The Paris Chronicles: Days Three through Seven

Content warning: nekkid dudes in a weird painting.

*****

I did a rough calculation: there were about 300 papers at this conference. Apart from the plenary talks, there were eleven sessions running concurrently at any given time. That's a lot of medieval philosophy -- more than I have an appetite for. But I missed more sessions than I would have liked, because my jet lag was absolutely brutal this time.

*****

When I wasn't listening to papers or sleeping, I was out walking. I love long walks in cities. Paris was having a warm spell, and I made the (in retrospect obviously stupid) decision to walk all the way from my hotel to Sacré Cœur, a solid two miles away, on the hottest and sunniest day. Thanks to a timely rest and a liter of water, I was fine.

My heart quailed when I reached the foot of the steps. Maybe I should take the funicular.

No. Don't be ridiculous. You've climbed the Seven Hills of Edinburgh. You've walked in the Highlands. It's just steps.

Turns out I'm in better shape than I thought.

After a prolonged Article XXVIII violation, I made my way back, taking care to stay on the shady side of the streets, since I had belatedly remembered the bareness of my head and the fairness of my skin.

Not a speck of sunburn the next day.

*****

My paper on Anselm went fine. I told the people at the session that really my idea lent itself to one of two genres: Post-It Note or monograph. 3000 words (20 minutes) was too much in one way and too little in another. Afterward one colleague encouraged me to write the monograph. Another expressed the hope that I wouldn't, because he's writing his dissertation on the topic and didn't want to get scooped.

I don't think there's any great danger that I'll haul off and write an extra book anytime soon.

*****

A dear friend sends me this photo of a painting at the Musée d'Orsay:

We have so many questions about this painting.

"If any would come after me, let him get really lean and take off his clothes and follow me."

Were the disciples wandering around naked through the trees, garlanding themselves, when a fully clothed Jesus summoned them for a talk?

The museum website says, "The ambiguity emanating from this fin de siècle Mannerism knowingly blurs the borderline between purity and sensuality."

Not sure I'm seeing the purity part.

This painting is actually called L'école de Platon -- The School of Plato == but you're not fooling me, M. Delville.

*****

There's a department meeting scheduled for my last night at 9:00 Paris time. I dutifully stay awake, only to have the hotel's wifi conk out on me about five minutes in. This is clearly divine providence encouraging me to go to bed, and I comply gladly.