football.In the course of an afternoon the yellow sunlight moved across old group pictures of the biology faculty.I became bewitched by the presence of the building;for minutes at a stretch I sat on the floor and watched motes rise and fall in the sunlight.I called Harry's attention to the presence but he shrugged and went on with his work.He was absolutely unaffected by the singularities of time and place.His abode was anywhere.It was all the same to him whether he catheterized a pig at four o'clock in the afternoon in New Orleans or at midnight in Transylvania.He was actually like one of those scientists in the movies who don't care about anything but the problem in their heads.-now here is a fellow who does have a 'flair for research'and will be heard from.Yet I do not envy him.I would not change places with him if he discovered the cause and cure of cancer.For he is no more aware of the mystery which surrounds him than a fish is aware of the water it swims in. He could do research for a thousand years and never have an inkling of it. By the middle of August I could not see what difference it made whether the pigs got kidney stones or not (they didn't incidentally),compared to the mystery of those summer afternoons.I asked Harry if he would excuse me. He was glad enough to,since I was not much used to him sitting on the floor. I moved down to the Ouarter where I spent the rest of the vacation in quest of the spirit of summer and in the company of an attractive and confused girl from Bennington who fancied herself a poet. An area that seems to me to be at the cross-roads of'vertical'and 'horizontal'thought is history.The study of history no doubt demands some level of structured thought, but the role of the imagination is also absolutely critical.I will wheel out now a quote from Isiah Berlin that conveniently appears in Conor Cruise O'Brien's book(I travel light):We call great historians only those who are not only are in full control of the factual evidence obtained by the use of the best critical methods available to them,but also possess the depths of imaginative insight that characterizes gifted novelists.To my mind,the grammar of historiography derives as much from the arts as the sciences. Here is a quote from an essay on Walter Benjamin by Margaret Cohen which may give you some sense of what I mean:Benjamin,she says with reference to his wonderful Arcades Project,was particularly interested in the potential of montage,a technique made famous by the European avant-garde of his time.For Benjamin, montage was not only a style but a philosophy of history:it entailed focusing on discontinuities separating past and present,and emphasizing a utopian rather than progressive notion of historical transformation,as a way to preserve a reservoir of hope in otherwise damaged life. 18 The term reservoir of hope'is helpful to me here,for it brings me to my third and final point-that language conditions morality -for what is morality but the architecture of hope,hope for the future,hope for a better understanding of the past. What do I mean by the statement that language conditions morality?I have hinted at certain aspects already-the tolerance that is bred from the uncoupling of an object from a certain set of sounds-the fundamentalism that is manifest in the insistence onfootball. In the course of an afternoon the yellow sunlight moved across old group pictures of the biology faculty. I became bewitched by the presence of the building; for minutes at a stretch I sat on the floor and watched motes rise and fall in the sunlight. I called Harry's attention to the presence but he shrugged and went on with his work. He was absolutely unaf ected by the singularities of time and place. His abode was anywhere. It was all the same to him whether he catheterized a pig at four o'clock in the afternoon in New Orleans or at midnight in Transylvania. He was actually like one of those scientists in the movies who don't care about anything but the problem in their heads.– now here is a fellow who does have a 'flair for research' and will be heard from. Yet I do not envy him. I would not change places with him if he discovered the cause and cure of cancer. For he is no more aware of the mystery which surrounds him than a fish is aware of the water it swims in. He could do research for a thousand years and never have an inkling of it. By the middle of August I could not see what dif erence it made whether the pigs got kidney stones or not (they didn't incidentally), compared to the mystery of those summer afternoons. I asked Harry if he would excuse me. He was glad enough to, since I was not much used to him sitting on the floor. I moved down to the Quarter where I spent the rest of the vacation in quest of the spirit of summer and in the company of an attractive and confused girl from Bennington who fancied herself a poet. An area that seems to me to be at the cross-roads of 'vertical' and 'horizontal' thought is history. The study of history no doubt demands some level of structured thought, but the role of the imagination is also absolutely critical. I will wheel out now a quote from Isiah Berlin that conveniently appears in Conor Cruise O’Brien’s book (I travel light): We call great historians only those who are not only are in full control of the factual evidence obtained by the use of the best critical methods available to them, but also possess the depths of imaginative insight that characterizes gifted novelists. To my mind, the grammar of historiography derives as much from the arts as the sciences. Here is a quote from an essay on Walter Benjamin by Margaret Cohen which may give you some sense of what I mean: Benjamin, she says with reference to his wonderful Arcades Project, was particularly interested in the potential of montage, a technique made famous by the European avant-garde of his time. For Benjamin, montage was not only a style but a philosophy of history: it entailed focusing on discontinuities separating past and present, and emphasizing a utopian rather than progressive notion of historical transformation, as a way to preserve a reservoir of hope in otherwise damaged life. 18 The term ‘reservoir of hope’ is helpful to me here, for it brings me to my third and final point – that language conditions morality – for what is morality but the architecture of hope, hope for the future, hope for a better understanding of the past. What do I mean by the statement that language conditions morality? I have hinted at certain aspects already – the tolerance that is bred from the uncoupling of an object from a certain set of sounds – the fundamentalism that is manifest in the insistence on