The author has made a detailed study, more detailed, he rightly claims, than hitherto attempted, of the concept of mimesis in aesthetic thought and has devoted equal space to Greek and Sanskrit writers... Wilamowitz, the doyen of modern classical scholars, describes mimesis as a 'fatal word' 'rapped out' by Plato. But the present author has demonstrated with great cogency that the word was not 'rapped out' by Plato at all, and that the concept and the (...) word are both as old as Greek thought. He shows too, once again with considerable scholarship and perceptiveness, how Greek art was bound to be sensuous, unmystical and also 'formal' in the best sense of the term. In the four long chapters of the first part of his thesis the author gives at every step evidence of deep study and illuminating insight, and can claim originality both in approach and argument... The chapter on Aristotle contains one of the best discussions of mimesis I have read... the most striking portion of his thesis is his elucidation of poetic truth according to Aristotle. -/- -- Prof. S. C. Sengupta, Jadavpur University -/- The author provides a faithful rendering of both Greek and Indian ideas. The work is valuable for its expositions especially of the Indian theories of art. -/- -- V. K. Chari, Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism (JAAC), USA, Spring 1979 -/- ... A fairly exhaustive comparative study of the concept of mimesis in Greek and Indian aesthetics... wide ranging and at the same time well controlled acquaintance with this proliferating literature is revealed throughout... the co-relation of the Aristotelian linking-up of 'imitation' and 'completion' with Abhinavagupta's integration of imitation with completion is very suggestive and is a help towards the formulation of a universal aesthetic comprising body and soul, the immediate impact of Appearance and the slow revelation of Reality... (the author) has mastered the material and achieved a steady progression in argument so as to sustain the central thesis. -/- -- K. R. S. Iyengar, Professor of English and Vice-Chancellor, Andhra University -/- The book is a significant contribution towards understanding the essentials of Indian aesthetics apropos the Greek (and, through the Greek, the Western)... The author has surveyed the entire field in a masterly manner. His erudition and judgement are both commendable. -/- -- S. K. Ramachandra Rao, Deccan Herald (03.09.1978) -/- ...The author's views hold good even among modern critics including the ones known as 'the Chicago school' and experimental psychologists. -/- -- Indian and Foreign Review (August 1978) -/- The work is a valuable addition to the literature on aesthetics. -/- -- The Indian Express (12.03.1978) -/- The comparison is too smooth and sharply compartmentalized... The book is of great value to those who are interested in the comparative and historical evolution of a very important concept in aesthetics. -/- -- The Hindustan Times (31.12.1978) -/- The work is in two parts. The first part in four chapters examines the concept of imitation in Greek thought, and the second in three chapters explores the meaning of the term in Indian thought... the author offers a brilliant interpretation of Aristotle's theory in the fourth chapter (Pt. 1) which is the best one in the book... The work is a pioneering one and it repays a careful examination. It is probably the first of its kind and every student of aesthetics must read it. -/- -- Prof. P. S. Sastri, Nagpur Times . (shrink)

Singing and praying in the words of biblical men and women is basic to sacramental mimesis, i.e., Christian imitation of the actions of the saints with the intention of thereby opening themselves to grace. This evidence counters the “voiceless victim” paradigm prevalent in much feminist scholarship. In pre-Christian Jewish liturgy, the song of Miriam after the Crossing of the Red Sea was already important in the annual celebration of the Passover. Jesus emphasized the spiritual equality of the sexes in (...) his teaching and ministry, and this led to increased visibility for women in Christian tradition: Susanna was the first of at least eight women interpreted as types of Christ. She was presented this way even within the synoptic Gospels themselves [see “Aneboesen phone megale: Susanna and the Synoptic Passion Narratives,” forthcoming in Gregorianium]. Moreover, the practice of presenting examples from both sexes in sermons and church decoration was so pervasive as to constitute a pastoral program of the Church. Such balanced representation of the sexes is found in both texts and art. The linguistic range of the evidence for the singing of women’s words includes Greek, Latin, Coptic, Syriac, Slavonic, and German. The artworks depicting women are from throughout the Christian world, including Dura Europos, Jerusalem, Egypt, Ethiopia, Cyprus, Syria, Armenia, Italy, France, Belgium, Germany. More than twenty biblical women are treated in the essay. Women’s words, quoted from the biblical record or imaginatively supplied, became the prayer of the whole congregation. Miriam’s words remain focal universally on Holy Saturday. The acclamations of Elizabeth and of the Virgin Mary became prominent early in both East and West . Both Byzantine and Gregorian chant commemorated them and other women such as Eve, Esther, Judith, Sarah , Susanna, Martha of Bethany, the Samaritan woman, the Canaanite woman, the woman with the ointment, the Samaritan woman, the ten virgins of the parable , and especially the Holy Women at the Tomb . Their proclamation of the Lord’s rising became particularly important in Byzantine resurrection hymns used at Easter and year-round. With four other first-century female saints– Junia, Mariamne, Photina and Thecla– Mary Magdalene was deemed ἰσαπόστολος “equal to the apostles,” because the angel commissioned her to announce the Lord’s Resurrection to the disciples. Martha’s profession of faith is the fullest recorded in the Gospels and became the basis for a Byzantine communion prayer . Repeatedly, one finds that women’s words were sung at important Sunday feasts and during Holy Week. In Gregorian chant their words were sung over the course of several days. Susanna’s words are readily found in fifty Gregorian chant manuscripts from the ninth through fifteenth centuries, used in cathedrals, in monasteries and other religious houses, and in parish churches; an appendix lists these manuscripts. Throughout the continent–in Italy, Austria, Slovenia, Germany, Switzerland, France, The Netherlands, England, Wales–the varied communities of the church sang Susanna’s words. Moreover, her words as mediated through Gregorian chant were quoted by Bernard of Clairvaux in a sermon and by Hermann of Scheda in his account of his conversion from Judaism. These men used Susanna’s words to evoke her as a type of Christ and thereby to seek to be like him themselves. That is, they experienced sacramental mimesis through singing women’s words. (shrink)

The central thrust of Platonic poetics - for Plato had no aesthetics - is not the outright abolition of poetry, nor merely a relocation of it in view of recent acquisitions in the scientific knowledge of the day. Rather it is the quest for an authentic poetry and for ways of differentiating true from false poetry. The experience of transcendence through poetic symbols - of insight into ultimate reality - cannot be explained on the basis of the mimetic theory. The (...) world as a totality, its origin, the gods in the heavens, the shades and shadows of Hades, the tragic Destiny of the dramatist, and their interplay: these are crucial to the Greek experience of reality as voiced by the poet, but for none of them is there any possible model in the visible world, natural or craft-produced.23 Consequently these can never be imitated, and thus too the traditional vocation of the poet as the namer of the holy is precisely what gets eliminated in the last book of the Republic, and in Aristotle's refurbishment of mimēsis.Plato takes poetry seriously both for the polis and in the polis because it poses a serious danger. Poetry threatens “the safety of the city which is within us” (Rep. 608). Yet with Hölderlin he could agree that “Where there is danger there also lies salvation,” and so recognize the veridicousness of poetry, its truth-bearing power. At the basis of every life-form, every political order, there lies a poetic projection. The work of philosophical criticism and dissent can therefore not but enter into the quarrel with poetry. For Aristotle on the other hand, poetry, its meaning transvaluated, has been removed from the precinct of conflict. To put the point dramatically: one could never imagine Aristotle expelling the poets from any state, real or ideal. That would be a category-mistake since the worst that poetry can do is to turn into a catharsis interruptus.Although we have no unmediated experience of Being, the theory of inspiration points in such a direction. Yet even for the poet, it must be stressed, poetic inspiration must not be torn from the process of its self-realizing production or technē. Nor is the Heraclean metaphor fully adequate to critical interpretation, for it emphasizes sensitive conformance to the word at the expense of the distance required for proper engagement. The missing dimension is hinted at in the interrogative approach of Socrates, in his concern for the discovery and preservation of truth. Poetic inspiration, but also poetic interpretation, will not be poetic unless it is, as Heidegger says, a coming-to-work, whether that means a work of art or work of thought. Poetic inspiration must be an eventuation of truth in the work; as distinguished from mystical inspiration, it seeks embodiment and mediation. In other terms, for there to be an artwork both the vertical dimension and the horizontal dimension of craft must intersect. The eventuation of truth in the work must be fitting, due and opportune; the intersection must have its proper measure (summetria, Phil. 643). This alone constitutes the genuine necessity of the work, and only when this character prevails can the eventuation of truth take place. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:"WITH A ROD OR IN THE SPIRIT OF LOVE AND GENTLENESS?" PAUL AND THE RHETORIC OF EXPULSION IN 1 CORINTHIANS 5 Dizdar Drasko Australian Catholic University II "n 1 Corinthians 5 Paul is dealing with a serious case of sexual.misconduct. He is understood to be urging the expulsion ofa member of the church for incest. Incest is, of course, a serious sexual crime, universally abhorred and prohibited. It has (...) the potential to cause much harm to a community. Not only does it bring disrepute to any who are accused of it, but also to any who appear to condone it. It is scandalous: a cause or at least a symptom—of deep social disease, division, and even disintegration. That Paul should urge—indeed, command—the immediate and uncompromising expulsion ofthe incestuous evildoer, without even the hint of any kind of due process of inquiry and trial for the accused, seems obvious. Does it? To whom? And why? This article will reread 1 Cor 5 as part of Paul's response to what he saw as the attempt ofthe divided Corinthian community (see 1 Cor 1:10-13, 11:18, 2 Cor 10- 13) to regain its lost unity in the only way it knew how: by cleansing itself of undesirable elements among their number and thereby re-establishing harmony by means of the tried and true method, the scapegoat mechanism. The main thesis ofthis article is that Paul, far from joining in a bit of classical scapegoating, shows it up for what it is: puffed up arrogance, or "inflation." as he calls it (5:2), and a blind mimicking of the very sacrificial system the Corinthians, as "spiritual people" (see 1 Cor 3:1), so self-righteously think they are above. Since this article is methodologically informed by the work ofthe literary critic and cultural theorist René Girard, our preliminary task will 1 62Dizdar Drasko be to outline his method, establishing aworking hermeneutical context. We will focus on five key ideas in Girardian theory that have immediate relevance for our reading of 1 Cor 5, namely: the mimetic nature ofdesire; the often resulting rivalry and conflict; the role of scandal; the accusatory principle; and the scapegoat mechanism ofthe sacrificial system. We then need to establish the textual context that precedes 1 Cor 5 by offering a brief summary ofthe letter leading up to the text under discussion. That will enable us to engage in a close rereading ofthe said passage, for which our main exegetical dialogue partner will be the recent commentary on First Corinthians by Raymond F. Collins. Desire's Double-Bind: Mimesis, Rivalry, and the Victim The important anthropological role??mimesis, or imitation, goes back to the Greeks. Aristotle noted in his Poetics (1448b, 4-10) that the greater human capacity for imitation is what distinguishes humanity from all other animals. By imitation we acquire not only language, and therefore the ability to reason, but our very sense of self in and through our relationship to the rest ofthe world: in short, personhood and culture (see Alison 1990, 18-21.). How? Given the current climate of individualism, it comes as something ofa surprise to hear the claim that it is through the imitation of another's desire. According to Girard, our desires are neither original nor spontaneous to us; they are learned by imitating the desires of others.1 Human beings are intrinsically mimetic, imitating one another's desire. This leadsto rivalry. Mimetic rivalry leads to conflict, which, ifunchecked, degenerates into an all-against-all violence. This, in turn, threatens the complete disintegration ofthe group. So a problem arises: how is order (cosmos) to be re-established out of chaos? Once humans had evolved beyond the submission/domination mechanism (that still works for the other higher primates), our primal ancestors were in real danger of"species 1 A word of clarification before we proceed to explore this claim in the hope of averting a simple misunderstanding: desire is not to be confused with appetite They are related, obviously; but they are not the same. What is the difference? At the risk ofover-simplifying, simply put: appetite is about needs; desire is about wants. Needs are instinctive, automatic... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Figures of Antichrist:The Apocalypse and Its Restraints in Contemporary Political ThoughtGiuseppe Fornari (bio)1. The Antichrist and the Katéchon in Early ChristianityThe history of the Antichrist follows the history of Christ like a shadow.1 This statement is far from banal, not only because of its consequences but also because Christianity as currently presented typically denies that a figure like the Antichrist could be a cause for concern. When confronted with (...) the Antichrist, with Satan in person, the current reaction of many Christians is one of "dialogue." That this may be interpreted, in terms of the doctrine of the Antichrist, as a sign of his proximity passes unnoticed among Christians of goodwill in this day and age. But the devil is never so near as when he is denied or when, following the dictates of what is "politically correct," we start negotiating with him under names that change to suit the occasion. It is a different matter with regard to the historical phenomena that are only indirectly related to Satan, phenomena that help to hold him as far off as possible, but this eventuality can be appreciated only by those who know the devil, not by those who deny him.Some initial comments of a semantic nature are indispensable and, in virtue of the very pregnancy of the term "antichrist," they lead straight to [End Page 53] theological considerations. Antichrist is a synonym of Satan, with the difference that the functional noun "anti-christ" contains a direct indication of the relationship of Satan to Christ; it is the inevitable consequence of the conflict between Satan and Christ. That consequence can only be negation or opposition. The devil, as soon as he encounters Christ, automatically becomes "anti-," which does not imply a personal antipathy—the devil is not a person so much as the principle that parasitically destroys the person—but expresses the consequence of the demystification brought about by Christ: his mask once removed, the devil reveals his true face as Adversary, as "anti-," and the first figure against whom he directs this being "anti-" is necessarily the one who has unmasked him, that is, the Christ. The Greek prefix "anti-" in itself indicated the desire to take someone's place and, consequently, to go against that person; and it is this latter meaning that prevails in the modern prefix. Satan's intention becomes clear when we perceive the perfect convergence between the two nuances of meaning: taking Christ's place in order to go against him and going against Christ in order to take his place. Initially Satan tries out on Christ his old ploy of temptation, and this marks the start of the Son of God's public mission. The conflict is first and foremost a conflict between two functions, between two opposing logics. If Christ were to yield, he would at once fail in his mission from the Father, becoming the antichrist of himself, canceling out his own function and making the very notion of antichrist pointless. Christ does not yield, but this does not mean that his victory has been secured once and for all. He has confirmed his mission, but once this has got under way, all are called to enter into his figure, into his saving function, to become "Christ," which implies that the devil will repeat his temptation with everyone called by Christ. And as Christ is present this time, yielding to temptation marks out the person who yields as antichrist; and, since it is hard to resist temptation, there will be a growing number, not to say a multitude, of antichrists. From the start the word is revealingly characterized, structurally, by its plural form. While we do not have numerous "christs," because to follow Christ means to be as he is and to enter in to be part of him, by which act all the faithful become part of the body of Christ, which is the Church, anyone who becomes the "anti-" of Christ introduces the germ of plurality and discord, because from that moment on he is the "anti-" of the others. The antichrist introduces the poison of the "anti-" into the world, not that it was... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:FOR A NON-VIOLENT ACCORD: EDUCATING THE PERSON Marie-Louise Martinez Education has been criticized, no doubt justly, for the symbolic violence of its prohibitions and exclusionary rituals that mirror the violence of society (Bourdieu, etc.). But this criticism is short-sighted. When restraints are removed in teaching and education (in the family and in the school), violence wells up anew and produces at least the following two results: access to meaning (...) and knowledge is restricted; access to the law and its structure-inducing prohibitions is restricted. The result is that we foster vulnerable personalities who confuse fiction and reality, and who do not hesitate to turn their violence into acts of hostility directed toward themselves, other people, and society. A further consequence has been a certain violent non-differentiation that has tended in turn to produce a violent re-differentiation ofsociety. There is a nostalgia everywhere today for a return to discipline, to the rule oflaw, etc. One hears talk of the "sanctuary of the classroom" or again of the necessity of preserving a "symbolic cloister." We are not able, purely and simply, to feel remorse for having maintained the rule ofa violent symbolic order. One might ask in what the symbolic consists. How is it connected to teaching and education? Is there not a fundamental violence in the symbolic? Does there exist a less violent symbolic, or even a non-violent one? How might one define it and put it to work in teaching and education? Girardian theory can help us to reinterpret various contributions from a number of authors in the human sciences (Benveniste, Lacan, etc.) and from the personalist philosophy of language. I would like to propose the hypothesis that there are two stages ofthe symbolic: first, a violent symbolic accord and, second, a non-violent threshold within the symbolic, which alone can serve as an appropriate model for teaching and education. 56Marie-Louise Martinez I. The symbolic and its powers. We are not using symbolic in its specific sense as metaphorical or figurative language as it occurs in myth and poetry but in a more general sense, i.e., to refer to the totality ofthe sign and code systems employed by human beings, as that which allows for the production and deployment of significations within society. Stemming from the Greek symbolein (to throw or put together, to assemble), the symbolic is that type or order of signs that assembles. Much more than the pure language of linguistics, the symbolic is the totality ofverbal, non-verbal, and para-verbal conventions, of systems ofexchange, and ofrites. It also comprises the regulated use ofbodies and ofnature. Our definition ofthe symbolic is not idealist: more than simply the expression of ideas, it is also interaction and action, on oneself, on others, and the world. It includes technical and bodily activities to the degree that these have been codified. In this sense, the symbolic (in agreement with philosophers as diverse as Cassirer or Clifford Geertz) can be said to embrace the totality of what is called culture. But ifthe symbol throws orputs together, it is necessary to discuss what and why and how it does so. The modern science ofsigns (semiology) has shown that the sign or symbol serves to place in relation. Relying on the contemporary semiology that stems from the American philosopher Pierce, and also on the work of Francis Jacques in France, we can say that this relation, far from being a simple binary one (sign/referent or sign/signifier) is a complex relation which aligns signs with the objects to which they refer, but also with the people deploying those signs. This latter signifying relation, which is intersubjective and social, was invisible in Saussurean semiology. In itself, the symbolic is the product of a complex relation which links people among themselves and the things referred to by the agency of signs. In other words, the basis of the signifying relationship is not the dyad subject/object (relation to objects) but a triadic relation, subject/ subject/object (intersubjective and objectai). This triangular relationship, which traverses the intersubjective and the objectai, is a relationship of convention, underlined in antiquity by Plato in the Cratylus (for Hermogenes, a word... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:IntroductionMarc Redfield (bio)In recent years, and particularly in the United States, the concept of addiction has come to operate as one of those rhetorical switching points through which practically any discourse or practice or experience can be compelled to pass. As Eve Sedgwick points out in a well-known essay, one can, in contemporary parlance, claim to be addicted not just to illegal or dangerous substances, but also to forms (...) of activity or consumption—work, eating, exercise—that constitute officially approved ways to pursue happiness in middle-class society. It would seem that what matters is not the self’s particular wishes or activities, but the integrity of its will or being. “We do not object to the drug user’s pleasure per se,” Jacques Derrida comments, “but to a pleasure taken in an experience without truth” [236]. Sedgwick, for her part, suggests that “so long as ‘free will’ has been hypostatized and charged with ethical value, for just so long has an equally hypostatized ‘compulsion’ had to be available as a counterstructure always internal to it, always requiring to be ejected from it” [133–34]. The thought of addiction thus spreads to the point of infecting the founding tropes of Western philosophy. The logos becomes hooked on itself: always already it becomes the pharmakon, the remedy that poisons.Yet as Derrida, Sedgwick, and many other critics have also pointed out, the notion of addiction is in certain crucial respects a nineteenth- and twentieth-century invention. Though inscribed within a sequence of representations of human agency that goes back to the Odyssey, the “addict” as such becomes possible only within a political and medico-social regime capable of rewriting identity as pathology. (Hence, in part, the persistent overlap between the addict and the “homosexual” in twentieth-century Western culture.) This is also to say that the addict emerges as part of the development of consumer capitalism, disciplinary society, and the modern state. Like the question of technology from which it is inseparable, the thought of addiction returns us to the West’s most ancient topics and texts only to confront us with some of the most prosaic, specific, and in certain cases disastrous characteristics of our own modernity. 1When addiction is at issue, in other words, metaphysical complications acquire empirical importance. Like “diction” or “dictation,” the term “addiction” derives from the Latin dicere (“say, relate”), which returns to the Greek deiknunai, “show, point out, bring to light”; in Roman law, however, the word addicere had the more prosaic job of signifying a giving or binding-over of something or someone by sentence of a court: the assignation of slave to master, debtor to creditor. The modern recasting of addiction as pathology has occurred as a massive institutional and sociohistorical articulation of [End Page 3] metaphysical values, tensions, and contradictions. In what Mark Seltzer has termed “machine culture,” the figure of the addict channels anxieties about the uncertain differences between machines and bodies; about the “nature” of technology; about the ways in which identities and desires get produced within a consumer economy that represents subjectivity both as inalienably natural and as compulsively iterative and artificial. In such contexts, as Seltzer shows, seemingly abstract paradoxes, such as the psychoanalytic notion of primal identification—where the subject forecloses and reiterates the act of mimesis that enables it to be (other than) itself—can no longer be dismissed as merely “theoretical” figures: they bleed irretrievably into sociohistorical reality. The subject is always already the addicted subject, ready at any moment to become the “addict”; the addict, in turn, becomes a (medical and juridical) “case” or case history only by becoming a frightening, alluring mirror image of the normative subject of consumer society.The discourse of addiction not only disciplines and deconstructs the subject of consumerism; as enacted in drug policies and politics, this discourse has violently reshaped the day-to-day operations of local governments and societies and left its mark on the global economies of the new world order. Hong Kong, the earliest drug spoil of the British Empire, may have returned to China, but the postcolonial world remains more hooked than ever on narcopolitics. From the vertically integrated cocaine... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:"And Her Substance Would Be Mine":Envy, Hate, and Ontological Evacuation in Josephine Hart's SinA. Samuel Kimball (bio)Envy involuntarily testifies to a lack of being that puts the envious to shame.—René Girard, A Theatre of EnvySin, offspring of snt-ya, "that which is," in Germanic sun(d)jo, "it is true," "the sin is real," and ultimately from es-, "to be," source of am, is, sooth, soothe; of the Sanskrit roots sat- and (...) sant-, "existing, true, virtuous"; of the Latin, esse, "to be," from which is derived such words as essence, presence, absence, and represent; of the Greek roots einei, "to be" as well as ont-, "being," which provides the name for the philosophical study of being itself, ontology.—Adapted from The American Heritage Dictionaryof Indo-European RootsI: Ruth Garton's Envious NarrationThe etymology of sin suggests that the evil it names reveals something fundamental about being, something ruinous and yet unavoidable, something that endangers or even nullifies being and yet is inseparable from it, even essential to it. In Josephine Hart's second novel, Sin, this something is a species of Girardian desire in the form of a monstrous envy, which impels the first-person narrator, Ruth Garton, to a lifelong hatred of her cousin and stepsister, Elizabeth. The focus of Ruth's confessional narrative, envy, drives Ruth to take covert and increasingly virulent revenge against her quasi-sibling in a self-deluding attempt to appropriate not only the objects of Elizabeth's desire but ultimately Elizabeth's desire itself and the apparent ontological fullness that Ruth attributes to it. Over the course of her life, then, Ruth loses the promise [End Page 239] of her name in her ruthless pursuit of her enemy. As she becomes increasingly frustrated in her efforts to destroy her sister's life, Ruth finally turns her hatred of her nemesis against herself as well as the readers to whom she appeals for understanding. If envy heightens Ruth's consciousness to the point where she can perceive that her desire signals her ontological emptiness, nevertheless, it so captures her, so dominates her emotional and cognitive life, that she is unable to find a way to affirm her own—or anyone else's—being in the world. The result is a spectacular narrative record of the cost of recognizing but being unable to resist the mimeticism of desire.1II. The Girardian Dynamic of SinAs Girard has demonstrated, one of the most difficult existential challenges is to understand that desire is mimetically mediated. The result is that we come into our desire only through someone else's and always want something more and other than we think we want. Behind every move to possess a particular object is a largely unrecognized and in principle unsatisfiable desire for absolute satisfaction in the form of ontological completeness, self-sufficiency, intactness. On the one hand, Girard writes, "by the example of his own desire…the model conveys to the subject the supreme desirability of the object" (1977, 146). On the other hand, since to desire mimetically means to come into desire through the other rather than through oneself, by this same example the model conveys to the subject the contingency, the dependency, the secondariness, hence the emptiness of the subject's desire, even the subject's lack of desire, the lack that, paradoxically, constitutes his or her desire. Therefore, to be subjected to the other's want ultimately has the effect of signaling the seeming priority, fullness, and self-origination of this other person's desire. For this reason Girard asserts that "man... desires being, something he himself lacks and which some other person seems to possess" (146).If at first the other person models the desire that the subject lacks, it is in the logic of mimesis that the other will become a rival and, unless the rivalry is somehow interrupted or abrogated, inevitably an enemy to be destroyed. The subject will become locked into a potentially deadly game of trying to obtain the same object that the model desires, so as to experience the satisfactions—ultimately, the sense of being—that the object in question seems to provide... (shrink)

By analysing the cumulated usage of the Greek loan word daedalus in De rerum natura it can be shown that the mythological artist Daedalus functions as a poetological model for the didactic narrator. The narrator presents himself as a poet-Daedalus. As with Daedalus’ statues who were said to see and walk around like human beings, De rerum natura adds to the poetic mimesis a formal one such as to stand as a model for the nature it describes. (...) Likewise, as Daedalus’ most characteristic feature in classical literature is his astuteness the muse of poetry in De rerum natura is called callida. The craftsman’s work finally is reflected in the ordering of elements, i.e. in word order. The Epicurean position is furthermore elucidated by comparison with the Platonic view on Daedalus. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Myrmidon vs. the AbbessHow Contrasting Mechanisms to Resolve Mimetic Contagion in Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida and Comedy of Errors Stand as a Warning Against the Rejection of Christianity in Favor of Resurgent Homeric EthosBrian P. Quaranta (bio)This investigation started with a question: Why does Shakespeare hate the Iliad?The question arose after first reading Troilus and Cressida (T&C), Shakespeare's play set during the Trojan War. In his retelling, all (...) claims to glory for Homer's heroes are undermined; a world that is presented by Homer as brutal but honorable is replaced, by Shakespeare, with one that is rife with social and physical disease. As I continued to consider why Shakespeare displayed such hostility toward the Iliad, I found myself recognizing multiple, much more subtle, allusions to the Trojan War in another of his plays set in ancient Greece, The Comedy of Errors (COE). In time, it became apparent that the connection of these two plays with each other, and with the Iliad, was deliberate; through this comparison, Shakespeare rejects the Homeric ethos in favor of a Christian one. A consideration of René Girard's work on Shakespeare helps to bring home the connection between the plays and the concern that they illuminate.In his Theatre of Envy, Girard famously claimed that Shakespeare was consciously familiar with the concepts of mimetic desire and its relationship [End Page 183] to collective violence.1 He drew upon T&C and COE for examples: T&C for its explication of the importance of degree, its employment of collective murder, and the association of mimetic contagion with disease,2 and COE primarily for its emphasis on the special role of twins in mimetic theory as exemplars of identical rivals.3 Girard, I believe, is correct that Shakespeare understood the mechanisms and implications of mimetic theory, and he demonstrates how in these plays its consequences play out in a purely pagan world, and then in another in which there is a saving Christian intervention.The intellectual current of Shakespeare's time has been characterized by two primary themes: Reformation and Renaissance. The use of the word reformation, when taken on its own terms, suggests a benign and necessary process. But for an Englishman in the late 16th century, reformation also would have meant violence, displacement, fracture, war, and the disintegration of a once-unified Christendom. This crumbling of the ancient universal catholic church was accompanied by the Renaissance, a term used to refer to the rebirth of interest in, and progressive obsession with, the culture and literature of the ancient Greeks and Romans.4 My argument is that the two plays discussed here can be read as Shakespeare's response to these developments, demonstrating an anxiety over the threat of resurgent pagan values to a troubled Christianity, with T&C's ending standing as a warning of the danger of a return to the scapegoat mechanism, and COE reminding the reader of the power of the Christian alternative.The essay begins with a brief reminder of the depth of the enthusiasm for the classical era that emerged in Europe in the century leading up to, and including, the life of Shakespeare. I then detail the surprising ways in which Shakespeare thoroughly upends expectations in his retelling of the Trojan War story, discrediting the original tale. Next, the similarities of the Comedy of Errors to Troilus and Cressida, and to the Iliad, are documented. Because this area has received little previous scholarly attention, and because it is crucial to the argument, the inversions of the Trojan War in COE are meticulously detailed. Once it has been established that the two plays both respond to the Iliad, Girard's mimetic theory is brought to bear to explain the very different endings of the plays and to reveal Shakespeare's underlying concern about the Homeric ethos.THE RENAISSANCE AND SHAKESPEARE'S RESPONSE TO THE CLASSICSThe emerging triumph of the Greco-Roman pagan world over the renaissance mind, and its intrusion into the Christian realm, are evident in the development [End Page 184] of visual art in the decades preceding Shakespeare's work. Works by Michelangelo, Raphael, and Giulio Romano, depicting... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:THE PLACE OF RENE GIRARD IN CONTEMPORARY PHILOSOPHY Guy Vanheeswijck University ofAntwerp and ofLeuven Iwould like to start by quoting a text which is likely to be recognized by everyone, who is even on a superficial level familiar with the work of René Girard: Desire that bears on a natural object is only human to the extent that it is mediated by the desire of another bearing on the (...) same object: it is human to desire what others desire, because they desire it. Thus an object that is perfectly useless from a biological point of view (such as a medal, or the enemy's flag) can be desired because it is the object of other desires. Such a human desire, and human reality as it differs from animal reality, is only created by the action that satisfies such desires. Human history is the history of desires that are desired [Désirs désirés]. Undoubtedly, these could be words written by Girard. However, they are not. These words are quoted from the famous lectures given by Alexandre Kojève on Hegel's Phänomenologie des Geistes at the Ecole pratique des hautes études between 1933 and 1939. They were followed by what would become the crème ofpost-war French philosophy: Raymond Aron, Georges Bataille, Alexandre Koyré, Pierre Klossowski, Jacques Lacan, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Jean-Paul Sartre.' Kojève's interpretation ofHegel has, as generally known, become the point ofreference to the post-war twentieth ' Although Sartre himselfcould not attend the lectures (at that time he taught philosophy in Le Havre en Laon), he must have heard from it by way of Aron or Merleau-Ponty. 96Guy Vanheeswijck century philosophy in France. Before 1930 the word "dialectic" was burdened with an odium of sin, after 1930 it became a word—thanks to Kojève —radiant with prestige. Before 1930 there had been no talk of an Hegelian school whatsoever in France, after 1930 the situation changed so drastically that Merleau-Ponty was able to write these often quoted lines in 1946: Hegel is at the origin of everything that has been great in philosophy for over a century; for example Marxism, Nietzsche, phenomenology and German existentialism, psychoanalysis. He inaugurates the attempt to explore the irrational and to integrate it within a wider rationality that remains the philosophical task of our century. (Sens et non-sens 109-110) Half a century later, these words have lost their self-evident character. While the generation of French thinkers between 1930 and 1960 stresses its dependence on Hegel, the generation after 1960 heavily reacts against him. In 1970 Michel Foucault gave his inaugural speech at the Collège de France. On behalf of his generation he testified to a generalized antiHegelianism at that moment: "Our entire epoch, whether through logic or epistemology, whether through Marx or Nietzsche, seeks to evade Hegel's Imperium [échapper à Hegel] (L'Ordre du discours 74). Obviously, René Girard belongs to the second generation, which, on the one hand, embroiders on the theme ofdesire, borrowed from Kojève's interpretation ofHegel, but, on the other, in its search for answers precisely wishes to get rid of Hegel. But, is it correct to call René Girard a philosopher? His schooling was that of an historian. In 1947 he graduated in Paris as an archivistepal éographe at the Ecole de Chartres: his thesis was "La vie privée à Avignon dans la seconde moitié du XVe siècle." Three years later—in the meantime he had emigrated to the United States—he received his Ph.D. at the faculty of history of the University of Indiana. The topic of his dissertation was "American opinion ofFrance, 1940-1943." However, he has never worked as a professional historian. He owes his reputation first and foremost to his literary analyses, subsequently to his research in anthropology, finally to his exegesis ofthe Bible. Time and again, Girard has expressed his preference for literature to both humanities and philosophy. Human behavior is, in his view, much less elucidated by the conceptual structures of discursive philosophy than by the evocative force of a Greek tragedy, the Biblical passion story or a modern novel. One might retort that René Girard... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Bible, "Creation," and Mimetic TheoryLucien Scubla (bio)I would like to propose and defend three theses that are related to the main theme of creation.First thesis. Although the idea of creation ex nihilo seems to have been suggested by the Bible to some philosophers, it is not a religious theory but a philosophical one. In the book of Genesis, there is no creation in the proper sense of the (...) word.For biblical thought, as for the savage mind, the world is not created, but only put in order by gods or spirits; and, for both of them, this ordering action consists in dividing or separating1 from each other things that already existed (or were potentially present) but were mixed and confused in a primitive chaos, or linked to each other as the organs of an original sacrificial victim: the Purusha (in Vedic religion), the goddess Sedna (among the Inuit people), the larvae (in Aboriginal Australian religion), and so on.In the light of Girardian theory, this means that there are two kinds of cosmic myths: those that describe (in mythical or ritual terms, of course) the founding events starting from the apex of the undifferentiation crisis, and those starting from the killing of the surrogate victim. However, groups of people generally have both kinds of myth. The first book of Genesis belongs to the first; the creation of Eve from the body of Adam, in the second book of Genesis, belongs to the second. Ancient Greek mythology begins with Chaos, and the act of Prometheus sharing an ox with Zeus can be seen, according to Jean-Pierre Vernant, as making a permanent separation between men and gods by means of a sacrificial victim.The second kind of myths are often violent. They show, for example in Australia, the mythical ancestors, the Numbakulla, dividing the larvae with knives. The first kind of myth can take a more academic turn, as we see in 1 Genesis, which is much more civilized than Hesiodic mythology. But both follow the same pattern, going from an undifferentiated world to a more and more differentiated world. [End Page 13]If we try to distinguish the biblical myth from other myths of creation, we might be tempted to focus our attention on an obvious feature. In 1 Genesis, Yahweh appears as the principal agent, the only father of all the things and beings that he produces successively, while in Hesiodic theogony the earth and the sky, who are gods, can generate other gods, and so on. This feature may suggest that the Jewish God is properly creating the world, while Hesiodic cosmogony describes a kind of process of self-organization that, in this regard, resembles our scientific cosmology.But in fact, Yahweh is no more a creator than other gods or spirits who produce all things by dividing a victim whose organs become the various beings existing in the universe. What makes a real difference between the biblical cosmology and the others is rather the fact that, in 1 Genesis, the creating god is a transcendent god, the one true God. In Greek mythology, for example, the earth, the sky, and so on are also gods, whereas in biblical cosmology they are only natural phenomena. Here, the creator and his creatures are not at all of the same kind.In other words, biblical creation rests on an implicit, first and founding separation of God and the world, which is a model for the subsequent separations in which creation consists. By its nature, God is holy, sacred, kadosh, which means separated. And the creation is the image of its creator as soon as it is made of separated things. Here, I think, we are reaching the feature that really makes Genesis distinct from other cosmogonies. Although the biblical text does not take the idea of separation as its explicit topic, because it is not a philosophical treatise but a religious explanation of the world, this idea constitutes its main object, of which it displays the various aspects.I. SeparationAs Leo Strauss has shown, in a lecture delivered in 1957 at University College (Chicago) and published by Nicolas Ruwet in the French journal of... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:A Model for the Many Senses of ScriptureFrom the Literal to the Spiritual in Genesis 22 with Thomas AquinasChristopher S. Morrissey (bio)Introduction: Many Senses Require Many TranslationsOn the mountain the Lord appeared (NETS, Gen. 22:14b)On the mount of the LORD it shall be provided (RSV)1In the mount of the LORD it shall be seen (KJV)On the mountain the LORD will see (NAB)ἐν τῷ ὄρει κύριος ὤφθη (LXX)in monte Dominus (...) videtur (Nova Vulgata)in monte Dominus videbit (St. Jerome’s Vulgate)In his book Abraham’s Curse, Bruce Chilton argues that in Gen. 22:14b, “the Septuagint’s Greek renders the Hebrew text” correctly (i.e., “with Yahweh as the subject of the verb”), whereas English translations like the King James Version (KJV) prefer to imply that the ram is the verbal subject. Chilton contends that “This is a case of translators caring more about doctrine than wording, and attempting to legislate what the Bible can say.”2Chilton’s textual exegesis does have some value. He notes that “Contextually [End Page 231] as well as grammatically, God is the subject: Yahweh ‘was seen’ on Moriah, liberating Isaac by means of divine intervention.”3 But with his polemics against the KJV, he fails to affirm the rich polysemy of the passage. He replaces one literal reading with another and then argues as if the two are at odds. But Scripture has many senses, a truth famously expressed in the medieval distich of Augustine of Dacia, best known in the version of Nicholas of Lyra: “The literal sense teaches what happened; what you believe, the allegorical; the moral, what you should do; where you are going, the anagogical.”4 Therefore Chilton is wrong to impute bad motives to anyone who would attempt to unfold the spiritual sense of a passage (“caring more about doctrine”), or even to anyone who would note that a passage has more than one literal meaning.Chilton’s own insistence on uncovering the univocal original meaning of a passage (through his preferred historical method of “generative exegesis”)5 is excessively literal, as if recourse to grammar would allow one “to legislate what the Bible can say.” When Chilton says “Yahweh ‘was seen’ on Moriah,” he is not contending that God was seen directly, literally, but rather interpreting the metaphorical or parabolical sense of the phrase “Yahweh was seen” (in Gen. 22:14b), because he glosses the meaning of the metaphor as “liberating Isaac by means of divine intervention”;6 that is, God is seen indirectly, cognitively, rather than literally with the eyes. Because literally seeing a ram is not opposed to cognitively understanding God’s action, the KJV, pace Chilton, can be defended contextually. To my mind, the Revised Standard Version (RSV), echoing the KJV, does the best job of rendering the Hebrew text literally, with “On the mount of the lord it shall be provided,” because this leaves open the many senses of the third person singular “it,” to be unfolded by exegesis. Thus more than one translation is required in order to appreciate all the significations being deployed in the treatment of “seeing” in Gen. 22:8 and 22:14. “It shall be provided”: More than one univocal sense of the “it” has to be uncovered by exegesis in this Scripture, in order to see what “it” is all about.To justify my opinion that the RSV most felicitously translates the Hebrew, I would like to prepare the way to a conclusion in which I compare the Septuagint’s translation (which follows Chilton’s preferred rendering of the context) with the Vulgate Latin translations. The path toward this conclusion will show that Chilton’s polemics, indicative of an exegetical attitude that is hostile to an appreciation of the many senses of Scripture, fail to see how the RSV translation is also defensible as keeping the reader’s mind open to the many senses of the Scriptural passage. But first things first. With the help of St. Thomas Aquinas, let me distinguish the various senses of Scripture and then point out how they are all exemplified here, all being signified by the text. [End Page 232] Click for larger view View... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:FROM SACRIFICIAL VIOLENCE TO RESPONSIBILITY: THE EDUCATION OF MOSES IN EXODUS 2-4 Sandor Goodhart Purdue University When toward the end of his life Moses tried to stave off death, God said to him: "Did I tell you to slay the Egyptian?" (Midrash in Plaut 383) I. Education in Plato and Judaism The word "education", of course, comes from the Latin, educare, meaning "to lead out" or "to bring (...) up," and both its Latinate morphology and the semantic value it assumes in English reflect its peculiar history. To "lead out" implies in the first place leadership, which is to say a relationship between one designated as a "leader" and another (or others) designated as the "led." The notion of leadership also entails a movement through which the leader propels the led, namely from a region designated as "inside," to another designated as "outside." Within the Western context, which is to say, within the Western European historical experience which traces itselfback through the romance language speaking countries to Rome and ultimately to Greece, the primary articulator ofthe notion of education we have inherited is, of course, Plato. Although Plato's Republic is nominally about justice, and even more specifically the "just" state, commentators have long pointed out that it is really about education (see, for example, Havelock). How shall the guardians ofthe state that we shall term "just" be educated?, Plato's interlocutors ask themselves. In this regard, of course, Plato was challenging the educational system already in place at the time at the head of which was Homer and the Homeric epics, and substituting for an older oral culture founded on an elaborate system of mnemonics another founded more decisively upon writing and the alphabet. Some have argued that in place of a aural or Sandor Goodhart1 3 hearing-centered culture Plato was inaugurating a visual or video-centric cultural organization, and much work is currently being done in this area (see, for example, Ong). What was Plato's educational solution? It was an appeal, in short, to the true, to the language of reason, and to the realm of the ontological as the context in which the true could be defined. The true, as the phenomenological tradition has taught us, may be regarded as the separation of that which has being from that which does not have being, that which only appears or seems to be from that which truly is. Reason in this context is the method or modality ofthinking by which such difference or distinction between the true and the false becomes articulated. Education may then be said to be the process by which all of this occurs, by which one learns to separate appearances from reality, the true from the false, the reasonable from the unreasonable, and thereby the process by which one avoids slavery. For at bottom the enemy for Plato remains slavery and the goal remains freedom from its ravages. Plato, for one, defines his program in specific opposition to Greek tragedy, which he takes among the species ofmimesis or of mimetic poesis that he cites to be the worst threat to his program of absolute difference. The tragic poets leave us without an antidote, he tells us, to its irresistible seductions. Even the best of us—by which he would certainly include Socrates, who has been educating these young men about the processes of education—go to the theater, follow the theatrical performance with enthusiasm, beat their breasts along with the players, and finally praise as most worthy those playwrights who most enable this enthusiasm to take place. The distinction between the true and the mimetic, between the true and the imitational or representational, between that which has being and that which only shadows being, is always on the verge of collapsing in this context. And as a consequence the only safe state, Plato tells us, is the one that excludes theatrical performance from its premises. There is no place in the present context to develop any further the complicated relationship Plato has with his predecessors, and I have hinted at this relationship elsewhere (see Goodhart 261). Suffice it to say that Plato remains in this regard the master in Western circles ofall... (shrink)

On the evening of May 2, 2011, President Obama announced that Osama bin Laden had been killed in Abbottabad, Pakistan, during a secret special mission carried out by a team of American Navy Seals. In his declaration he said, while talking especially to the families of the victims of the 9/11 terrorist attack on the twin towers, that “Justice has been done.” The next morning the New York Post headline read “Osama bin Laden Dead: Got Him, Vengeance at Last! The (...) U.S. Nails the Bastard.” So was this vengeance or was it justice? Or was it perhaps both, or neither? The Greeks had (at least) two words and two goddesses for justice: dike (Dike) and themis. Themis is the justice of the household, of the immediate .. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:RESPONSE TO QAMAR-UL HUDA Robert Hamerton-Kelly Stanford University Qamar and I communicated by email. The text of my response is basically what I sent him by email. Dear Qamar: Thanks for your greeting. I have read your paper with interest and learned from it. Here is a brief account of what I plan to say. My response will be chiefly from the point of view of the mimetic theory (...) which holds that religion in its human, pagan, unrevealed form is a structure of sacred violence that lives by scapegoating and sacrifice and generates culture out ofthe victim by means of, firstly ritual, the repetition of the first murder as sacrifice, secondly prohibition, religious law that enforces differentiation, and thus prevents the crisis of undifferentiation, that is the precursor of surrogate victimage and thirdly myth, the account of the originary violence told from the point of views of the perpetrators, coverup for their violence. Islam's monotheism is a powerful antidote to this pagan sacred, indeed, in terms ofmimetic theory, all the great religions are more or less in reaction against the pagan sacred, against generative violence; and one ofthe marks oftheir greatness resides in the candor with which they address the problem of the residual sacred violence in themselves. This was my problem with Rabbi Kimelman's presentation yesterday, and I confess it is my problem with your presentation. In this regard Iconsider the Buddhistcontribution to this symposiumto be the best of the lot, precisely because it is so candid about the residue of sacred 100Robert Hamerton-Kelly violence in this truly great religion. I think that the presentation on Christianity too was, in this regard, candid. Islam's monotheism is a powerful antidote to this pagan sacred, and I want to drawjust for a minute on that. As you yourself mentioned, the rise ofIslamwas aconflictual phenomenon within thepagan diversity ofArabia in the sixth century. Andthat itselfis disclosive oftherelationshipbetween this emerging monotheism and the residual pagan sacred. Now, you understand, that in terms of mimetic theory, the god is the transfigured victim. So the god is essentially a center of violence. And the emergence of monotheism emerges as a critique of the pagan sacred, the transfigured victim. Now here are some indications in the biblical tradition that illustrate this that I find are quite interesting. You recall that monotheism in the Bible first emerges in the texts of Second Isaiah, Deutero Isaiah. Where the Israelite—in this case Jewish—experience of exile leads the prophet to perceive that God is not just the God of Israel—that is, it's not just henotheism—but is the God of all the world, and that he can indeed work through Cyrus, King ofthe Medes and Persians. It is surely significant that monotheism emerges in the very same text in which the figure of the Suffering Servant of Yahweh appears. It seems as if the emergence of monotheism goes along with the emerging recognition that the victim is innocent. That, ifyou like, is the demythologization ofthe sacred victim of the pagan divinity. I refer you now, secondly, to the ten commandments, the ten words of Moses from Sinai in Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 6. As we discussed in our seminar at Stanford and as René has made clear in his most recent book (ISee Satan Falling likeLightening ), the tenth commandment,"Thou shalt not covet" is indeed a prohibition on mimetic desire. This is what the Apostle Paul understood when he picked up in a book epithumesis—in Greek: "you shall not desire." By the way thuo, the root thu in Greek is the root for sacrifice. So epithumia/desire, is etymologically in Greek linked to sacrifice. "You shall not desire" is a prohibition on sacred violence. That's the last commandment and, I take it as an important summary of the previous nine commandments. What I have not seen generally appreciated is that the first commandment is a prohibition on idolatry. It is in fact the establishment of the absolute monotheism. So it is as if the ten commandments are bracketed by two stridently mimetic antimimetic injunctions: theinjunction on idolatry and the injunction on mimetic desire. And I think you can... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Suffering, Victims, and Poetic Inspiration Raymund Schwager University ofInnsbruck Poetic inspiration has something to do with the divine. The Greek tragedies are classic examples of that. The poets regarded themselves as inspired by the divine Muses, and in their works the gods are quite naturally present in the lives of human beings. Sometimes the gods treat them in a friendly way, sometimes they spur on conflicts or even (...) inspire human beings to take revenge upon one another. At the end of some tragedies the gods appear as a deus ex machina who brings everything to resolution, or at least pretends to do so. Nevertheless, it is not these various gods, but rather human beings themselves, suffering human beings more precisely, who are at the center of this dramatic event inspired by the divine Muses. Human beings suffer because they come into conflict with each other and fall victim to the vengeful and violent acts of others. In the Greek tragedies human beings do not act in a calm and sensible way. Rather, they are in bondage to their passions, and through these passions the gods speak to them. While performing a sacrifice of purification and thanksgiving, Heracles flies into a rage inspired by several of the goddesses and slaughters his own children. In a Dionysian frenzy Agaue and her companions tear apart her own son. Orestes, believing himself to be obeying a command of Apollo, kills his mother, who had committed adultery and murdered her own husband. And above all, the great, genocidal war of Troy did not so much originate in the longing of Paris for Helen, as in a dispute between the gods. In every respect human beings seem to be more the victims of the gods than themselves wicked persons who commit evil deeds—and they are above all the ones who suffer the most. Helen, the "cause" of the massive slaughter of the Trojan war, is exclusively depicted by Euripides in the role of one who suffers greatly, indeed even beyond the bounds ofhuman endurance. Even Medea, who goes so far as to kill her own children, is not 64Raymund Schwager depicted by the same poet as a moral monster, but as a woman overwhelmed by boundless grief. The gods thus appear in a somewhat murky light: they are indispensable to the poets' purpose yet at the same time severely criticized. For Euripides they are often much worse than human beings. In his Heracles, he goes so far in his irony as to depict the goddess of vengeance herself criticizing Hera, who makes Heracles suffer in order to quench her thirst for revenge which was caused by the unfaithfulness of her husband Zeus. Euripides considers all these stories of gods to be humanly-contrived fables. Nevertheless, he also believes that there can be no drama without the gods. How could the mysterious depths of human passions be understood without the gods? If the poet had no one to indict except other human beings, his works would quickly become nothing but tepid moral tracts. The gods are indispensable and yet they must be criticized: the poetic inspiration in the Greek tragedies thrives on ambiguity. Suffering humanity is confronted with an incomprehensible fate which only the poet's ambiguous parables and images are able to depict. The great suffering figures in the tragedies of Euripides find their echo in another tradition's suffering figure, whose fate is also depicted in poetic words. A suffering figure who also both listens to and argues with his God: Job. A misfortune has befallen Job, which he simply cannot understand. And while even his alleged friends torment him, he suffers even more from his God. Job feels persecuted by God, tormented and driven to despair. Job would like to argue with God and even take him to court. But he cannot do so. He experiences God as an invisible enemy who is present everywhere. Nevertheless, he turns to this same God in his deepest distress and is confident of finding a savior in him. The God of Job is contradictory: this is a God on whom Job can rely but with whom he must also struggle. However, it is just this contradiction... (shrink)