J.S. Mill argued that Bentham was ‘not a great philosopher’, asserting that one reason for his judgment was ‘the incompleteness of his [i. e. Bentham’s] own mind as a representative of universal human nature’. This paper argues that Mill’s judgment of Bentham on human nature and his assumptions about Bentham’s ‘own mind’ were seriously mistaken. In fact, Bentham understood many of the most natural and strongest feelings of human nature; he recognized spiritual or mental perfection, and recognized many pleasures associated (...) with a desire for self-perfection, or at least self-improvement; he never denied the importance of the faculty of imagination; he was by no means cut off from life’s graver experiences; his conception of arts and sciences was much broader, more metaphysically-based, consistent and sophisticated than Mill appreciated; and he enthusiastically embraced and encouraged arts and sciences. Mill’s mistake was partly caused by his limited reading of Bentham’s works, but mainly because he failed to grasp the ontological basis and fundamental principles of Bentham’s philosophy. (shrink)

This paper deals with the ethics of using knowledge about a person’s particular psychological make-up, or about the psychology of judgment and decision-making in general, to shape that person’s decisions and behaviors. Various moral concerns emerge about this practice, but one of the more elusive and underdeveloped concerns is the charge of manipulation. It is this concern that is the focus of this paper. I argue that it is not the case that any of the practices traditionally labeled as “manipulation” (...) are ipso facto morally wrong, nor is it even the case that any of these practices always has a single wrong making feature (e.g., infringement on autonomy) that is always present but may be outweighed by other morally relevant factors and be all things considered ethically permissible or morally right. I argue that the moral status depends on the extent to which the instance of influence (1) threatens or promotes autonomy, (2) has good aims and virtuous overtones or bad ones, and (3) fulfills or fails to fulfill duties, obligations, and expectations that arise out of the relationship between the influencer and influenced. I will explain in detail the moral relevance of these factors, showing why each is necessary, criteria for evaluation each, and demonstrating how they work in specific cases. (shrink)

Protagoras, of all the ancient philosophers, has perhaps attracted the most interest in modern times. His saying ‘Man is the measure of all things’ caused Schiller to adopt him as the patron of the Oxford pragmatists, and has generally earned him the title of the first humanist. Yet the exact delineation of his philosophcal position remains a baffling task. Neumann, writing on Die Problematik des ‘Homo-mensura’ Satzes in 1938,2 concludes that no certainty whatever can be reached on the meaning of (...) the dictum, since ‘man’, ‘measure’, and ‘things’ are all ambiguous, nor can we tell which of the three is the predicate. The time is past when it was believed that a man's philosophy could be understood apart from the events of his life and the circumstances of his age: yet in the case of Protagoras the historical method of approach has hardly been attempted, although the impact of environment was perhaps more decisive in the formation of philosophical concepts in the Greek world than anywhere else. The reality about which the Greek philosopher spoke had three aspects: it was either the one universe of physics, or the political unity, or God. For example, the book of Heracleitus Περ φσεως was divided into three chapters or logoi, About the Whole, a political, and a theological. Neither physics nor theology supplies from its own subject-matter the form in which this reality was described. (shrink)

The influence which the Pythagorean society and its leading doctrines exercised upon Athenian intellectual and political developments in the late fifth century leads us to seek in Pythagoras a figure of greater stature and more clear-cut features than modern scholarship is prepared to allow. To us he is a great name but little more, the large body of detailed information about his life which is available in later writers being dismissed as fabulous. This scepticism was reasonable enough when the reader (...) was faced with the garbled hotchpotch of an Iamblichus or a Porphyry. But since the task has been put in hand of determining what portions of this tradition can safely be attributed to the various authorities who concerned themselves with the Pythagorean story in the fourth century, and of considering the respective historical value of these authorities, the scepticism of, for example, Burnet's account becomes unjustified. It is now possible to present a fairly detailed account of Pythagoras' activity, which has at least as much claim to credence as a great deal of what we now readily accept as ancient history, and is furthermore consistent with the general picture of the man that emerges from a careful scrutiny of classical sources. Not only for its own sake, but in the context of the increasingly fruitful investigation of fifth-century Athenian movements, I feel that it may be useful to put together such an account of Pythagoras. It will certainly be regarded by some as mere fiction, but may nevertheless provide others with a convenient summary of what the fifth- and fourth-century writers thought and believed about a man and a movement that had profound influence upon their times. I hope at the same time to suggest some links between what Pythagoras thought and did and the main tradition of Greek social behaviour. If Pythagoras was, as I believe, not so much an innovator as a reformer and developer of some of the central institutions of Greek life, the possibility will be opened of regarding various phenomena in mainland Greece which we have been asked to call Pythagorean, e.g. the Socratic phrontisterion as it appears in the Clouds, not as deriving from Pythagoras but as a parallel growth to the Pythagorean synedria and nourished by the same root. (shrink)

In Death and the Afterlife, Samuel Scheffler argues that the assumption of a “collective afterlife” plays an essential role in us valuing much of what we do. If a collective afterlife did not exist, our value structures would be radically different according to Scheffler. We would cease to value much of what we do. In Part I of the paper, I argue that there is something to Scheffler’s afterlife conjecture, but that Scheffler has misplaced the mattering of a collective afterlife. (...) Its significance lies not in the realm of axiology but more importantly in coming to terms with the fact of death and in viewing our lives as having meaning. In Part II of the paper, I outline three views on the sort of collective afterlife that matters and argue in favor of the view that it must involve creatures that recognize our existence, reasons, values, and contributions and the view that it must involve creatures that value similar things to us —but argue against the view that it necessarily be a human collective afterlife. (shrink)

As part of a larger research study, we present model language for disclosing financial interests in clinical research to potential research participants, and we describe the empirical basis and theoretical assumptions used in developing the language. The empirical process for creating appropriate disclosure language resulted in a generic disclosure statement for cases in which no risk to participants’ welfare or the scientific integrity of the research is expected, and nine more specific disclosure statements for cases in which some risk is (...) expected. The disclosure statements are not meant to be canonical, but were instead designed to reflect the typical situations in which disclosure of financial interest might be considered by an institutional review board or conflict of interest committee. Individual institutions could modify key phrases to suit their purposes, and others could use the language in future empirical work on informed consent to better refine the options for disclosing financial interests in clinical research. (shrink)

Pursuant to the Doctrine of Consumer Sovereignty, we believe that tobacco companies should be compelled to disclose their ingredients so that the public health community can make more informed recommendations in order to protect consumer autonomy and sovereignty. However, a recent decision by the First Circuit precludes such a disclosure since it would be unduly burdensome to the industry, while granting only minimal gains to the public. We argue that many of the Court’s key claims rest on a misunderstanding of (...) the science and chemistry of tobacco products. In our view, a mandatory disclosure of ingredients would more effectively protect the public interest, whilst posing minimal burdens on the tobacco industry. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:A Commonwealth of Hope: Augustine’s Political Thought by Michael LAMBMichael J. S. BrunoLAMB, Michael. A Commonwealth of Hope: Augustine’s Political Thought. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2022. xiii + 431 pp. Cloth, $39.95In his comprehensive study of Augustinian hope, Michael Lamb seeks to provide a corrective to the common characterization, especially promoted in the last century, of Augustine as politically and socially pessimistic. Lamb asserts that Augustine’s work (...) leads us, rather, to a “realistic hope,” as he argues for a more “hopeful, this-worldly” reading of the Doctor of Grace. After tracing the path of contemporary Augustinian interpretation, Lamb begins an interdisciplinary study of Augustine’s understanding of hope, which he argues allows us to understand how Augustine “advocated and modeled engagement in public life,” as “bishop, theologian, and citizen.”In part 1, “The Virtue of Hope,” Lamb systematically discusses Augustine’s understanding of virtue, and the relationship within his theology of the theological virtues. In chapter 1, Lamb utilizes the Enchiridion to explore Augustine’s understanding of the objects and grounds of hope, as “the orientation of will” toward objects that “engage our desire and spark an affective movement for union with what we love.” In chapter 2, Lamb explores hope’s integral connection to love and integrally captures key concepts in Augustine’s thought, particularly the consequences of the Fall in human pride, the presence of the libido dominandi, and the often-discussed debate of uti-frui, noting that Augustine is fundamentally concerned with love being rightly ordered. In chapter 3, he responds to the criticism of Augustine’s hope as “otherworldly,” explaining how Augustine does not dismiss temporal goods but, rather, “chastens disordered desires for them.” Lamb also makes clear that Augustine “challenges the either/or dualism” that locates [End Page 154] eternal goods in a purely transcendent realm. In chapter 4, Lamb analyzes the grounds of faith and its objects, outlining Augustine’s treatment of faith’s relation to both authority and neighbor, who for Augustine must be included as an object of faith. In chapter 5, relying on Augustine’s Confessions, Lamb underscores the condemnation of Pelagianism while demonstrating that similar to love, we might hope in neighbors as “a way to hope in the invisible God.” He also examines the epistemological challenges presented by the vices of presumption and despair, noting how for Augustine “a deficient or disordered faith leads to disordered hope.”Part 2 of Lamb’s work turns to Augustine’s rhetoric and how Augustine’s pedagogical concerns undergird both his sermons and other works, especially the often-cited City of God. In chapter 6, Lamb notes the need within political interpretations of Augustine for a greater grasp of “his rhetorical and pedagogical purposes,” especially his moral teaching offered to a wide and diverse audience both in his preaching and letters. In chapter 7, Lamb turns to City of God, noting its aim as both instruction and encouragement, and confronts the limits of the binary view of optimism and pessimism as “anachronistic and conceptually confining.” Lamb, on the contrary, posits a “more capacious triad of presumption, hope, and despair” as capturing the true “posture” of Augustine’s City of God, especially book 22.In part 3, Lamb focuses on the place of political goods as objects of hope within Augustine’s thought. Chapter 8 focuses on the political implications of Augustine’s eschatology and ecclesiology and, through engagement with numerous interpreters, examines Augustine’s saeculum as “a passing age in which members of both cities—earthly and heavenly—share proximate goods and build a common life together.” In chapter 9, Augustine’s epistolary is examined in order to demonstrate that, while “fulfilling his duties and embodying active citizenship, [Augustine] did not make an idol of politics or see it as the ultimate source of salvation.” In chapter 10, Lamb proposes an alternative account to the “antipolitical, otherworldly exclusivist” Augustine, namely, an Augustine who both is slow to judge the virtue and vice of others and acknowledges “some form of genuine, if incomplete, virtue in those without faith.” In this chapter, Lamb’s nuances of Augustine’s understanding of “true virtue” are well grounded... (shrink)

Scholars have long seen that Horace's treatment of Homer in this Epistle demands to be read in the tradition of moral allegory in which Ulysses becomes the type of the ‘man of virtue’ : on such a reading, Circe becomes an allegory of foolish passion ‘to which Ulysses’ companions give in through their stultitia, and because of which they lose their reason and become no better than animals. Antisthenes, from whose writings such an allegorising approach probably developed, was regarded as (...) an early Cynic, and the idea became the special province of Cynic-Stoic philosophy; scholars have therefore felt justified in seeing this epistle as a criticism of Epicureanism, represented by the sponsi Penelopae, nebulones, Alcinoique … iuventus, from the point of view of a Cynic or a syncretistic Stoic. (shrink)

At 10.17.6–16 Polybius relates how Scipio seized the opportunity offered by his capture of New Carthage in 209 B.C. to increase his fleet of quinqueremes by half as much again. There is a briefer passage on the same subject in Livy 26.47.1–3. Polybius says that the total number of prisoners taken was nearly ten thousand, from whom Scipio separated two groups: first citizens, men and women with their young children, and secondly craftsmen. He freed the former, and made the latter, (...) numbering about 2000, public slaves of Rome. In Livy's account women and children are not mentioned; the prisoners are said to be ten thousand free men. As in Polybius, the citizens are said to have been set at liberty and the two thousand craftsmen made public slaves. In Polybius Scipio is said to have selected from all those not in the first two groups ‘the strongest, the fittest looking and the youngest and mixed them up with his own crews. And making the whole body of oarsmen half as many again as before he succeeded in manning the captured ships as well as his own στε τος νδρας κστ σκει βραχ τι λεπειν το διπλασους εναι τος πρχοντας τν προγενομνων, for the captured ships were eighteen in number and the original ships thirty-five’. The corresponding passage in Livy is as follows: ‘the remaining multitude [multitudinem, a word suggesting a larger number than the two former groups together] of young inhabitants and of strong slaves he handed over to the fleet to increase the number of oarsmen . And [an increase was needed because] he had added eight captured ships to the fleet’. (shrink)

At the Editors' request, I have given this paper the final revision which Mr. Morrison has not time to give. This was needed chiefly in II, in the establishment of the stemma, and in the early part of IV. In these parts Mr. Morrison must not be held responsible for the details, though I have endeavoured to give his conclusions. In II the credit is his for the identification of the sororis filius in Quintilian, Inst. Or. xi. 2. 14, as (...) Antiochus, for the view that Antiochus is an Aleuad, and therefore the three Echecratidae also, and for the consequent interpretation of Thuc. i. i n . In IV I found it difficult to revise Mr. Morrison's detailed interpretation of ‘Herodes’ and have omitted much. It will be understood that this procedure does little justice to his views, though I have tried to suppress nothing which bore directly on his main argument. (shrink)

In Professor W. B. Anderson's interesting paper on this subject there seems a certain hesitation about the treatment of Lucan's famouset quantum mihi restat ad Culicem ? .The following passages may be cited as fixing the sense of this rather rare idiom:1…crebro querens incolumi filio adiutorem imperii alium uocari. Et quantum superesse ut collega dicatur ? ,i.e. from adiutor to collega is ‘a mere step.’.

Rhetoric and domination generally are considered to be exclusionary phenomena. In the case of women and the suffrage movement in the USA for example, rhetoric is regarded as a neutral art that women used to overcome masculine domination. There is another less considered phenomenon however. Drawing upon phenomenological insights of M. Merleau-Ponty and M. M. Bakhtin’s chronotope, this essay constructs a theoretical apparatus out of classical rhetoric and P. Bourdieu’s writings, particularly Masculine Domination. It displays the relation between domination and (...) rhetoric and explores the question of authority as it pertains to the female/feminine body in concrete terms. (shrink)

‘sed ad hunc bolum ut pervenias, opus erit tibi aut epulum aut triumphus alicuius, ut tune fuit Scipionis Metelli, aut collegiorum cenae, quae nunc innumerabiles excandefaciunt annonam macelli.’ Varro, RR 3. 2. 16.

This article analyzes the complex relation of phenomenology and literature in the work of Husserl and Derrida. In the first part, I show that the limited ideality of the literary object necessarily situates it in a derivative region of phenomenology. In the second part, however, I problematize the regional status of literature by elaborating a brief but important footnote in which Husserl broadens the concept of literature to embrace all cultural products whatsoever. Yet, because even this broadened concept of literature (...) ultimately remains secondary for the phenomenologist, it only redoubles and ratifies the submission of literature to the more ideal objectivities of mathematical disciplines like geometry. The third part, finally, mobilizes Derrida’s notion of “dissemination,” prepared in and unintelligible apart from his early engagement with Husserlian phenomenology, in order to broach a notion of literature that the phenomenologist can neither circumscribe nor describe. (shrink)

'Uncertainty and chance' is a subject with a broad span, in that there is no academic discipline or walk of life that is not beset by uncertainty and chance. In this book a range of approaches is represented by authors from varied disciplines: natural sciences, mathematics, social sciences and medical sciences. At one extreme, this volume is concerned with the foundations of probability. At the other extreme, we have scholars who acknowledge the concept of chance and uncertainty but do not (...) cope with it by means of systematic measurement or quantative analysis. (shrink)

El deseo y oraciones de Juan XXIII pidiendo que el Vaticano II fuera un Pentecostés para la Iglesia, fue ampliamente escuchado por el Señor. El Vaticano II fue una auténtica irrupción del Espíritu sobre la Iglesia, un acontecimiento salvífico, un kairós. Hay un “antes” un “después” del Vaticano II.