Two properties of Joseph Needham are at once apparent: the nearly incredible display of learning he is able to muster, and the frankly tendentious character of his writing. His tendentiousness is without guile and often charming. Whether or not it invalidates his work as a historian of science is a matter on which we are willing to reserve judgment. Indeed, we have no choice, for he has taken the unusual measure--it is, among other things, a master-stroke of publicity--of devoting both (...) volumes that have thus far appeared to a series of leisurely propaedeutic essays in which the narrative of scientific history as such plays no part. (shrink)

Antiphon, in his fifth oration, relates that c. 422–413 B.C. Euxitheos, a young Mytilenean, and Herodes, probably an Athenian cleruch in Mytilene, embarked together on a ship bound from Mytilene for Ainos in Thrace. Shortly after they left port, a storm forced them to put into an unnamed harbour in Methymnian territory. The two men left their uncovered ship to take shelter in a covered one; whether others from their own ship went with them is not indicated. During the night, (...) a drinking party ensued. Herodes, after heavy drinking, left the covered ship and disappeared; he could not be found in the morning, nor even after two days of searching. When the weather cleared, the search was abandoned, and all ships in the port resumed their voyages. On Euxitheos' return to Mytilene, a charge of murder was brought against him by Herodes' relatives, who tried him in Athens. Antiphon's fifth oration is his final defence; we do not know whether the speech was successful. (shrink)

In his account of the Persian Wars, the 5th century historian Herodotus reports an exchange between the Persian monarch Xerxes and a deposed Spartan king, Demaratus, who became what Lattimore later classified as a “tragic warner” to Xerxes. On the eve of the battle of Thermopylae, Xerxes asks how a small number of free Spartiates can stand up against the massive ranks of soldiers that Xerxes has assembled. Herodotus has Demaratus reply: So is it with the Lacedaemonians; fighting singly (...) they are as brave as any man living, and together they are the best warriors on earth. Free they are, yet not wholly free; for law is their master (ἐλεύθεροι γὰρ ἐόντες οὐ πάντα ἐλεύθεροι εἰσί· ἔπεστι γάρ σφι δεσπότης νόμος), whom they fear much more than your men fear you. This is my proof—what their law bids them, that they do; and its bidding is ever the same, that they must never flee from the battle before whatsoever odds, but abide at their post and there conquer or die. (Hdt. 7.104) As the outcome of Thermopylae makes clear, Demaratus is hardly guilty of boasting. But Greek political theorists were not only fascinated by the Spartans who fought at the battle of Thermopylae in 480; they also wondered how slightly more than a century later Sparta was ignobly defeated by Thebes at the battle of Leuctra in 371, after which Spartan hegemony collapsed. How did Sparta field citizen-soldiers in the 5th century who were without parallel in their bravery and military prowess? And why did Sparta, predominantly under the same political organization, collapse just over a century later? Such are the main questions that Xenophon, Plato, Aristotle, and Plutarch—what Cartledge (1999, 313–14) has characterized as “political-theoretical” laconophiles—seek to answer in their writings about Sparta. (shrink)

During and after the Second World War, public intellectuals in Britain and the United States grappled with concerns about the future of democracy, the prospects of liberty, and the decline of the imperial system. Without using the term 'globalization,' they identified a shift toward technological, economic, cultural, and political interconnectedness and developed a 'globalist' ideology to reflect this new postwar reality. The Emergence of Globalism examines the competing visions of world order that shaped these debates and led to the development (...) of globalism as a modern political concept. Shedding critical light on this neglected chapter in the history of political thought, Or Rosenboim describes how a transnational network of globalist thinkers emerged from the traumas of war and expatriation in the 1940s and how their ideas drew widely from political philosophy, geopolitics, economics, imperial thought, constitutional law, theology, and philosophy of science. She presents compelling portraits of Raymond Aron, Owen Lattimore, Lionel Robbins, Barbara Wootton, Friedrich Hayek, Lionel Curtis, Richard McKeon, Michael Polanyi, Lewis Mumford, Jacques Maritain, Reinhold Niebuhr, H. G. Wells, and others. Rosenboim shows how the globalist debate they embarked on sought to balance the tensions between a growing recognition of pluralism on the one hand and an appreciation of the unity of humankind on the other."--Dust jacket. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Ideas 65.1 (2004) 155-157 [Access article in PDF] In Memoriam John F. Callahan John Francis Callahan, Professor Emeritus of Philosophy and Classics at Georgetown University, died 14 July 2003 after open-heart surgery performed 6 June and was buried with full military honors 17 September at Arlington National Cemetery. His funeral Mass at the Old Post Chapel was concelebrated by his old friend and former (...) colleague, Father Edward W. Bodnar, S.J., who had also concelebrated a memorial Mass in the Jesuit Chapel at Georgetown 5 August.John served on the Board of Editors and the Board of Directors of the Journal of the History of Ideas from 1970 until his death and was Vice-President from 1985. Throughout thirty-three years, during which he never missed a meeting until the last, he devoted unstinted time and energy to the affairs of the Journal, rigorously scrutinizing every problem, from matters of editorial policy through changes in leadership, location, and membership on the Editorial Board to proposals for expenditures and questions of format and style. He was a meticulous reader of manuscripts and applied the most stringent standards to his consideration of both content and modes of expression. No mistake in Greek typography escaped his vigilance. He brought to the annual meetings a distinctive elegance and an unusual sense of collegiality that derived both from his devotion to the Journal itself and from his long friendship with some of the older members of the Board, such as Paul Kristeller and Richard McKeon.John was a life member of the American Philological Association (since 1940) and served with distinction from 1976 to 1986 as its delegate to the International Federation of Classical Studies (FIEC), attending its meetings in Budapest and Helsinki. A scholar of exceptionally wide-ranging interests, he was best known for his studies of the concept of time in ancient philosophy and his critical edition of Gregory of Nyssa, De oratione dominica et De beatitudinibus, which he completed at Dumbarton Oaks after he retired from Georgetown.Born in Chicago 13 May 1912, he began the study of Greek and Latin at St. Ignatius Prep, where he was also introduced to opera, a lifelong passion, by one of his Jesuit teachers. He received the A.B. in 1933 and the A.M. in 1934 from Loyola University, Chicago, which on Founder's Day, 1965, honored him with an award for distinguished contributions to classical scholarship. He received the Ph.D. in 1940 from the University of Chicago, where he studied with Richard McKeon and Werner Jaeger, the two principal, very different influences on his approach to philosophy and philology. Henry Prescott and Carl Darling Buck were two other members of that fabulous generation of classical scholars at Chicago who made a lasting impression on him. His interest in Plautus, Greek and Roman linguistics, and comparative grammar continued throughout his life, contributing to what a former colleague at Dumbarton Oaks has described as an uncanny ability to penetrate beneath the surface of the classical languages, to "peer into their deep structure."John was a Teaching Fellow at the University of Chicago, 1936-37, Instructor at Loyola University, 1937-40, Visiting Instructor, Harvard University, 1940-41, Assistant Professor, Loyola University, 1941-43, Associate Professor and Professor of Classics and Philosophy, Georgetown University, from 1946 until he retired in 1978, and Project Director at Dumbarton Oaks, Harvard University, 1977-86. He served in the United States Navy from 1943 to 1946, working in Naval Communications. He rarely [End Page 155] spoke of his part in breaking the Japanese code, but often referred to such comrades in arms as Sam Atkins and Richmond Lattimore, who like him returned to teaching as soon as World War II was over.John's teaching was enriched by his research, which was supported by a notable succession of fellowships, from the Rockefeller Foundation in 1947, the Ford Foundation for the Advancement of Education, 1953-54, the Fulbright Commission, 1953-55, the Guggenheim Foundation, 1958-59, and the National Endowment for the Humanities, 1967. He... (shrink)

ArgumentThe heuristic value of evolutionary biology for economics is still much under debate. We suggest that in addition to analytical considerations, socio-cultural values can well be at stake in this issue. To demonstrate it, we use a historical case and focus on the criticism of biological analogies in the theory of the firm formulated by economist Edith Penrose in postwar United States. We find that in addition to the analytical arguments developed in her paper, she perceived that biological analogies were (...) suspect of a conservative bias – as in social Darwinism. We explain this perception by documenting the broader context of Edith Penrose's personal and professional evolution, from her student days at Berkeley to her defense of Owen Lattimore against McCarthyism. We conclude that in the case under study at least, science and values were certainly intertwined in accounting for her skepticism towards biological analogies – insight we develop in the conclusion about today's relationships between biology and economics. (shrink)

The account of the death of Patroklos occupies a strategic position in the narrative economy of the Iliad: before this event, Achilles has withdrawn from combat out of indignation against Agamemnon; afterwards, his anger turns against Hector, whom he holds responsible for his friend's death. Achilles returns to battle and kills Hector in an act of vengeance that, as we have known from the beginning of the poem, will lead to his own demise, which is not actually recounted in the (...) Iliad. This episode stands out because it is atypical both in the contents of the narration and in the means of expression used (what are generally termed “formulas”). I will give some examples of these oddities and then propose an interpretation. Here is the text, in the translation by Richmond Lattimore:So long as the sun was climbing still to the middle heaven, so long the thrown weapons of both took hold, and men dropped under them; but when the sun had gone to the time for unyoking of cattle, then beyond their very destiny the Achaians were stronger and dragged the hero Kebriones from under the weapons and the clamour of the Trojans, and stripped the armour from his shoulders. And Patroklos charged with evil intention in on the Trojans. Three times he charged in with the force of the running war god, screaming a terrible cry, and three times he cut down nine men; but as for the fourth time he swept in, like something greater than human, there, Patroklos, the end of your life was shown forth, since Phoibos came against you there in the strong encounter dangerously, nor did Patroklos see him as he moved through the battle, and shrouded in a deep mist came in against him and stood behind him, and struck his back and his broad shoulders with a flat stroke of the hand so that his eyes spun. Phoibos Apollo now struck away from his head the helmet four-horned and hollow-eyed, and under the feet of the horses it rolled clattering, and the plumes above it were defiled by blood and dust. Before this time it had not been permitted to defile in the dust this great helmet crested in horse-hair; rather it guarded the hear and the gracious brow a godlike man, Achilleus; but now Zeus gave it over to Hektor to wear on his head, Hektor whose own death was close to him. And in his hands was splintered all the huge, great, heavy, iron-shod, far-shadowing spear, and away from his shoulders dropped to the ground the shield with its shield sling and its tassels. The lord Apollo, son of Zeus, broke the corselet upon him. Disaster caught his wits, and his shining body went nerveless. He stood stupidly, and from close behind his back a Dardanian man hit him between the shoulders with a sharp javelin: Euphorbos, son of Pantho(s, who surpassed all men of his own age with the throwing spear, and in horsemanship and the speed of his feet. He had already brought down twenty men from their horses since first coming, with his chariot and his learning in warfare. He first hit you with a thrown spear, o rider Patroklos, nor broke you, but ran away again, snatching out the ash spear from your body, and lost himself in the crowd, not enduring to face Patroklos, naked as he was, in close combat. (shrink)

The Anger of Achilles, Robert Graves’ 1959 translation of Homer’s Iliad, has been variously dismissed by classical scholars as an ‘outrageous sortie into the field of translation’ and a work of ‘sheer egotism’, marred by its author’s ‘scattered yapping’. And yet, it can be read with greater understanding if we approach it not merely as a literary anomaly, but as a refraction of Graves’ experience of ‘Shell Shock,’ or PTSD, following his front line service during the First World War. This (...) paper proposes that the act of translation can itself be cathartic, creating a formalized textual space in which the translation of traumatic memory into narrative memory becomes viable, and that Graves used Homer’s epic as a tool to access his own occluded, traumatic past. By comparing The Anger of Achilles to R. Lattimore’s relatively literal translation of the Iliad, it will illuminate the ways in which the former is deeply rooted in Graves’s experience of combat, his ensuing neurasthenia, and the personal Myth by which he made sense of both – the matriarchal mythopoetics of The White Goddess. (shrink)

Evelyn-White, Mair, and Brown all translated Hesiod into prose; Lattimore now offers us a very readable translation in blank verse. He writes, as Robert Lowell remarked, "the most accurate verse translations in the language." An attractive and refreshing volume.--L. S. F.