, 41, 53, 66–­ 70, 71; and Aristotle, 5, 28, 181; and Comenius, 45–­46; and Descartes, 184, 186, 283n27; Dürer on, 178; as engraved in memory, 45; and engravings, 184, 186; as epistemological tools, 42; for ethical and metaphysical ideas, 71; and Fuchs, 45; and Gregory the Great, 43–­44; to guide actions, 42; and Hobbes, 188–­92; as idle objects of display, 68; as intellectually distracting, 66; and language, 39; and learning, 47–­48; meaning of individual, 18; and memory, 44; mental, 5, 28, 47, 52, 181, 184, 288n37; mnemonic, 37, 41, 68–­69; and order, 28; and pedagogy, 5, 68, 71; and

persuasion, 44; philosophical definitions in, 1; and physical actions, 53–­57; printed, 188–­92; singular, 112; singular vs. plural, 18, 20, 34, 39, 52, 59, 61, 63, 66, 72, 77, 112, 117, 150–­51, 196; structured engagement with, 38; and Tabula Cebetis, 52; and text, 1, 20, 44, 53, 61, 63, 278n90; and theses, 63; and thinking, 2; and transition from medieval to early modern eras, 18, 29, 33, 63, 209; and Vesalius, 45; and Yvon, 69. See also plural image; prints individuals: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 96, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 3); as foundations of predicated things, 96; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 92, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 5); in Porphyrian trees, 151, 153, 159 The Institutes of Justinian, 48 instruction. See pedagogy intellect, 98; and Aristotelian scholasticism, 181–­82; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 98–­99, 99 (fig. 73), 101, 101 (fig. 78), 109, 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7), 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 4); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 82, 82 (fig. 40), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 5); and genesis of visual art, 117; and Hobbes, 188; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 180 (fig. 171), 182, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); and Vasari, 117 intellectual relationships, organization by, 17, 18. See also conceptual relationships intentional species, 181–­82 invention, 87–­88, 90, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 1, 3), 266–­68 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 3, 12, 23, 25, 32, and 41) Invidia (Envy), and de Chevaigné’s notebook, 128 Isidore of Seville, Opera, 282n110 Jacquet, Professor, 277n71 Jesus Christ: and di Bonaiuto, 30; in van Campen notebook, 160–­61; and debate with Jewish doctors, 160–­61; and Hobbes, 190; and Last Judgment, 161; in Psalter World Map, 202; and Sucquet and à Bolswert, 184

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Jodoigne, Georgius: factotum frontispiece to notebook of, 130 (fig. 101); home with shrub in notebook of, 131 (fig. 103); title page of, 129 John the Baptist, in van Campen notebook, 161 John the Evangelist, 29 Jollain, François, 126, 159, 286n21; L ’art de dessiner, 120–­21; tree of Porphyry (engraving), 151, 152 (fig. 130); and tree of Porphyry, 153 Jouvenet (student), notebook of, 147–­49, 148 (fig. 125), 151, 152 (fig. 130) judgment: and Aristotelian scholasticism, 182; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 93; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 82, 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 4, 1); and logic, 77 Junius, Hadrianus, Emblemata, 95, 95 (fig. 63) Kaiser, Jean-­Baptiste, 211 Keckermann, Bartholomäus, 181 Kempius, Johan, 167 Kilian, Bartholomäus, engraving by, 157–­58, 157 (fig. 136) Kilian, Lukas, anatomical engravings by, 67 knowledge, 182, 281n103; acquisition of, 45–­47; and Apin, 41, 59; and Aristotle, 5, 46; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 59, 88, 90, 91 (fig. 52), 93, 100, 101 (fig. 78), 104, 104 (fig. 81), 107, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 1, 3), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 41 and 42), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 6); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 83; and de Piles, 43; and disputations, 60; and drawing, 120–­21; and Dürer, 178; and Florentine cathedral campanile, 29; and garden, 78; and Hobbes, 188; institutions of, 3; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93, 101, 102 (fig. 79), 103, 107, 223 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 23), 226 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 3); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 59; retention of, 44; and Richeome, 45; and sensory impressions, 46; and Simonides, 28; systems of, 37; thesis prints as instruments of,

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34; understanding of, 173; and Vasari, 117; and Vesalius, 56, 57; and vision, 2; visualization of, 188; visual modes of as obsolete, 68. See also learning; pedagogy Koerner, Joseph Leo, 176 la Bigne, Marguerin de, and Léonard Gaultier, Bibliothecae veterum patrum et auctorum ecclesiasticorum, 105, 106 (fig. 84) la Forge, Louis de, 186 Lalemant, Pierre, Orationes Academicae habitae, 278n92 landscape, 4; and Altdorfer, 33–­34; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77, 84, 87; field of logic as, 78; and Hobbes, 190, 195, 202, 209; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 78; and student notebooks, 125, 126, 133, 145, 164 Last (or universal) Judgment (in van Campen notebook), 161, 161 (fig. 140) learning, 215; and alba amicorum, 169; and Apin, 41, 53, 58, 71; and building, 130; and de Piles, 43; and disputations, 60; and drawing, 120, 127, 157; in Dürer and Pirckheimer’s Triumphal Chariot, 178; and gardens, 78; and Hobbes, 206; and imaginative space, 145; as journey, 29, 52, 125, 131; with mnemonic printed images, 37; and prints, 47–­48; and Reisch, 80; and Tabula Cebetis, 52. See also knowledge; pedagogy Le Brun, Charles, 13 Leijenhorst, Cees, 203 Le Moyne, Pierre, Peintures morales, 274n64 Leonardo da Vinci, 2, 173, 183, 288n30 Leo X, 278n96 Le Tourneur, Gregoire, notebook of, 157 Leuven, Irish Friars Minor convent in, 163 Leviathan, figure of, 192, 193 (fig. 181), 194 (fig. 182), 195–­96, 209; and College, 196; as comparison, 207–­8; generation of, 196, 200, 203; individual men in torso of, 203; as person by fiction, 195, 206; and power, 207. See also Hobbes, Thomas Lewellin, William, 215 liberal arts, 13, 30, 52

Lips, Johann Heinrich, frontispiece to Goethe’s Schriften, 71–­72, 72 (fig. 31) Locke, John, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 120 Loemans, Arnold, 165 (fig. 154) logic, 279n7; and apprehension, 77; and Aristotle, 2, 37, 38, 77, 87; and van Cantelbeke, 140; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 52, 77–­78, 87–­88, 91, 91 (figs. 54, 55), 92, 93, 94 (fig. 61), 105, 108, 109, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 41); and Colutius, 21, 23; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 79, 84; and definition of terms, 78; and Frege, 37; and heresy, 78; and Hobbes, 195; and invention, 87–­88; and judgment, 77; as landscape, 78; at Leuven, 122; and Ludot, 75; and memory, 71; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 4, 20, 75, 77, 92, 93, 109; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Laurus metaphysica, 238 (Appendix 2, III, segment 2, 4); and Oyseau and Meurisse, 1; at Paris, 122; at Parisian colleges, 277n7; and Porphyry, 77; and reason, 77, 78; in Reisch, 80; and square of opposition, 147–­ 50; and students, 77; and study of sciences, 77; and three operations of mind, 77, 80, 82–­84, 93–­107, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 5), 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 1 and 17), 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 3), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 4, 1), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 4), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 1), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 2), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 1); and Zabarella, 284n21 Lorenzetti, Ambrogio, 275n84 Louis XI, 211 Louis XII, 211 Louis XIII, 61, 63, 196, 288n22 Louis XIV, 36 Ludot, Jean-­Baptiste, 107; letter to Suite de la clef, 75 Luther, Martin, 59 Lüthy, Christoph, 283n27 Man with walking stick (engraving bound into notebook, 1683–­84), 162 (fig. 143) Map of the World, c. 1480, 132 (fig. 105)

Mariette, Pierre, 212, 213, 215, 216, 283–­84n51 Marlowe, Christopher, The Massacre of Paris, 34 Marolles, Michel de, abbé de Villeloin, 44, 192, 288–­89n61; Le livre des peintres et des graveurs, 14–­15 Marshall, William, 213; English edition of metaphysics broadside of Gaultier and Meurisse, 289n88; frontispiece to Eikon Basilike, 289n88 Marshall, William (?), and Martin Meurisse, An artificiall description of logick, 76 (fig. 33) Martin, Gabriel (publisher), 126 Massing, Jean Michel, 212 Matham, Jacob, and Hendrick Goltzius, Tabula Cebetis, 67 mathematics, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 121, 179, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3). See also geometry Matheus, Jean, frontispiece to Hobbes’s De cive, 190–­91, 191 (fig. 180) Mathonière, Nicolas de, Le Tableau de Cébès, 52 Maupeou, Pierre de, notebook of, 133–­34 Maximilian I (Holy Roman emperor), 174–­75, 176 Melion, Walter, 288n33 memento mori, 167 memory, 28–­29; and Aristotle, 28; and Buno, 48; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 59; and Comenius, 46; and de Piles, 43, 47; Descartes on, 186–­87; and van Gutschoven, 187 (fig. 177); and images, 47–­48; images as engraved in, 45; and Laurus metaphysica, 44–­45, 238 (Appendix 2, III, segment 1, 3); and logical reasoning, 71; and metaphors of print technologies, 45; and Meurisse, 44; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 52, 59, 182, 230 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); and pierced canvas image, 186–­87, 187 (figs. 176, 177); and plural images, 28–­29, 44–­45; and prints, 47–­48; and Richeome, 45; and Schuyl, 187 (fig. 176); and Simonides, 28; and Tabula Cebetis, 52; and Yvons, 69. See also art of memory (ars memoriae); mnemonic devices Mephistopheles, 171

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Mercier, Antoine, 149 Mercury, 63 Merian, Matthäus: frontispiece to Fludd’s Cosmi historia, 203, 205 (fig. 193); and Gaultier, 289n91; Utriusque cosmi . . . metaphysica, physica atque technica historia, 20, 23 (fig. 11) Mersenne, Marin, 35 Merssche, Franciscus van den, notebook of, 137–­38, 138 (fig. 115), 139 (fig. 116); factotum title page of, 122; ink drawing by, 122, 123 (fig. 94); title page of, 124 (fig. 95) Messager, Jean, 126; and Bosse, 289n88; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 216; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 211; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Laurus metaphysica, 213; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 212, 213; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Tableau, 215–­16; publication by, 4 metaphor, 15, 29, 58, 69, 78, 186, 274n45 metaphysics, 4, 43, 71, 87, 88, 89, 97, 122, 164 Meurisse, Martin, 4, 15, 16, 28, 115; and Apin, 37, 42; and Aristotle’s categories, 280–­81n62; and Bacci and Bonifacio, 20; Cardinalium virtutum illustris chorus, 17; communication with Gaultier, 273n27; and Csombor, 5; dedications by, 61; dedication to King Louis XIII, 58, 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 1, 2–­4); and de Marolles, 14–­15; depictions/ portraits of, 77, 78, 78 (fig. 34), 87, 92, 279n10; and disputations, 60; and Duns Scotus, 87, 280n24; and Franciscan Order, 278n96, 279n10, 286n43; and Franciscan prohibition of thesis prints, 66; and Grand Couvent des Cordeliers, 1, 59; imagery and theses in, 61, 63; and infinity of God, 281n66; and later thesis prints, 20; and Ludot, 75; official approval of, 35; Rerum metaphysicarum libri tres ad mentem doctoris subtilis, 87, 280n23, 281n66, 281n70; and stemma of cardinal virtues, 17; and three operations of mind, 80 Meurisse, Martin, and anonymous engraver, Artificiosa totius logices descriptio (detail), 14 (fig. 7)

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Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Artificiosa totius logices descriptio, 4, 13–­14, 14 (fig. 6), 37, 62 (fig. 27), 74 (detail of plate 1), 215, plate 1; accident in, 94, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 10); and alba amicorum, 166; analogy in, 97, 97 (fig. 67), 111, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 45); angels in, 96; architectural features in, 93; argumentation in, 107, 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 5); and Aristotle, 87, 87 (fig. 44), 92, 94–­95, 97, 109, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 2); and Aristotle’s categories, 94–­95, 96, 111, 219–­20 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 17–­26); birds in, 107; body parts in, 78, 97, 161 (fig. 141); body parts (basket containing human limbs) in, 111, 161–­62, 161 (fig. 141); books hanging from tree in, 78; burning palm fronds in, 78; and van Cantelbeke, 141, 143; central tree in, 107; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 75, 77, 84–­109; Chimera in, 97–­98, 98 (fig. 69), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 41); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 79, 84; complete and incomplete entities in, 96 (fig. 66), 97, 111, 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 30–­32); complex and noncomplex entities in, 98, 98 (fig. 71), 111, 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 36–­38); concepts in, 93–­98; and conceptual relationships, 20, 77; courtyard in, 93, 96; dedication to de Thou in, 61, 87, 217 (Appendix 2, I, segment 5, 2–­3); definition in, 93, 93 (fig. 59), 219 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 14); demonstration in, 101–­3, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 9); Dey’s copy of, 277n10; Dey’s translation of, 28, 75; dialectical deductions in, 103, 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 52); difference in, 92, 93, 158–­59, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 6), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 8); and disputations, 60–­61; division in, 99, 99 (fig. 74), 141, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 2); division of whole into parts in, 161–­62, 162 (fig. 141), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 8); dog, fish, and star in, 163, 163 (fig.

145), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 44); Duns Scotus in, 87, 87 (fig. 45), 92, 96, 217 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 1); entities and concepts not logically graspable in, 96; entities per accidens in, 97, 111, 163, 164, 164 (fig. 148), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 35), 286n49; entities per se in, 97, 111, 164, 164 (fig. 148), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 33); equivocation in, 97, 111, 163, 163 (fig. 145), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 44); error in, 102 (fig. 79), 107; faith in, 103; finite entities in, 96 (fig. 65), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 27); flute playing in, 105, 107 (fig. 85), 143, 145; fountain and water basins in, 111; fruit trees in, 87, 100, 101–­3, 102 (fig. 79); garden in, 75, 77, 78, 87, 92, 93, 158, 159; genus and species in, 92, 93, 158–­59, 159 (fig. 138), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 7); geometrical idioms in, 16–­17, 18; God in, 96, 96 (fig. 65), 97, 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 29); and Hayé, 162–­164; individuals in, 92, 159, 159 (fig. 138), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 5); inductions, examples, and enthymemes in, 107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 6–­8); infinite and finite entities in, 96, 96 (fig. 65), 111, 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 27–­29); internal and external loci in, 103, 104 (fig. 80), 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 49–­51); investigation of upward, 206; knowledge in, 93, 101, 102 (fig. 79), 103, 107, 222 (Appendix 2, I segment 4, 9); and logic, 4, 20, 75, 77, 92, 93, 109; and Ludot, 75; Meurisse depicted in, 78 (fig. 34), 92, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 3–­4); mind in, 108; mind’s first operation in, 93–­98, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 5); mind’s second operation in, 98–­ 100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 1); mind’s third operation in, 100–­107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 3); natural signs in, 99 (fig. 74), 100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 6); nouns with artificial meanings in, 100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 1); opinion in, 102 (fig. 79), 103, 107, 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4,

53); organizational and intellectual principles of, 79; palm trees in, 99, 99 (fig. 74), 100; as pedagogically useful, 161; plural image of, 18, 20, 112; Porphyry’s predicables in, 92–­94, 158–­59, 159 (fig. 138); and Porphyry’s tree, 158–­59, 159 (fig. 138); predicables in, 93–­94, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 6–­7), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 6–­10); property in, 93–­94, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 9); propositions in, 99, 99 (fig. 74); rabbits and birds in, 164, 165 (fig. 151); real entities and concepts logically graspable in, 96; segment 2 of, 87, 93–­98, 218–­21 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2); segment 3 of, 87, 98–­100, 221–­ 22 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3); segment 4 of, 87, 100–­107, 217–­18 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 1–­2), 222–­25 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 3–­85); segments of, 85 (fig. 42); signs in, 100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 6); sophists in, 105, 107, 107 (fig. 85), 143, 224–­25 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 53–­ 85); students in, 78 (fig. 34), 87, 93; subalternation in, 102, 223 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 27); substance in, 97, 219 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 17); surviving impressions of, 211–­12; syllogisms in, 100, 101, 102 (fig. 79), 103, 105, 107, 143, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 4); and Tabula Cebetis, 52; teachers in, 87; transcription of, 217–­25; two boys with pulley in, 103, 104 (fig. 80); universals in, 94, 218–­19 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 6, 7, 9, 11–­13); univocals in, 97, 111, 164, 165 (fig. 151), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 42); and visual commentaries, 77, 99; walled spaces within, 87, 93; and Winkelmann, 69, 111, 112 Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Clara totius physiologiae synopsis, 4, 6–­7 (fig. 1), 172 (detail of fig. 6), 215; and Amiens Cathedral, 18; Apin on, 52; and Aristotelian scholasticism, 182; corruption in, 170, 170 (fig. 164), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 9); dedication of to King Louis XIII, 58, 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 1, 2–­4); and diagrams,

311

18; and disegno and thought, 182; form in, 172 (detail of fig. 191), 202, 203 (fig. 191), 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 7–­8); four elements in, 170–­171, 170 (fig. 164), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 10); geometrical idioms in, 17; and Hobbes, 202, 203, 207; and Hobbes’s Leviathan frontispiece, 196–­207, 289n88; “Homo bulla” in, 170, 170 (fig. 163), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 6); intellect in, 182, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); intellectual hierarchies and connections in, 18; landscape in, 78; matter in, 207, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 3–­4); memory in, 182, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); mind in, 181; and philosophical plural image genre, 63; prime matter in, 202, 203, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 3–­4); privation in, 202, 203, 228 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 5–­6); rarefaction in, 170 (fig. 163), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 6); rational soul in, 180–­81, 180–­81 (fig. 171), 182, 230–­32 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5); role of, 59; segments of, 227 (fig. 195); senses in, 182–­83, 231–­ 32 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 7–­8); skeleton, scythe, and corpse in, 170, 170 (fig. 164); space in, 18; students in, 78; substantial generation in, 201–­2, 203, 203 (fig. 191), 207, 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 2, 1); surviving impressions of, 212–­13; transcription of text of, 226–­37; transformation of chaos into clarity in, 202, 203 (fig. 191); triumphal procession in, 180–­82, 180–­81 (fig. 171), 288n22; and University of Leiden anatomy theater, 67; wheel of nutrition in, 170, 170 (fig. 163), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 6); will in, 182, 231 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 6); woman emerging from clouds in, 172 (detail of fig. 191), 202, 203 (fig. 191) Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Laurus metaphysica, 4, 8–­9 (fig. 2), 215, 278n89; Dey’s English-­language editions of, 28; laurel tree in, 78; and memory, 44–­45, 238 (Appendix 2, III, segment 1, 2–­4); segments of,

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239 (fig. 196); students in, 78; surviving impressions of, 213–­14; transcription of text of, 238–­44 Meurisse, Martin, and Léonard Gaultier, Tableau industrieux de toute la philosophie morale, 4, 10–­ 11 (fig. 3), 215–­16; ignorance in, 91, 257 (Appendix 2, V, segment 1, 2), 264 (Appendix 2, V, segment 2, 4); sirens in, 91, 263 (Appendix 2, V, segment 2, 2); transcription of text of, 257–­65; translations of, 28, 215; and Winkelman, 111, 123 (fig. 91) Meurisse, Martin, and William Marshall (?): An artificiall description of logick, 76 (fig. 33) Michael of Bologna, 91–­92, 92 (fig. 56), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 37), 280n42 microcosm and macrocosm, 67, 203, 205 (fig. 193) military actions, 37, 84, 89, 104 Milton, John, Of Education, 48 mind: activities of, 173; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 93–­98, 93 (fig. 58), 108, 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 2); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80–­84; and Comenius, 47; creation of propositions by, 98; and Descartes, 184, 186; Dürer on, 178; first operation of, 80, 82, 82 (fig. 40), 84, 93–­98, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 5), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 4), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 2); and generation of representations, 38; and Hobbes, 187–­88; as immaterial, 181; lines to denote activities of, 181; mechanization of, 188; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93–­98, 108, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 5), 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 1 and 17), 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 3); and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 181; and propositions, 82; second operation of, 80, 82, 84, 99–­100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 1), 249 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 4, 1), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 1); stemmata as portraying activities of, 17; as storehouse, 178; third operation of, 80, 83, 84, 100–­107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 3), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3,

1); three operations of, 80, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 17) Minim Convent, Paris, 196 mnemonic devices: and van Cantelbeke, 141; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 52; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 84; and de Piles, 47; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 52; and Tabula Cebetis, 48, 52; thesis prints as, 63. See also memory Molière (Jean-­Baptiste Poquelin), Le Malade imaginaire, 59 monkey, 178, 285n84 moral philosophy, 4, 52, 80, 111, 122 Morhof, Daniel Georg, 68–­69 Moses, 29 Moustier, Antoine Du, notebook of, 154, 156 (fig. 133), 157 Murner, Thomas, Logica memorativa, 58 music, 143, 145; in Callot, 143, 144 (fig. 123), 145 (fig. 124); in van Cantelbeke, 143, 144 (fig. 123), 145, 145 (fig. 124); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 107 (fig. 85), 143, 145; in Reisch, 80 Mysterium recenti miraculo apud faverneos in Burgundia illustre, 278n88 natural history, 59 natural philosophy, 134; and Bacci and Bonifacio, 20; and van Cantelbeke, 141; and Colutius and Buschweiler, 28; at Leuven, 122; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 4; at Paris, 36, 122 natural signs: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 99, 100 (fig. 76), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 5); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 99 (fig. 74), 100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 6) nature/natural world: broadside as theater of, 58, 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 1, 3); and cabinets of curiosities, 67; and Cellini, 118–­19; moralization of, 78; philosophical dialogues situated within, 77, 78 (figs. 34, 35); state of in Hobbes, 191; stemmata of, 17 Nebel, Christoph Ludwig, 169–­70 Negker, Jost de, 176 Niceron, Jean François, 289n74; La Perspective curieuse, 196, 197 (fig. 183), 198 (fig. 184)

Nicolas, Gilbert, 211 Nostradamus, 71, 72 Nutrition, wheel of, 170, 170 (fig. 163), 229 (Appendix 2, II, segment 3, 6) Odry (Franciscan friar in Petrot), 154, 155 (fig. 132) Ong, Walter, 45 opinion: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 100, 104, 104 (fig. 81), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 6); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 102 (fig. 79), 103, 107, 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 53, 61) Oporinus, Johannes, 58, 277n58 Orationis dominicae peristromata sacrae theologiae variis exculta mysteriis, 278n88 Orpheus, 138 Oyseau, François, 1, 15, 66 palm trees, 78, 99, 99 (fig. 74), 100, 281n79 Pannecoeck, A., 166–­67 Panofsky, Erwin, 16 paper, 1, 4, 68, 99, 166, 273n28, 276n34 Paris Parlement, 35 Parmenides, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19) Parshall, Peter, 178, 288n30 Passeri, Giovanni Battista, 13 Paul V, 21, 23 pedagogy: and Apin, 37, 41, 47, 68; and Bacci, 20; and broadsides as theaters of nature, 58–­59; and Colutius, 23, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 3); and Colutius and Buschweiler, 28, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 3); and Comenius, 45–­46; and de Piles, 43, 45, 47; and desire for homogeneous unity, 33; and Fuchs, 45; and Gregory the Great, 43–­44; hieroglyphic modes of, 53; and Horace, 58; and images, 5, 68, 71; and Murner, 58; and sight, 43, 45–­47; and Tabula Cebetis, 48; and thesis prints, 63; and Vesalius, 54, 56, 57; and visual images, 1, 45–­47. See also knowledge; learning perception, 2, 45, 46, 184, 188 Perrault, Charles, Parallèle des anciens et des modernes, 18 persuasion, 44, 56–­57, 59 Peter Lombard, 80

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Peter of Spain, Summulae logicales, 58, 279n7 Petrot, Philibert, 286n22; notebook of, 153–­54, 155 (fig. 132) Philip I, 287n60 Philip II, 287n60 Philosophia (Philosophy): in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3); and de Chevaigné’s notebook, 128 philosophy: and Apin, 59; and Budde, 42; and van Cantelbeke, 140; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 87–­90, 88 (figs. 46, 47), 89 (fig. 48), 108 (fig. 87), 109, 266–­67 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 3, 12, and 23), 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3); and Colutius, 21, 23, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 5, 3); controversial nature of visual representations in, 1, 2, 34, 66–­73, 207; and desire for homogeneous unity, 34; and Franciscans, 122; and generation, 38, 173; and intellectual relationships in thesis prints, 34; and invention, 87–­88; learning of as building, 108, 130, 131 (fig. 103); lecture notes from, 125–­26; at Leuven, 125; and military action, 37, 84, 89, 104; new interpretations of, 140; quaestio disputata (disputed question) in, 125; quaestiones (questions) in, 125; and Raphael, 32; regulation of teaching of, 34–­37; Ripa’s personification of, 282n126; structured engagement with, 38; systems of, 37; teaching of, 116; textbooks of, 79; thesis prints as visualizing entire discipline of, 63; training in at Paris and Leuven, 121–­22, 283n31, 283n35; visual materials as mode of, 147 Philostratus the Elder, Imagines, 281n79 physics, 80, 108 (fig. 87), 109 Piles, Roger de, L’idée du peintre parfait, 42–­43, 44, 45, 46, 47 Pirckheimer, Willibald, 38; Triumphal Chariot of Emperor Maximilian I, 174–­80, 174 (fig. 165), 175 (fig. 166) Pisano, Andrea, 29, 30 (fig. 14) Pisot, Paul, 122 Plato, 29, 30, 117, 128, 129, 174; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus,

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89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2 19); Phaedo, 48; Phaedrus, 287n7 Platonic forms, 69, 70 (fig. 30) plural images, 16–­28, 39, 275n84, 276n88; antecedents to, 28–­34; and Apin, 37, 42; arrangement of concepts in, 29, 48, 50–­51 (fig. 21); and art of memory, 28, 44, 47–­48; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77; as ciphers for universe, 72; and Comenius, 47; as curiosities, 71; genre of, 20, 28, 63; and Hobbes, 209; and homogeneous unity, 33; and images, 18, 20; intellectual relationships in, 34, 77, 79, 108–­9; investigation of upward, 206; medieval precedents to, 28–­34; and memory, 44–­45, 112; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 77; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 52; and Raphael, 32–­34; as read in order, 20, 28–­29, 112; and singular images, 18, 20, 52, 59, 61, 63, 66, 112; space and structures in, 29; spatial arrangements of as unfashionable, 63; and square of opposition, 151; as structured by conceptual relationships, 77, 79, 108–­9, 117; structures of, 44; in Sucquet and à Bolswert, 183–­84; and tableaux, 32, 61–­65, 71–­73, 112; tableaux as replacing, 20; as term, 18, 20, 112; texts in, 20, 39; and Vasari, 117 Plutarch, 143, 145 Porphyrian substance-­tree, 153, 155 (fig. 132), 156 (figs. 133, 135), 157, 157 (fig. 136), 158, 286n21 Porphyry: and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94, 94 (fig. 62), 158, 158 (fig. 137), 268–­69 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 15–­19); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 2); five predicables of, 80, 92–­94, 158–­59; Isagoge, 77, 80, 92–­94, 151, 158–­ 59; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93–­94, 158–­59, 159 (fig. 138), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 5–­8), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 6–­10) Porphyry, tree of, 38, 150, 151–­59, 152 (fig. 132), 284n34; in van Cantelbeke’s notebook, 156 (fig. 135), 157; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94, 94 (fig. 62), 158, 158 (fig. 137),

268–­69 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 15–­19); genus and species in, 151, 153, 158, 159, 159 (fig. 138); individuals in, 159, 159 (fig. 138); in Jouvenet’s notebook, 152 (fig. 130); in Kilian engraving, 157–­58, 157 (fig. 136); in Le Tourneur’s notebook, 157; “Linea Directa” (Direct Line) on, 152 (fig. 130), 158, 159 (fig. 138); and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93–­94, 158–­59, 159 (fig. 138), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 5–­8), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 6–­10); in Moustier’s notebook, 154, 156 (fig. 133), 157; and nature, 279n12; in notebook of de Chevaigne, 153, 154 (fig. 131); in Petrot’s notebook, 153, 155 (fig. 132) Porteman, Karel, 285n87 Poussin, Nicolas, 2; Rest during the Flight into Egypt, 63, 64 (fig. 28) The Prayer Book of Emperor Maximilian I, 176, 177 (fig. 169), 178 printmaking, 13; metaphors of, 45; and Netherlandish engraving, 52; technologies of, 68, 276n34; and thinking, 45, 178–­80, 182, 184, 186–­87 prints, 136; and de Piles, 43; and learning, 17, 47–­48; and memory, 47–­48; production of, 276n34; and rational faculties, 48, 178–­83; utility of, 17, 42–­45. See also images Priscianus, 80 Privileges, 35, 212, 217 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 1), 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 1, 1), 238 (Appendix 2, III, segment 2, 1), 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 1), 257 (Appendix 2, V, segment 2, 1), 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 1) property: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 18); in Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 245 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 2); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 93–­94, 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 9) propositions: and Aristotle’s On Interpretation, 77; and Callot and van Cantelbeke, 143, 145; characteristics of, 82; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 93, 98; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 82, 83; cre-

ation of, 98; improbable, 145; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 98–­99, 99 (fig. 74); modal, 149, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 14); and square of opposition, 147–­50; uncertain, 143; and valid syllogisms, 101 Protestantism, 35 Psalter World Map, 202, 204 (fig. 192) Ptolemaic system, 134, 136 Ptolemy, 80, 136 Publilius Syrus, 90 Pythagoras, 30, 80 Quid sunt univoca (engraving), 165 (fig. 152) Quintilian, 15, 44, 208 Rabelais, François, Pantagruel, 69 Ramism, 274n58 Ramus, Peter, 17, 34, 35 Raphael, 63; School of Athens, 32–­33; Stanza della Segnatura, 32, 33 (fig. 17) reason: and Aristotelian scholasticism, 182; and Aristotle, 77; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 90; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80; in Dürer and Pirckheimer’s Triumphal Chariot, 174 (fig. 165), 175, 178–­80; and Hobbes, 188; and logic, 77, 78; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 180–­81, 182; and Plato’s chariot allegory, 287n7; and prints, 48 Regius, Henri, Fundamenta physices, 284n75 Reisch, Gregor, Margarita philosophica, 79–­80, 79 (fig. 37) Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn, 13; A Scholar in His Study (“Faust”), 71–­72, 73 (fig. 32) Remmelin, Johannes, 67 Remmert, Volker, 284n64 Renou, Jean de, Institutionum pharmaceuticarum libri quinque, 78, 79 (fig. 36) Rice, Louise, 59, 278n94 Richeome, Louis, 45 Riciulina (commedia dell’arte character), 143, 143 (fig. 122) Ripa, Cesare, 281n103, 282n126, 282n127 Roman Colosseum, 28 Rossi, Paolo, 28 Rousselet, Gilles, 13

313

Rubens, Peter Paul, 282n128, 287n60 Rudolphus Agricola, 17 Sabellius, 30–­31 Sacchi, Andrea, 59 Sallust, 167 Santi Quattro Coronati, 275n84 Savigny, Christofle de, 280n46; Tableaux accomplis de tous les arts liberaux, 17 Scaramuccia (commedia dell’arte character), 140 Scheidlern, Ferdinand Christoph von, notebook of, 157–­58 Schmutz, Jacob, 280n24, 282n2 scholasticism, 2, 87; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77; and cognition, 181–­82; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 79; and Descartes, 184, 187; and generation, 200–­201; and Hobbes, 187–­88, 195; matter, privation, and form in, 200–­201; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 20, 77, 92; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 182; and psychology, 180; and sensory data and intellect, 98; and stemmata, 17; and student notebooks, 38; and Testa, 13; and theology, 34–­35; and Velden, 36; visual representation in, 5 Schooten, Frans van, the Younger, 121, 121 (fig. 93) Schuppen, Pierre Louis van, 13 Schuyl, Florent, 284n76; image of human heart, 134, 135 (fig. 109); Renatus Des Cartes de homine, 186–­87, 187 (fig. 176) scientific empiricism, 15–­16 scientific revolution, 5, 37–­38 Sebastianus a Matre Dei, Firmamentum symbolicum, 127, 160, 164, 165 (fig. 154) Seneca, 29, 80 senses: and Aristotle, 5, 46; and art, 16; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 98–­99, 99 (fig. 73), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 3); and Comenius, 46–­47; and Hoole, 46; and intellect, 98; internal and external, 180–­83, 180–­81 (fig. 171), 183 (figs. 173, 174); and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 180–­81 (fig. 171), 181–­82, 231–­32 (Appendix 2, II, segment 5, 7–­8) Siena, Sala dei Nove of the Palazzo Pubblico, 275n84

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sight. See perception signification: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 141, 141 (fig. 120) signs: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 99, 141, 141 (fig. 120), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 4, 10); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 99 (fig. 74), 100, 221 (Appendix 2, I, segment 3, 6) Simonides, 28 sirens, 280n41; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 90–­91, 90 (fig. 51), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 32); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Tableau, 91, 263 (Appendix 2, V, segment 2, 2) Škreta, Karel, 157 Socrates, 29, 31 (fig. 15), 48, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 129 (figs. 99, 100), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19) soldiers: and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 82, 82 (figs. 39, 40). See also military actions Solomon (Salomon), 88, 88 (fig. 46), 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 4) sophists: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 104–­5, 105 (fig. 83), 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 8); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 83, 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 6–­7); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 105, 107, 107 (fig. 85), 143, 224–­25 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 62–­85) Sorbière, Samuel de, 191, 288–­89n61 Sorel, Charles, 35 soul: and Comenius, 46 (fig. 19), 47, 48; and corporate individual, 208; and de Piles, 43; and Descartes, 184; and Gaultier, frontispiece to Valladier’s La saincte philosophie de l’ame, 180–­81; and Hobbes, 187–­88, 206; meditative as painter, 183–­84; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 180–­81, 180–­81 (fig. 171), 182; and Plato’s chariot allegory, 287n7; as print, 48; of relationship to body, 2; and sovereign, 203, 206, 208; in Sucquet and à Bolswert, 183–­84, 185 (fig. 175) sovereign, and Hobbes, 188, 192, 203, 206, 207, 208 Spatiosus campus philosophiae, 150, 158

species: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 94, 96, 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 16); intentional, 181–­82; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 92, 93, 158–­59, 159 (fig. 138), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 7), 218 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 7); in Porphyry’s tree, 151, 153, 158, 159 square of opposition, 38, 147–­50, 148 (fig. 125), 149 (figs. 126, 127), 285–­ 86n5; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 82, 150, 150 (fig. 128), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 4, 2); in Eton College stained-­glass window, 1521, 146 (detail of fig. 129), 150, 151 (fig. 129); and plural images, 151 Stammbuch, 166. See also album amicorum; Vriedenboek state: generation of, 173, 200, 206, 209; and Hobbes, 188, 192, 195–­ 96, 206, 207; and individual, 209; moment of foundation of, 289n82 stemmata, 17, 34 Sterne, Laurence, Tristram Shandy, 175, 176 (fig. 167) student notebook, anonymous (1664), 149–­50, 149 (fig. 127) student notebook, anonymous (MS Paris, BnF, Fonds Latin 18474, fols. 24r–­25v), 60, 277n71 student notebook, anonymous (Paris, BnF MS lat. 18488, fols. 25v–­26v), 277n71 student notebooks, 3, 38, 115–­45, 170, 282–­83n4, 282n2, 283–­84n51, 284n58; calligraphic lettering in, 285n90; and Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 162–­64; and dictation, 116; and disputations, 60; drawings in, 116–­21, 122, 125, 126–­27; early pages of, 129–­30; factotum title pages of, 122, 127–­29; humor in, 38; learning as building in, 130, 131 (fig. 103); limitations of discursive knowledge in, 116; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 75, 161–­64; official approval of, 35; philosophical interpretations in, 127, 140–­45, 159–­64; with print or drawing showing home with shrub, 130, 131 (fig. 103), 284n69; propositions listed in, 133–­34; and reading rhythm, 136; and religious meditation, 136–­37, 137 (fig. 114), 138 (fig. 115); section breaks in, 125–­26, 126 (figs. 96,

student notebooks (cont.) 97), 137, 138; sketch of Franciscan monk in, 137 (fig. 114), 155 (fig. 132), 156 (fig. 133); as spaces, 130, 133; square of opposition in, 147–­ 50; structured engagement in, 38; structure of, 125–­45; subsections of, 136; thesis prints in, 133, 284n72; visual materials as mode of philosophical thought in, 140–­ 45, 147; visual representations as framing devices in, 127–­33 students, 116, 154, 157, 158; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 77, 78 (fig. 35), 87, 92, 93, 266 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 2); depicted as tonsured and in Franciscan habit, 78 (fig. 34), 279n10; and disputations, 59–­61; exhibitions of at Jesuit College in Brussels, 285n87; and images conveying universals, 71; images of as falling off cliffs, 37, 88 (fig. 47), 90 (fig. 50); in Laurus metaphysica, 78; and logic, 77; and Meurisse, 1, 45; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 78 (fig. 34), 87, 93; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 78; and Oyseau, 1; and philosophy lectures, 125; philosophy training of, 121–­22. See also knowledge; learning; pedagogy subalternation, 102, 223 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 27, 34 and 35) substance: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 95–­96, 95 (fig. 64), 268 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 3, 3); in Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 248 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 1, 17); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 95, 97, 219 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 17) Sucquet, Antonius, Via vitae aeternae, 183–­84, 185 (fig. 175) Suite de la clef, 75 syllogisms, 77; in Aristotle, 77, 102; in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 100–­101, 100 (fig. 77), 101 (fig. 78), 104, 104 (fig. 81), 105 (fig. 83), 269 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 1); and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 80, 83–­84, 84 (fig. 41), 100, 251 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 8 and 9); and knowledge, opinions, and errors, 100; in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 100, 101,

314

102 (fig. 79), 105, 107, 143, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 4); mnemonic verse for nineteen valid, 83, 84, 84 (fig. 41), 101, 252–­53 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 2, 9–­12, 26–­29, 31), 255–­56 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 2, 46–­51), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7); topical, 103, 104, 104 (fig. 81), 224 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 52–­61), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 6); valid, 80, 83, 84, 101–­4, 107, 222 (Appendix 2, I, segment 4, 9), 250 (Appendix 2, IV, segment 3, 2–­3), 270 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 5, 7) tableaux, 112; conception of space in, 18; and fixed observer, 18; and Hobbes, 195, 196, 209; in illustrated thesis prints, 63; and Meurisse and Gaultier’s Synopsis, 52; and plural images, 32, 112; plural images as replaced by, 20, 72; and Raphael, 32; single cohesive scene in, 52; and thesis prints, 63; time, space, and action in, 18 Tabula Cebetis (Table of Cebes), 48, 52, 53 (fig. 22), 126 Tabula militiae scholasticae (anonymous woodcut ), 89, 89 (fig. 49), 104 teachers, 87 tents, 89, 89 (figs. 48, 49), 104 (fig. 82) Testa, Pietro, 274n38; Il Liceo della Pittura, 13, 14 (fig. 5) text, 16–­17, 39; and Buno, 48; and Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 82; and images, 1, 20, 39, 44, 53, 61, 63, 278n90 Thales, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19) The Theater of Nature, 215 theology, 32, 34–­35, 108 (fig. 87), 109, 271 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 6, 3) thesis prints, 4, 170, 195; and Apin, 42; dedications of, 63; and desire for homogeneous unity, 34; as didactic aids and mnemonic aids, 63; and disputations, 59–­61; formal arrangements of, 20; Franciscan prohibition of, 61, 66; genre of, 1, 20; imagery as separated from theses in, 63; as incorporating text and images, 1; as integrating text and image

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in, 61, 63, 278n90; intellectual relationships in, 34, 61; and Maupeou, 133–­34; myth, history, and science in, 278n94; official approval of, 35, 217 (Appendix 2, I, segment 1, 1), 226 (Appendix 2, II, segment 1, 1), 238 (Appendix 2, III, segment 2, 1), 257 (Appendix 2, V, segment 2, 1), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 1); and organization through conceptual relationships, 17, 18, 37, 63, 77; and Oyseau and Meurisse, 1; and panegyric poems, 63; and pedagogy, 63; philosophy curricula in, 13; as plural images vs. unified tableaux, 20, 61–­66; as preeminent category of graphic art, 59; price of, 273–­74n28; questions about didactic function of, 134; role of, 59; Roman Jesuit, 63; shift of from plural images to singular images, 59, 61, 63, 66; in student notebooks, 133, 284n72; unified tableaux in, 63; and verisimilitude, 34; as visualizing entire discipline of philosophy, 63; as works of art, 59 Thielmans, Hieronymus (publisher), 126, 136 Thieriat, Pierre, notebook of, 150 Thomas, Aquinas, 30–­31, 32 (fig. 16), 129, 129 (fig. 99) Thomas, Joannes, 165 (fig. 154) Thomassin, Philippe, Triumphus Ecclesiae, 282n112 Thou, Jacques-­Auguste de, 61, 87, 211 Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War, 44, 188–­90, 189 (fig. 178), 190 (fig. 179) Titian, 63 tower: in Colutius and Bianchi’s Logicae universae typus, 79, 80, 83; in Reisch, 79–­80 Tristitia in gaudium, 278n88 universals: and Aristotle’s phantasma, 5; in van Campen notebook, 161, 161 (fig. 140); images conveying, 69, 71; and Last Judgment, 161, 161 (fig. 140); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 94, 218–­19 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 6–­13); and relationship between parts and wholes, 117; and Vasari, 117 universe. See astronomy and cosmology

University of Bologna, 56 University of Leiden, 4; anatomy theater of, 67, 68 University of Leuven, 36, 157, 161; Arts Faculty of, 121–­22; astronomy at, 136; book vendors at, 284n57; and Cartesian images, 284n75; curricula at, 121–­22, 125, 283n31, 283n35; and Hayé’s workshop, 163; printers, bookbinders, and booksellers at, 127; student notebooks from, 38, 75, 115, 126–­27, 128, 129, 130, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 140, 141, 143, 145, 163, 282n75; teaching of philosophy in, 116 University of Paris, 38; and Aristotle, 35; astronomy at, 136; curricula at, 121, 122, 283n35; dominance of Aristotle and scholastic interpreters at, 36; Faculty of Theology, 35, 36; and Grand Couvent, 277n69; mechanical philosophy at, 276n115; natural philosophy at, 36; and Netherlandish engraving, 52; philosophy courses given outside, 277n69; student notebooks from, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 133, 134, 136, 137, 145; teaching of philosophy in, 116 University of Strasbourg, 89 univocals: in van Campen, 164, 165 (fig. 152); in Dialectica sive ad logicam manuducti, 164, 165 (fig. 153); in Meurisse and Gaultier’s Descriptio, 97, 111, 164, 165 (fig. 151), 220 (Appendix 2, I, segment 2, 42) Valckenisse, Andreas, 287n60 Valerius, Cornelius, Anacephaleoses, 17 Valladier, André, La saincte philosophie de l’ame, 180–­81, 181 (fig. 172) Vallet, Guillaume (publisher), 126 Valois, Jeanne de, 211 vanitas still lifes, 167 Vanpaemel, Geert, 284n75, 285n77 Varchi, Benedetto, 283n5 Varembault, Stephanus, 63 Vasari, Giorgio, 174, 182; and Accademia del Disegno, 118; and Aristotle, 117; and knowledge, 117; Lives of the Most Excellent Italian Architects, Painters, and Sculptors, 116–­17; and Platonic vocabulary of forms, 117; and plural images, 117; and universals, 117 Velden, Martin-­Etienne van, 36

Verdun, Nicolas de, 44, 61, 213, 238 (Appendix 2, III, segment 1, 2) Verweij, Michiel, 285n88 Vesalius, Andreas, 37, 46, 134; De humani corporis fabrica librorum epitome, 45, 54–­58, 55 (fig. 24), 56 (fig. 25), 57 (fig. 26); letter to Johannes Oporinus, 58 Vigenere, Blaise de, Les images, 281n79 Villon, Antoine de, 35, 275n98 virtues: and Aristotle, 5; and di Bonaiuto, 30; cardinal, 29; and Cellini, 119; and da Giacomo, 29; in Dürer and Pirckheimer’s Triumphal Chariot, 175; and Giacomo, 29; and Meurisse, 17; and Pisano, 29; and Sucquet and à Bolswert, 184; theological, 29, 184, 211 vision. See perception visual commentaries, 2–­3, 17, 77, 98, 99, 159–­7 1 Vitruvian man, 203 Vos, Maarten de, 67 Vriedenboek, 166. See also album amicorum; Stammbuch

woodcuts, 68, 276n34 world turned upside down, van Colen’s drawing of, 138, 140 (fig. 117) Wunderkammern, 67, 68. See also curiosities, cabinet of Yates, Frances A., 28 Yvon, Abbé Claude, 71; “Art mnémonique,” 69 Zabarella, Giacomo, Tabulae logicae, 286n21 Zeno, 89, 89 (fig. 48), 267 (Appendix 2, VI, segment 2, 19) Zuccaro, Federico, 182 Zwinger, Theodor, Theatrum vitae humanae, 17

Wagenbronner, Georg Christoph, album of, 169–­70, 169 (figs. 161, 162) Wagner, Leonhard, 176; Proba centum scripturarum, 176 (fig. 168) Walton, Robert, 212, 214 Weigel, Johann Christoph, Neu erfundener Lüstweg zu allerley schönen Künsten und Wissenschafften, 53–­54, 54 (fig. 23) Wiericx, Hieronymus, 67 Willems, Martinus, notebook of, 130, 130 (fig. 102) William of Ockham, 129 Winkelmann, Johann Justus, 37, 111–­ 12, 215; Artificiosa totius moralis philosophiae delineatio, 111–­12, 113 (fig. 91); Logica memorativa, 69, 110 (fig. 88), 111, 111 (fig. 89), 112 (fig. 90), 211 wisdom: in Chéron and Gaultier’s Typus, 52, 88, 90–­91, 90 (figs. 50, 51), 91 (fig. 53), 100, 108–­9, 108 (fig. 87), 131; and exalted constructed space, 108 (fig. 87), 130, 130 (fig. 102); and student notebooks, 133; and Willems, 130, 130 (fig. 102) Wittgenstein, Ludwig, Philosophical Investigations, 75 wonders, cabinet of, 166. See also curiosities, cabinet of

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All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (plate 1); Princeton University Library (plate 2); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 1); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 2); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 3); Princeton University Library (fig. 4); © The Trustees of the British Museum (fig. 5); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 6); Princeton University Library (fig. 7); 19th Century Architectural Photography Collection, Kranzberg Art & Architecture Library, Washington University in St. Louis (fig. 8); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 9); © The British Library Board, General Reference Collection, 1856.g.16(4) (fig. 10); Princeton University Library (fig. 11); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 12); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [IE2] (fig. 13); courtesy of Scott Gilchrist / Archivision Inc (fig. 14); Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid (fig. 15); Scala / Art Resource, NY (fig. 16); Scala / Art Resource, NY (fig. 17); Princeton University Library (fig. 18); Princeton University Library (fig. 19); Princeton University Library (fig. 20); Princeton University Library (fig. 21); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 22); Stadtbibliothek Nürnberg, Phil. 12951.8° (fig. 23); Princeton University Library (fig. 24); Princeton University Library (fig. 25); Princeton University Library (fig. 26); *FB6.M5718.614a. Houghton Library, Harvard University (fig. 27); © Bibliothèque Sainte-­Geneviève, Paris, cop. N. Boutros (fig. 28); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 29); © ÖNB Vienna: Cod. Phil. Gr. 4 (fig. 30); Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek (fig. 31); © The Trustees of the British Museum (fig. 32); Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University (fig. 33); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 34); Princeton University Library (fig. 35); Bibliothèque Interuniversitaire de Santé (fig. 36); Princeton University Library (fig. 37); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 38); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 39); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 40); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 41); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 42); Princeton University Library (fig. 43); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 44); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 45); Princeton University Library (fig. 46); Princeton University Library (fig. 47); Princeton University Library (fig. 48); Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, München [H.lit.p. 646 o-­1/3], http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/~db/0003/bsb00032121/images/ (fig. 49); Princeton University Library (fig. 50); Princeton University Library (fig. 51); Princeton University Library (fig. 52); Princeton University Library (fig. 53); Princeton University Library (fig. 54); Princeton University Library (fig. 55); Princeton University Library (fig. 56); Princeton University Library

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(fig. 57); Princeton University Library (fig. 58); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 59); Princeton University Library (fig. 60); Princeton University Library (fig. 61); Princeton University Library (fig. 62); © Trustees of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC (fig. 63); Princeton University Library (fig. 64); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 65); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 66); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 67); Princeton University Library (fig. 68); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 69); Princeton University Library (fig. 70); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 71); Princeton University Library (fig. 72); Princeton University Library (fig. 73); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 74); Princeton University Library (fig. 75); Princeton University Library (fig. 76); Princeton University Library (fig. 77); Princeton University Library (fig. 78); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 79); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 80); Princeton University Library (fig. 81); Princeton University Library (fig. 82); Princeton University Library (fig. 83); Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library (fig. 84); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 85); Princeton University Library (fig. 86); Princeton University Library (fig. 87); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [M: Li 6220] (fig. 88); Princeton University Library (fig. 89); Princeton University Library (fig. 90); Niedersächsische Staats-­und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (fig. 91); © The Trustees of the British Museum (fig. 92); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 93); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 94); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 95); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 96); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 97); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 98); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 99); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 100); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 101); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 102); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 103); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 104); © Trustees of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC (fig. 105); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 106); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 107); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 108); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [A: 237.11 Quod. (3)] (fig. 109); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 110); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 111); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 112); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 113); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 114); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 115); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 116); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium

(fig. 117); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 118); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 119); Princeton University Library (fig. 120); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 121); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 122); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 123); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 124); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 125); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 126); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 127); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 128); Reproduced by permission of the Provost and Fellows of Eton College (fig. 129); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 130); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 131); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 132); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 133); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 134); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 135); Staats und Stadtbibliothek Augsburg [Kilian B. 74] (fig. 136); Princeton University Library (fig. 137); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 138); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 139); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 140); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 141); Princeton University Library (fig. 142); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 143); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 144); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 145); Princeton University Library (fig. 146); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 147); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 148); Princeton University Library (fig. 149); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 150); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 151); All rights reserved. Royal Library of Belgium (fig. 152); @Imaging Lab—­KU Leuven (fig. 153); © The British Library Board, General Reference Collection, 3837.c.4. (fig. 154); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 79L18 (fig. 155); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 75J1 (fig. 156); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 133C14 (fig. 157); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 133M87 (fig. 158); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 133H26 (fig. 159); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 135E48 (fig. 160); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 133H27 (fig. 161); The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 133H27 (fig. 162); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 163); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 164); Albertina, Vienna [DG1934/577] (fig. 165); Albertina, Vienna [DG1934/577] (fig. 166); Princeton University Library (fig. 167); © Archiv des Bistums Augsburg (fig. 168); Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, München [2 L.impr.membr. 64] (fig. 169); Princeton University Library (fig. 170); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 171); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 172); Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library (fig. 173); © The British Library Board, General Reference Collection, 1043.d.40. (fig. 174); Princeton

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University Library (fig. 175); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [A: 237.11 Quod. (3)] (fig. 176); Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library (fig. 177); Huntington Library (fig. 178); Huntington Library (fig. 179); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 180); © The Trustees of the British Museum (fig. 181); © The British Library Board, MS Egerton 1910 (fig. 182); © The British Library Board, General Reference Collection, 529.m.9.(1.) (fig. 183); © The British Library Board, General Reference Collection, 529.m.9.(1.) (fig. 184); © The Trustees of the British Museum (fig. 185); Bodleian Library (fig. 186); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [IE2] (fig. 187); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [IE2] (fig. 188); Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbüttel: [IE2] (fig. 189); Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library (fig. 190); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 191); © The British Library Board, Add. 28681, f.9 (fig. 192); Princeton University Library (fig. 193); © The Trustees of the British Museum (fig. 194); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 195); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 196); Bibliothèque nationale de France (fig. 197).

figure 104  (see p. 131), is also reproduced following this section.