Megan Craig in The American Scholar:
Philosophers have not been particularly attentive to stones. This might be surprising given the myth of the philosopher’s stone—a magical rock that, when ground into a powder or made into an elixir, was said to grant immortality or turn things to gold. Alchemy was at the heart of the ancients’ infatuation with stones. In our modern era of chemistry, physics, and the scientific method, such ideas are considered outlandish. We’ve grown too rational for alchemy. Stones are simply stones. Stony. Not magic. Not babies.
I agree, and yet there is something about the idea of transmutation that I can’t quite give up. It’s not that I think a stone will actually come to life. It’s not even that I believe in the legend of wishing stones, the smooth gray rocks ringed with wavering white lines that I collected as a child. I certainly don’t expect to find a lifesaving ruby that grants immortality or turns things to gold, neither of which I would even want. What interests me are the feelings of hesitation and unknowing that I sense when I examine a stone.
More here.
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