This fourth volume of the Correspondance générale contains 368 letters written during the period of the Consulat when, as a member of the Tribunat until January 1802, Constant acquired a reputation as a brilliant orator and outspoken opponent of Bonaparte. It was also a period when he produced a number of manuscripts on politics and religion on which he would base works published between 1814 and 1830. The correspondence also contains letters of compelling human interest to and from Julie (...) Talma and an extraordinary epistolary exchange with Anna Lindsay, with whom Constant fell in love in 1800. (shrink)

For all its celebrity, Thucydides' Funeral Speech remains an enigma. ‘Unquantifiably authentic’ is how one scholar describes it, and the description betrays a measure of despair. We feel that the speech is authentic in some sense of the word. To some degree it corresponds to what Pericles actually said in the winter of 431/30 BC, but the degree of correspondence is a mystery. All agree that Thucydides framed the speech in his own words and integrated it with his historical (...) narrative, so as to recall and answer Archidamus' encomium of Sparta in Book I. It also anticipates the forthcoming description of the plague with mordant, subtle allusions. (shrink)

This article offers a structural analysis of Cicero's Orator, sections 140–8. Situating Cicero's defence of a form of educational activity in relation to his earlier denials that he is teaching anything, the article proposes an explanation for Cicero's apparent reversal of position rooted in status theory, the conceptual framework developed by Greek and Roman rhetorical theorists for schematizing the points at issue in a case and the corresponding lines of approach that a defender should take. Understanding the status-inspired organization of (...) Cicero's self-defence affords readers smoother passage through a text that is often difficult and obscure. Furthermore, this analysis shows how Cicero deploys rhetorical techniques in defence of his educational endeavours both to support his claim to continued relevance and to exemplify the versatility of the ideal orator whom he portrays in the Orator. (shrink)

Qu’est-ce qui fait qu’un discours atteint son effet? Comment évaluer celui-ci? Au premier siècle, Pseudo-Longin compose le traité Du Sublime et y étudie ce qui mène l’expression linguistique à son plus haut degré d’efficacité. Pour l’atteindre, un rôle fondamental est attribué à la phantasia, assimilée par la plupart des auteurs anciens à ce qui, dans le discours, produit des « images ». Le texte qui suit s’arrête à démontrer, d’une part, la place occupée par Pseudo-Longin dans le long débat philosophique (...) et rhétorique sur la phantasia et, d’autre part, sa contribution à la compréhension de celle-ci. Associée par métonymie à la vision, la phantasia s’adresse à l’ensemble des sensations et correspond à l’art de faire sentir le discours en chair propre. Réussie, elle permet la communication des sensations entre le discours, l’orateur et le public. (shrink)

This new edition brings Farquharson's authoritative 1944 translation up to date and includes a helpful introduction and notes for the student and general reader. Rutherford includes a selection of letters from Marcus to his tutor Fronto--most of which date from his earlier years--that offer personal detail and help to fill out the somber portrait of the emperor that is found in the Meditations.

This new edition brings Farquharson's authoritative 1944 translation up to date and includes a helpful introduction and notes for the student and general reader. Rutherford includes a selection of letters from Marcus to his tutor Fronto--most of which date from his earlier years--that offer personal detail and help to fill out the somber portrait of the emperor that is found in the Meditations.

A personal account of a great Roman Emperor's life lessons.

Cicero could both orate and write a treatise on oratory. A dog can bark but he can’t write a tract on barking. If all typically symbol-using animals were suddenly obliterated, their realm of symbolic action would be correspondingly obliterated. The earth would be but a realm of planetary, geologic, meteorological motion, including the motions of whatever nonhuman biological organisms happened to survive. The realm of nonsymbolic motion needs no realm of symbolic action; but there could be no symbolic action unless (...) grounded in the realm of motion, the realm of motion having preceded the emergence of our symbol-using ancestors; and doubtless the time will come when motions go on after all our breed will have vanished. Kenneth Burke is now developing the implications of the position stated in the present essay. He is also editing his Symbolic of Motives, a work designed to complement his Grammar of Motives and Rhetoric of Motives. His contributions to Critical Inquiry are "In Response to Booth: Dancing with Tears in my Eyes" , "Post-Poesque Derivation of a Terministic Cluster" , "A Critical Load, Beyond that Door; or, Before the Ultimate Confrontation; or, When Thinking of Deconstructionist Structuralists; or, A Hermeneutic Fantasy" , and "Methodological Repression and/or Strategies of Containment" . The first section of " Motion/ Action" was presented at a symposium at New York University in May 1976 and will appear in a slightly altered version in the report of those proceedings, Psychoanalysis, Criticism, and Creativity: A French-American Dialogue. (shrink)

In his oration Against Ctesiphon, Aeschines mentions the power his rival Demosthenes had during his term as treasurer of the theoric fund (ἐπὶ τὸ θεωρικόν). Many modern assumptions about the function of the Athenian financial administration and politics between the end of the Social War (357-355 BC) and the early 330’s BC are based on Aischin. Ctes. 25. This article argues for taking into account an emendation brought forward by the early 19 th century British scholar Peter Paul Dobree. His (...) suggestions, as will be shown, correspond better to the rhetorical structure of Aeschines’ argument than the prevailing reading and change the interpretation of the treasurers’ responsibilities. (shrink)

This paper proposes a new synthetic account of the presence of Cicero as both character and source in Lucan's Bellum Ciuile. Lucan's treatment is derived primarily from Virgil's technique for creating intertextually complex characters, but further builds on Sallust's displacement of Cicero in his narrative of the Catilinarian conspiracy and on the declamatory practice of reducing the orator to a few prominent and recognizable traits. Cicero the character, as he briefly appears at the opening of the seventh book, is not (...) simply an ahistorical caricature: he is constructed through a careful series of allusions designed to indict his use of violence in the suppression of Catiline. Other prominent aspects of Cicero in the tradition are displaced and transferred to other characters more important to Lucan's design, Cato and Pompey. Lucan's depiction of Pompey, especially his death and decapitation, draws on the language and affect of the tradition associated with Cicero, using Cicero's own words and the obituary of Cicero in the lost historical epic of Cornelius Severus. Finally, the language of Cicero's peace-making efforts in his correspondence, suppressed in Lucan's depiction of him as a warmonger, forms an important part of the narrator's own emotional evocations of the impending catastrophe of civil war. The combination of models Lucan uses is more broadly reflective of his technique in composing a historical epic. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Rhetoric and AngerKenneth S. Zagacki and Patrick A. Boleyn-FitzgeraldSince most believe anger can be either good or bad, rhetors face a moral problem of determining when anger is appropriate and when it is not. They face a corresponding rhetorical problem in deciding when and how to express anger and determining the role that it might play in public discourse, with specific audiences and in particular rhetorical situations. Rhetorical scholars (...) have catalogued whole genres of angry rhetoric—apocalyptic genres, jeremiads, the demonizing rhetoric of religious and political leaders—wherein the rhetorical display of anger is explained in terms of situational conventions and cultural norms.1 Yet these scholars have not easily resolved the moral problems associated with angry rhetoric. Aristotle suggested the earliest and most obvious solutions to these problems. In the Nicomachean Ethics, he outlines a typology for discerning the moral limits of anger and, by implication, angry rhetoric. And in Book II of the Rhetoric he asserts that the orator needs to know the structure of emotions like anger and how to intensify and dissipate them. Or, in other words, the orator must know how to make it reasonable to be angry. Some contemporary philosophers have gone further, suggesting that a failure to feel and express anger in public betrays an insufficient concern for justice and self respect.In this essay, we follow Aristotle in arguing that anger is sometimes the emotion we expect people to feel or the rhetorical response we expect them to display and evoke in others. But we also challenge part of Aristotle's argument by asking: "Even when angry rhetoric would appear to be a reasonable, morally appropriate response, is there a way in which rhetors might manage anger in their public discourse in order to achieve ends which are both morally and pragmatically productive?" The answer, we propose, lies in what we call "non-angry" rhetoric, which involves transforming and reflecting upon anger in public discourse. Because such rhetoric often promotes noble ends such as reconciliation and forgiveness, it is at least morally permissible and more likely morally virtuous.2 In order to establish these claims, our analysis focuses on the case of Nelson Mandela and his "Address to the Interfaith Commissioning Service for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission."3 In this speech, Mandela, as our [End Page 290] analysis demonstrates, managed anger and turned it into an object of reflection, thereby illustrating what opportunities for reconciliation and democratic deliberation would look like during the difficult period attending the political transition in South Africa in general and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) hearings in particular. His "Address" exemplified a unique moment when the rhetoric and the ethics of anger came together in a public performance. While acknowledging the understandable anger of blacks, Mandela (who may in fact have harbored considerable anger himself) simultaneously suggested that by engendering a less hostile social-political context, in which participants maintained their self-respect without necessarily sacrificing justice, a new democratic community could emerge. This would be a community where, as he described it, individuals began to reconcile with and no longer persecute one another. As Aristotle might explain, the purpose of Mandela's speech was to manage the anger of blacks, so that they would then be able to deliberate properly about the issues before the TRC and about the larger democratic transition. As the philosopher Eugene Garver says, the particular passions Aristotle chooses to explore in the Rhetoric serve a role necessary for the kind of public, political decision making he assigns to rhetoric. These emotions serve to integrate—or segregate, as the case may be—"distinct individuals into a deliberative or judging body, or demos" (1994, 131).What we are recommending, then, is that rhetoric encompasses both considerations of moral desert as well as broader moral concerns. While there are times when individuals seem to deserve our angry rhetoric, it may not be justified from a broader moral perspective, especially when the goal is the good of the state or the community—viz., if angry rhetoric leads to the violent dissolution of democratic community. Ultimately, we argue that the moral constitution of political, deliberative communities must be viewed in terms... (shrink)

Arabic was among the sciences that were widely taught along with religious sciences for reasons such as the fact that the basic sources of religion were in Arabic, the need to teach the language to non-Arabs in parallel with the expansion of borders, the spread of errors (lahn) in the language, Arabic being the dominant language in official correspondence and its use as a language of science. To ensure a better understanding of religious texts, to present the lessons clearly (...) and comprehensibly, to be a qualified preacher and orator, to bring evidence and justify ideas, and to be successful in debate and jadal also required a good command of Arabic. These reasons and needs paved the way for the formation and teaching of nahw as a branch of science; its teaching took place in places such as bādiye (desert), kuttāb, houses, masjids, mosques, bookstores, libraries, government offices, and madrasas. This study deals with the teaching of Arabic from the perspective of madrasas and focuses on the teaching of literary sciences in general, and the teaching of grammar in particular, by focusing on the Nizāmiyyah and Mustansiriyyah Madrasas. The aim of this study is to reveal that the Arabic language was taught in these madrasas both as preparation and support for religious sciences and as a separate field. In this context, the study aims to reveal in which centers the Arabic language was taught before the establishment of madrasas and how it continued. Nizāmiyyah Madrasas are the general name of the madrasas founded in Baghdad, the first of which was in Nîsâbûr, in 449-450/1057-1058 by the Great Seljuk vizier Nizāmulmulk (d. 485/1092). And the Mustansiriyya Madrasah was built between 625/1227-28 and 631/1233-34 by Abu Ca‘far Mansûr Mustansır-Billah (623-640/1212-1242), one of the caliphs of the Abbasid State (750-1258). In these madrasas, especially in the Nizāmiyyah Madrasas, religious sciences (such as Shāfi’ī jurisprudence, hadīth, Qur’ān and tafsīr), and among these, especially the sciences of fiqh (furu', usūl, ferā'īz, madhhab, and hilāf) were taught. Although in these madrasas did not have an independent nahw chair or a department devoted to nahw, it is understood from the sources that courses on nahw were given due to the need for it. However, it is understood from the sources that nahw was also taught in these madrasas. In fact, the endowment of the Baghdad Nizāmiyyah Madrasah clearly states that a teacher of grammar (nahw) will be hired for the teaching of grammar, and moreover, there are considerable scholars of grammar among the mudarris working here. It is also understood from the biographies of the students who studied in madrasas that the science of nahw was taught. However, it should be noted that these madrasas did not have an independent nahw chair or a department for nahw. Since the research focuses on a historical issue, it was handled with the technique of analyzing written documents. Accordingly, the data were obtained primarily from the main sources related to the period/madrasas; current research was also utilized, especially in the interpretation, comparison, inference, and justification of claims. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Renaissance Crisis of ExemplarityFrançois Rigolot“Every example is lame” (Tout exemple cloche), acknowledged Montaigne in the last chapter of his Essais. 1 Was this the moaning of a lone, disillusioned skeptic or the idiosyncratic formulation of a widely shared attitude of mistrust at the end of the sixteenth century? To answer this question one must first examine the epistemological status of examples at the end of the period we (...) still conventionally call the “Renaissance”; and this is the purpose of this group of papers. 2In his work on the notion of exemplum in early modern France and Italy John D. Lyons helped restore the concept of exemplarity to its central place in the history of rhetoric. 3 From Aristotle’s paradeigmata—simple case stories at the orator’s disposal (Rhetoric 1.2. 1356b)—to Montaigne’s “lame” exemples—contingent instances unfit for demonstrative purposes (Essais III, 13, 1070)—the rhetorical impulse has followed strangely circuitous ways. Part of the confusion is probably due to the transformation of technical language under the pressure of common usage. Throughout the early modern period, while the Latin word exemplum continued to refer to rhetorical practice (an illustrative anecdote with a moral point), its vernacular derivatives (esempio, ejemplo, exemple, etc.) generally had a broader, looser, and less didactic meaning, as the emphasis was displaced to the “narrative” aspect of instances, regardless of their intentionality. In other words, although examples were often used to illustrate a didactic point, they differed from exempla inasmuch as they were not always meant to serve a demonstrative purpose.Of course, to the extent that choosing an example necessarily involves some form of selective process from a larger quantity of material, every instance is [End Page 557] bound to entertain a metonymic relation with a greater whole. But, etymologically, an example (essample, in Old French spelling) is a sample, one thing merely alleged to resemble another one, not a demonstrative tool. Yet in his Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues (London, 1611), Randle Cotgrave gave polysemous English equivalents for exemple and exemplaire:Exemple: 1) An example, sample, patterne, or president [sic] to follow; 2) a copie, or counterpane of a writing; 3) one thing alledged to prove, or inforce another that resembles it.Exemplaire: 1) A patterne, sample, or sampler; 2) an example, president [sic] or precedent, for others to follow, or to take heed by; 3) also, the copie, or counterpane of a writing. 4There is an odd mixture of demonstrative and non-demonstrative connotations. The two seemingly interchangeable words receive tripartite definitions, with the three meanings of exemple corresponding to the three of exemplaire.In Renaissance humanistic oratory the evocation of examples was often a simple matter of style. For better elocutory purposes public speakers were encouraged to use graphic case stories to make their speeches more appealing and enjoyable, but orators also used what they called exemplars (Latin exemplaria) to provide their audience with models of conduct to imitate. Worthiness was the ultimate criterion for exemplarity. Cato and Socrates were living symbols of moral determination and courage. They became powerful exemplars of ancient “virtue,” or moral fortitude (Latin virtus; Italian virtù). In the selective process of arguments (inventio), they were chosen because they exemplified a specific attitude or line of conduct: they were, by definition, exemplary examples. 5In the Renaissance the uplifting reading of ancient exemplars was closely related to the doctrine of imitatio, the sacrosanct recourse to inherited cultural models. At the same time the appeal of mimesis, characterized by the actual experience of the real world in reaction to scholastic insularity, greatly problematized the reception of ancient models. Whereas a long-held reverence for the imitative power of traditional exempla offered compelling patterns of moral conduct, the new attractiveness of a more “natural” mimetic discourse [End Page 558] tended to turn the study of models away from duplication. 6 In the face of the inexhaustible diversity and unpredictability of human actions, how can we choose a proper model after which to pattern our own behavior? This is one of the many questions raised by the humanist’s disenchantment with imitative symbols of moral conduct.In recent years the concept... (shrink)

The only explicit indication in the text of Ammianus Marcellinus as to the historian's origin comes in the famous epilogue to the Res Gestae, that he had written ‘as once a soldier, and a Greek’ , supported by various passages in which he refers to the Greek language as his own. The evidence that, through the length and breadth of the Greek-speaking world, we should look to Syrian Antioch for his place of origin, is provided by the orator of that (...) city, Libanius, in a letter written late in 392 ‘to Marcellinus’. The purpose of this article is to set out explicitly the arguments for the identification of Libanius' correspondent as Ammianus Marcellinus in the light of the recent challenges to the accepted view offered by G. W. Bowersock, C. W. Fornara, and T. D. Barnes. Since the discussion requires that the letter be considered in detail, it is given here, in Foerster's Teubner text followed by a translation of Libanius' often very allusive language. (shrink)

Nearly a century ago, Friedrich Leo argued with his characteristic acumen that the neo-Ciceronian style of Tacitus'Dialogus de oratoribuswas as much a function of its genre as its subject. ‘The genre’, he observed, ‘demands its style. One who deals with different genres must write in different styles.’ Alfred Gudeman, the target of Leo's review, had therefore missed a key step in the argument for Tacitean authorship when he invoked ‘the influence of subject-matter’ without considering the demands of genre. In hindsight, (...) the point seems almost obvious, and the sophistication of recent work on the date and style of theDialogushas left Gudeman's discussion far behind. The advance in method—if not necessarily in results—has been profound. Leo's success in linking genre and style, however, has also had a second, less happy result: it has encouraged belief in a corresponding link between genre and content, as if Tacitus necessarily embraced Ciceronian values along with his Ciceronian forms. TheDialogusis often thought to accept Cicero's aesthetic agenda and to examine why the orators of succeeding generations failed to maintain its ideals and standards. Perhaps inevitably, its analysis is then read as a rather depressing tale of oratory's literary, social, and moral decline. This view demands reconsideration. To explore, as theDialoguscertainly does, the collapse of Ciceronian values is not necessarily to regret that collapse. We have, I think, too often read our own prejudices into theDialogusby presuming a post-Augustan decline in oratorical standards and, in the process, reducing our sensitivity to important variations in and departures from the generic conventions that Tacitus so deliberately recalls. The result is a significant distortion of theDialogus' view of oratory under the empire. (shrink)

The only explicit indication in the text of Ammianus Marcellinus as to the historian's origin comes in the famous epilogue to the Res Gestae, that he had written ‘as once a soldier, and a Greek’, supported by various passages in which he refers to the Greek language as his own. The evidence that, through the length and breadth of the Greek-speaking world, we should look to Syrian Antioch for his place of origin, is provided by the orator of that city, (...) Libanius, in a letter written late in 392 ‘to Marcellinus’. The purpose of this article is to set out explicitly the arguments for the identification of Libanius' correspondent as Ammianus Marcellinus in the light of the recent challenges to the accepted view offered by G. W. Bowersock, C. W. Fornara, and T. D. Barnes. Since the discussion requires that the letter be considered in detail, it is given here, in Foerster's Teubner text followed by a translation of Libanius' often very allusive language. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 27.2 (2003) 415-427 [Access article in PDF] Wisdom, Wine, and Wonder-Lust in Plato's Symposium M. Andrew Holowchak PLATO EMPLOYS A VARIETY of literary and philosophical tools in Symposium to show how eroticism, properly understood, is linked to the good life. These have been a matter of great debate among scholars. Cornford, for instance, argues that Symposium must be read along with Republic, in that the latter (...) examines mostly the lower education of gymnastics and music (the "lesser mysteries"), while the former elucidates principally the higher education of philosophers (the "greater mysteries"). 1 Thus, stylistic differences correspond to differences in philosophical aims between the two works. Neumann says that Diotima's teaching is essentially sophistic. Eros by nature aims at the good without the "guidance of reason," which subserves eros. There is no need of conceptual oneness with the good as an independent formal entity, for the aim is reproduction is "always the particular good of a particular being." 2 Dover states that Symposium presents a consilience of reason and desire, which then continually reinforce each other, through a quest for good, which, if reached, is a fusion of reason and desire. Eros, then, is the cosmic force that "propels us on that road." 3 Bretlinger says that the eulogies of Symposium proceed in the manner of the Dionysian cycle of birth, struggle, death, and rebirth. 4 Markus maintains that the confusion of philosophical and literary exposition [End Page 415] and aim is a result of Plato insisting on a philosophy of love, based on eros, that greatly transcends eros in interest and scope. 5 Socrates' own perplexity in the dialogue as well as his insistence that he knows what he is talking about are perfect illustrations of a dialectical growth that eventually even transcends language. In short, the literary style mimics the philosophical maturation and understanding of Socrates' transcendent path. Thus, scholars themselves are far from general consensus on just what Plato was trying to do in this work.This difficulty is compounded by there being, as Dover observes, "so much unjustified and implausible assertion and so little rigorous argument." 6 These are reasons enough why many philosophers neglect the work. The problem is that in Symposium the rich philosophy of love that Plato expounds is nearly eclipsed by his multifold array and skillful use of literary tools. This makes bringing to light the philosophical merits of the work a much more difficult task than with other works. In consequence, a precise articulation of Plato's own thoughts on love seems an impossible task, or nearly so.In this article, I argue that Plato's philosophy of love unfolds primarily, though not exclusively, through his exposition of two sets of erotic contrasts: one concerning the proper method of eulogizing (rhetoric versus Socratic dialectic, Socratic dialectic versus "Platonic" eroticism); another concerning character (Socrates versus Alcibiades). If so, then Symposium distinguishes itself from the ethically driven, "Socratic" dialogues of Platoin two ways. First, not only does Plato in Symposium appeal to a much broader spectrum of philosophical interests, he also gives a non-dialectical account of love that is passed on to the symposiasts through Socrates qua "pupil" (and messenger) of the priestess Diotima. Second, in Symposium, Plato uses Socrates the man, not Socrates the dialectician, as a model of excellence of character in order to illustrate the very ideals sketched within the work. I A correlate of my thesis is that Symposium itself reads like an act of copulation that climaxes both in literary and philosophical senses. On the one hand, Plato artfully builds sexual tension through the story line. First, Socrates delays in seeing the Lenaian victor Agathon by one day. This lends itself to erotic frustration both in the obvious sense of Socrates not being able to see the handsome young orator immediately after his success and in terms of Socrates having to put off practice of [End Page 416] his true love—philosophy. Second, when he does go to see Agathon, Socrates' preparation is uncommon: he bathes and even puts on sandals. 7 Furthermore... (shrink)

Many scholars have sought to understand renaissance culture in terms of self-fashioning, a concept that sees the sixteenth-century preoccupation with imitation and performance as symptoms of a desire to conform outwardly to social expectations. Historians of Tudor England and biographers of Thomas More, influenced by this concept, have despaired of discovering the “true” Thomas More behind a bewildering array of self-fashioned masks that More “wore” as both an author and public figure. Recent scholarship seeks to show the coherence of More's (...) character, despite the fact that his life and writings do not fit neatly into contemporary scholarly categories. Understanding More as a “Christian Humanist” and focusing on More's intervention in a controversy between his friends Erasmus and Dorp, this study positions More as engaging in typological emulation, whereby in imitating the correspondence of Jerome and Augustine, he seeks to embody more perfectly the ideal of the Christian orator. (shrink)

continent. 1.1 (2011): 27-32. “My”—what does this word designate? Not what belongs to me, but what I belong to,what contains my whole being, which is mine insofar as I belong to it. Søren Kierkegaard. The Seducer’s Diary . I can’t sleep till I devour you / And I’ll love you, if you let me… Marilyn Manson “Devour” The role of poetry in the relationalities between people has a long history—from epic poetry recounting tales of yore; to emotive lyric poetry; to (...) rude, irreverent limericks; to Hallmark cards which have ditties that allow one to cringe, and somehow fall in love at the same moment. Without going into a notion of aesthetics, or attempting to choose which form of poetry is superior, we might want to consider why the form of poetry itself has long been a part of relationality. And whilst doing so, we might always keep in mind that poetry—especially poetry that moves, transports us—is the form that Plato has been warning us about, particularly if we want to become good citizens.As Avital Ronell teaches us in Stupidity : the poet, irremediably split between exaltation and vulgarity, between the autonomy that produces the concept within intuition and the foolish earthly being, functions as a contaminant for philosophy—a being who at least since Plato, has been trying to read and master an eviction notice served by philosophy. The poet as genius continues to threaten and fascinate, menacing the philosopher with the beyond of knowledge. Philosophy cringes (287). And considering that the philosopher is the lover of wisdom, we might begin to ask ourselves why one lover is warning against another—if the philosopher is in love with wisdom, then is the poet perhaps his rival, his challenger, for that very love? For, one must also remember that Plato—through Socrates—mentions constantly that Homer is his favourite. Moreover, by adopting both his own voice, whilst mixing it with Socrates’, Plato is adopting the form of poetry that he warns most about—the warning almost serves more as a homage to poetry than anything else. Here, we might open the register that one of the main reasons that he ejects a particular kind of poet is on the grounds of effecting effeminacy on the populace—good poetry moves you, affects you, transports you, shifts you beyond reason, puts you “out of your mind.” However, Plato also teaches us that rhetoric in its highest form requires divine inspiration by way of the daemon, or the muse. This moment of divine intervention is one that seizes—perhaps even ceases—you; putting you “beyond yourself.” In other words, a good rhetorician must always already be open to the possibility of otherness—the same otherness that possibly resides in the feminine. One could also trace this back to the poet that he both loved, and feared, most—Homer. Perhaps the effect of effeminacy that Homer's poetry opened is precisely the source of its power: through listening to Homer, one's body, one’s habitus is opened to the possibility of the feminine. And here, one must remember that the source of all learning—and all teaching—also lies in mimesis, in repetition, in habit. Once the habitus is opened to the possibility of invasion, of intervention, of otherness, there is quite possibly no possibility of distinguishing whether the mimesis is that of reproduction, or if there is always already a productive aspect to it. And by extension, if learning cannot be controlled, the very notion of teaching itself is shifted from a master-student relationality to one where the master is potentially changed as well—the relationality between the master and the student is not only inter-changing, but one cannot even know who is teaching, or learning, at any point. All that can be said is that they are in a relationality; which means that one is ultimately unable to locate the locus of knowledge, of wisdom—the site of which Plato is attempting to convince us is the sole domain of the philosopher. And it is this that philosophy is cringing from. To compound matters, philosophy is striving for wisdom; which can only come from the Gods. In other words, this is a gift that has to be bestowed on them—and more than that, wisdom is always already exterior to one’s control and knowledge. At best, it is the role of one to recognise the gift, to answer the call as it were. Here, if we listen carefully, we can hear the echo of Alexander Graham Bell, and the telephone. And as we are attempting to respond to the call of wisdom—the call that both poetry and philosophy are listening out for—it might be helpful to recall the agreement between Alexander Graham Bell and his brother Melville. In the biography, Alexander Graham Bell and the Conquest of Solitude , Robert V. Bruce notes that Aleck and Melly made a “solemn compact that whichever of us should die first would endeavour to communication with the other if it were possible to do so” (63). Since Melville was the one who passed on first, this pact put the onus on Aleck to receive the call of his brother. If you take into consideration the fact that until Melville’s death, both brothers had been working on an early prototype of the telephone, the instrument of distant sound can be read as an attempt by Aleck to maintain the possibility of keeping in touch with Melly, of hearing the voice from beyond. However, this was a connection that was not premised on any knowing, reason, or rationality; it was rather, one that was based on hope, and born out of love. And here, if we eves-drop on a cross-line with The Telephone Book , we can pick up the voice of Avital Ronell once again and hear, “the connection to the other is a reading—not an interpretation, assimilation, or even a hermeneutic understanding, but a reading” (380). In other words, the telephone can be read as the openness to the possibility of responding to the other; one that might always remain unknown. Even in this day of caller-identification, we can never know for sure who the other person on the line is until we pick up: hence, the only decision we can make—the effects of which we remain blind to until it affects us—is to either pick up or not, to either respond or not. And it is not as if the decision to pick up comes without risks: each time we answer a call, we run the risk of it ruining our day. Even when we don’t know who the caller is, perhaps especially when we don’t know who the person on the other end of the line is—and here one only has to think of prank calls—we are leaving ourselves completely open to being affected by another. Thus, philosophy finds itself in the position of Vladimir and Estragon. Since they have no idea who Godot is, they can never know if or when he shows up—thus, if he (and we are taking his gender on the word of the boy, some boy—we don’t even know if it is the same boy—who comes round in the evening) has already come, they would not be in the position to know it. And even if someone comes to them and announces that “I am Godot,” the wait would not be over—without referentiality to the name, they would have to take on faith that that person is indeed Godot. Hence, all they can know is that they are waiting for Godot; and Godot is the name of that waiting itself. All philosophy can know is that it is waiting; and wisdom is the name of that waiting itself. Which brings us to Tina Turner’s eternal question, “what’s love got to do, got to do with it?” In order to begin to consider that, we have to first attempt to examine the notion of love itself. Perhaps we might begin to consider what the difficulty of the statement “I love you.” For, if love is a relationality between two persons—both of whom remain singular, and are attempting to respond to each other—this suggests that neither of them subsume the other under themselves. In other words, the other remains wholly other. If this is so, then the “you” in the statement always remains shrouded in mystery. And even if the “you” was replaced with the name of the person, the veiling remains: for, names refer both to the singularity that is the person, and also every other person bearing that name, at exactly the same time. To compound matters, the only time one has to utter a persons name is in their absence—thus, the correspondence of a name to that particular person is at best an affect of memory. And if we consider the notion of memory, we have to also open the register of forgetting—bringing along with it the problem that there is no object to forgetting. For instance, when one utters “I forgot,” all one is uttering is the fact that one has forgotten, and nothing more—the moment there is an object to the statement, one has strictly speaking remembered what one has forgotten. Moreover, we have no control over when forgetting happens to us. And since it is always already exterior to us, affects us, and has no necessary object, there is no reason to believe that every moment of memory might not bring with it a moment of forgetting. Hence, whenever we utter a name—even if we accept the correspondence between the utterance and the person in front of us—all we are doing is uttering the fact that we are naming. Thus, it is not so much that ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’ but more appropriately, ‘a rose is a rose is a rose’—the relationality between its name and the phenomenon of its sweet smell can only be established after that moment of naming, that instance of catachresis. So, whenever one utters “I love you,” not only is it a performative statement, it is the very naming of that love—all you are doing is establishing a relationality between you and the other. And since there is no necessary referent—one is naming that referentiality as one utters it—this suggests that it is always already a symbolic statement; without which the mystery of the other cannot me maintained. In other words, one cannot love the other without maintaining this symbolic distance—through a ritual; in this case the utterance “I love you.” This might be why Valentine’s Day seems to provoke such a massive reaction: the most common one from people (besides florists) being, Valentine’s Day is mere commercialism. Those among the nay-sayers who maintain a soft spot for Karl Marx would proceed to call it the commodification of relationships; those who prefer the Gods would claim that the sanctity of relationships has been profaned; the gender theorists would note how the fact that males buy the gifts only serves to highlight the unequal power-relation between the genders. Whichever side and variation of the arguments they choose boils down to this: the discomfort lies in the fact that they are confronted with the notion of relationships moving into a mediated sphere. The underlying logic is that love is between two persons only; it should not only remain between them, but more pertinently, be an unmediated experience between two persons. Which of course completely misses the point. For, if we reopen the register that relationships are the result of a negotiation between two persons, there must then be a space between them for this very negotiation to occur. Otherwise, all that is happening is, one person is subsuming the other within their own sphere of understanding; effectively effacing the other. If that were the case, there would no longer be any relationality; all negotiation is gone and the other person is a mere extension of the self—one is in a masturbatory relationality with one’s imaginary. Hence, any relationship must always already carry with it the unknown, and possibly always unknowable. The other person is an enigma, remains—must remain—enigmatic to you. This is the only way in which the proclamation “I love you” remains singular, remains a love that is about the person as a singular person—and not merely about the qualities of the person, what the person is. For, if the mystery of the other is unveiled, then the love for the other person is also a completely transparent love: one that you can know thoroughly, calculate; a check-list. And if they are knowable, this suggests that they can also be negated, and hence, the love can also go away. Only when the love for the other person is an enigmatic one, one that cannot be understood, can that love potentially be an event—and if it is an event, then strictly speaking, it cannot be known before it happens; at best, it can be glimpsed as it is happening, or perhaps even only realised retrospectively. At the point in which it happens, it is a love that comes from elsewhere: this strange phenomenon is best captured in the colloquial phrase, I was struck by love;” or even more so by, “I was blinded by love.” This is a blinding to not only the subject of the encounter—the self—but also of the very object of that encounter, the “you”—all that can be said is that there is an encounter. And it is for this reason Cupid is blind: not just because love is random (and can happen to anyone at any time), but more importantly because even after it happens, both the reason you are in love, and the person you are in love with, remain blind to you. Since there is an unknowable relationality with the other person, the only way you can approach it is through a ritual. This is the lesson that religions have taught us: since one is never able to phenomenally experience the God(s), one has no choice but to approach them symbolically. These rituals are strictly speaking meaningless—the actual content is interchangeable—as it is the form that is important. Rituals allow us momentary glimpses at secrets; and secrets are never about their content(s). Rather, secrets entail the recognition that they are secrets; the secret lies in their form as secret. This can be seen when we consider how group secrets work: since the entire group knows the secret, clearly the content of the secret is not as important as the fact that only members within the group are privy to this secret. Occasionally the actual content can be so trivial that even other people outside the group might know the information; they just do not realize its significance. For instance, if I used my date of birth as my bank-account password, merely knowing when I was born would not instantly give you the key to my life savings. In order for that to happen, you would have had to recognise the significance of the knowledge of my birthday. This means that you have to know that you know something. Since the God(s) are, strictly speaking, unknowable, this suggests that rituals put one in a position to potentially experience the God(s). The meaningless gestures on Valentine’s Day play precisely this ritualised role. It is not so much what you give the other person, but the fact that you give it to them. The gift in this sense is very much akin to an offering; the gift opens the possibility of an exchange. Gift-giving does not guarantee that you will like what is returned; there is always a reciprocation of the gift, but what is returned to you is never known in advance, until the moment it is received. This means that the worst thing that one can do is not give the gift: that would be akin to a cutting off of all possibilities, a complete closing of all communication with the other person. This at the same time also means that you cannot wait for the other person to give you something before you get them their gift: if that were the scenario, the reciprocal gift would be nothing more than a calculated return. The only manner in which both persons can give true gifts is to offer them independently of the other person, whilst keeping them in mind. In this way, the two gifts are always already both uncalculated (in the sense of not knowing what the return is) and also a reciprocation for the other (without knowing whether the other person actually has a gift in the first place). Naturally, this would seem like an irrational, even stupid, way of buying gifts. But it is precisely the stupidity involved that saves the relationship from being banal—more importantly, stupidity prevents it from entering the mere profane. This is not to say that an enigmatic love cannot end—of course it can. However, the difference lies in the fact that if the relationality is wholly transparent, it is subsumed under reason—completely predictable, within the self, and thus never open to the possibility of otherness, exteriority, musing. A love that is an event is one that is also open to the possibility of the divine, the sacred—always already closer to the possibility of wisdom. If we establish that both love and wisdom are exterior, to our knowledge, and the finitude to our selves, this suggests that both are names for the possibility of openness to otherness. In other words, and what choice do we have here but to use the words of the other, the philosopher—the lover of wisdom—is a name for one who is waiting, and nothing more. But that still leaves us with the question of this uncomfortable relationality between philosophy and poetry. But before we address that question, we have to take a momentary detour, and consider the whether it is possible to call one a poet. For, if we take the notion of a poet to be one who reaches the highest levels of rhetoric (beyond the lawyer, and the orator, who only aim to either please the crowds, or convince by way of sophistry), then we must also acknowledge that one can only become a poet at the moment of seizing, the point of inspiration, by the muses. Without this divine moment, all (s)he can do is practice her craft. As no one can control when the muses make their appearance, one could always be practising in vain—in some way, one is always already practising to be least in the way when the muse whispers into one’s ear; one is practising so as not to be vain. And since one cannot know when the muse will appear, there is no time frame to the practising—unlike the lawyer who speaks against a clock, poetry knows no time; the only time that matters is the time appropriate to poetry itself. Thus, all the poet (if one can use this term) is practising for the possibility of effacing her/him self—and waiting. Thus, in order for poetry to occur, in order to be seized, the poet—along with all her concerns—must cease. In other words, there is no poet; there is only the possibility of poetry. However, even as there is no time frame to this waiting, even as all we can say is that poetry is a name for waiting, the one who is practising is always already also in time. And since (s)he is in a symbolic relationality with the possibility of poetry, this suggests that the practising is her sacrifice, and time is precisely what she is sacrificing. Here, it might be helpful to turn to a strange source when it comes to poetry—Georges Bataille—and consider his teachings in the first volume of The Accursed Share where he reminds us that, the “essence [of sacrifice] is to consume profitlessly .” This is where each exchange is beyond rationality, beyond calculability, beyond reason itself, “unsubordinated to the ‘real’ order and occupied only with the present.” He continues: Sacrifice destroys that which it consecrates. It does not have to destroy as fire does; only the tie that connected the offering to the world of profitable activity is severed, but this separation has the sense of a definitive consumption; the consecrated offering cannot be restored to the real order.” (58) Since there is no need for a physical change in the object of sacrifice—“it does not have to destroy as fire does”—this suggests that the tie is severed symbolically. Hence, there is an aspect of trans-substantiation in this sacrifice: the form remains the same; in fact there is no perceivable change—this is the point at which all phenomenology fails—but there is always already a difference, an absolute separation from the “real order,” from logic, calculability, reason. The object of sacrifice, the victim [,] is a surplus taken from the mass of useful wealth…Once chosen, he is the accursed share , destined for violent consumption. But the curse tears him away from the order of things…” (59). And it is this tearing away from the order of things—the order of rationality—that “restores to the sacred world that which servile use has degraded, rendered profane” (55). For, only when it is no longer useful, when it is no longer abstracted—subjected, subsumed under—merely a use-value, can the object be an object as such, can a subject be a subject as such; be a singularity. Thus, it is never so much who or what is sacrificed, but the fact that there is a sacrifice. So even as (s)he is sacrificing her time to poetry, it is always already beyond her knowledge whether what (s)he is doing is actually preparing her for poetry or not—all (s)he can know is that she is sacrificing and nothing more. Hence, all (s)he can do is to open her self to the possibility of this relationality—all (s)he can do is be in love with poetry. At the moment the muse whispers into her ear, (s)he ceases to be, and becomes a medium for poetry—and since this possession is always already beyond our cognitive knowledge, this is also a moment of divine wisdom. In other words, there is no difference between poetry and wisdom—the moment of poetry is the moment of wisdom. And this might be the very reason for the philosopher’s aversion to poets. Not so much because they may corrupt the youth (this is after all the aim of all thinking, all philosophy), but precisely because in order to do so, the philosopher must wait for a moment of possession, for divine musing, for poetry. Hence, all thought, all thinking, all philosophy, is nothing but the waiting for the possibility of poetry itself. (shrink)

This article uncovers a hitherto underappreciated aspect of transatlantic cultural history: Moravian late humanism, and its relationship to contemporary intellectual currents in the Americas and the broader Republic of Letters in the age of Benjamin Franklin. To date, the Moravians have attracted the attention of scholars for their novel theological views on gender and sexuality, their unique approach to reconciling piety with profit, their missionary efforts among native populations, their musical culture and their rejection of slavery. Their interactions with the (...) world of transatlantic and global late humanism, however, have not been studied in any systematic way. The present analysis opens and closes with a remarkable but almost unknown Latin oration, delivered in Philadelphia in 1742 by Nicolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, to an audience provided with printed copies commissioned from the Franklin Press. A critical edition and an English translation of this work are provided in an appendix. In our article we examine the original European genesis and subsequent transatlantic context of Zinzendorf’s oration, tracing its development from a formal theological apologia into a quasi-legal statement of the count’s commitment to Moravian values, expressed in an erudite allusory language which left its listeners bemused. As our investigation shows, however, the confusion of the Philadelphia worthies who gathered to hear Zinzendorf ’s oration cannot be put down to a lack of cultural awareness among the leading missionaries and settlers from Germany and Denmark, many of whom partook fully in the contemporary culture of late humanism, both before and after they crossed the Atlantic. Through detailed reconstructions of their educations, correspondence networks, reading habits and note-taking practices, we show the richness of the Moravians’ transatlantic culture of late humanism, which ran the gamut from Ciceronian oratory to pious poetry in learned languages. Basing our argument on a little-known body of archival and printed sources in Latin, German, English and indigenous languages, we argue that Moravian late humanism had a significant impact on the development and expression of the Moravian church’s unique theology, its missionaries’ study of native languages and their interactions with other groups in the Atlantic world. In so doing, we also place the Moravians in the context of contemporary intellectual life in New England, the Caribbean, Europe and the Catholic world. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Two Books on Thomas HobbesPerez ZagorinQuentin Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), xvi, 477p.The Correspondence of Thomas Hobbes, ed. Noel Malcolm, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), lxxxv, 1008p.The literature on Hobbes in English and other European languages has grown so large in the past two decades that it has become almost unmanageable by students of the philosopher. No one (...) who is interested in Hobbes, however, can afford to overlook the two books that are reviewed here, the first, Quentin Skinner’s study of the relationship of Hobbes to rhetoric, and the second, Noel Malcolm’s edition of Hobbes’s correspondence.Skinner is well known not only as a leading British Hobbes scholar and historian of early modern political thought but likewise for his ideas concerning the correct method of studying the history of political philosophy. In a view akin to R. G. Collingwood’s he maintains that there are no permanent or perennial questions in political philosophy and that a historical approach based on a thorough comprehension of context is the only way to grasp what political philosophers are doing and saying when they write their texts. In implementing this prescription, he argues that to understand a historical text it is necessary to reconstruct its author’s intentions and the meaning of his ideas by ascertaining the linguistic conventions and usages and the intellectual currents and back-ground that form its context. He offers the present study both as an exem-plification of this method and as a new interpretation of the principles of Hobbes’s political philosophy which takes rhetoric as its focal theme. His aim, he tells us, is to situate Hobbes’s theory and practice of civil science within its intellectual context and to depict the philosopher less as the author of a philosophical system than as a contributor to a series of debates about the moral sciences within Renaissance culture. Our judgment of the success of his work will accordingly depend on whether or not we are satisfied that rhetoric possessed for Hobbes and his philosophy the crucial significance that Skinner claims for it [End Page 361].In recent years a number of scholars have discussed Hobbes’s attitude to rhetoric, and there have been at least two books on the subject. 1 Commensurate, however, with its ambitious goal of proffering a new interpretation of Hobbes’s work on politics, Skinner’s treatment of his involvement with rhetoric is much richer and far more learned than preceding studies. By rhetoric most people nowadays mean no more than a writer’s literary strategy, but this is not what Skinner intends by the term. He deals with rhetoric precisely as Hobbes would have understood it and in the sense it bore in the ancient world and the Renaissance, when it signified a major discipline of knowledge concerned with the various figures of speech and devices of language that constituted an art of persuasion and eloquence indispensable in the education of the orator, the statesman, the writer, and the gentleman.Skinner perceives Hobbes’s mind as formed in the early years of his career by his classical education and immersion in the literary-rhetorical culture of English Renaissance humanism derived from Greco-Roman antiquity and ancient authors on rhetoric like Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian. Starting from this point, he pictures Hobbes’s intellectual evolution as consisting of three successive stages: a humanist, a scientific, and a scientific-humanist. In the first, as a late Renaissance intellectual, Hobbes’s initial interest in politics as a civil science was shaped by his involvement in the humanistic disciplines of rhetoric, history, poetry, and moral and political philosophy. The result was the publication in 1629 of his English translation of Thucydides’ History, with the observations contained in his introduction. In the second stage he turned against the literary-rhetorical character of Renaissance culture and its approach to politics. This shift, which occurred in the 1630s, was caused by his discovery of the geometrical method, his pursuit of his scientific interests through his association with Sir Charles Cavendish and his friends, and his introduction to the Parisian scientific circle of Marin... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:BOOK REVIEWS 99 the movement of the Dutch to France. Only in the second half of the century, as DutchFrench relations deteriorated, and Protestantism was actively persecuted, did Dutch students turn away from France. Professor Dibon reveals the kinds of untapped source materials that exist for tracing these student voyages, for assessing the intellectual conditions in France, and for tracing the course of ideas. Items found ill funeral orations, (...) guide books, letters, unpublished student travel diaries, various Album amicorum that students carried with them, university records, applications of students for funds, etc., provide the basis for Professor Dibon's sketch of where Dutch students went, how they were received in Paris and elsewhere, whom they met, what universities they attended, and how long they spent at various stages of their tours. Professor Dibon clearly shows that there is a rich mine of information to be found through careful, painstaking research in these many manuscripts or rare printed sources. The picture he presents of the travels of Gronovius' brother-in-law, Samuel Ten Nuyl, later professor of history and eloquence at the University of Nijmegen, indicates the valuable materials that can be unearthed from such labors. Ten Nuyl was in and around Paris from 1659-1661. Letters of Introduction from Gronovius, Heinsius, and Van Schooten led to his being accepted in the highest Protestant and Catholic intellectual circles, got him into the Royal Library (t), and into the circles of Pierre-Daniel Huet, Mfinage, DailI~, Guy Patin, Chapelain, and many others. A study of these Dutch voyagers throws much light on the milieu at certain university centers, such as Caen and Orleans, on the possible exchanges and interchanges of ideas, and on the careers of some of the major figures in the Dutch universities. Professor Dibon has performed a most valuable service in this superbly written and documented study in pointing to an area of research that can aid us greatly in understanding the actual intellectual currents and cross-currents of the seventeenth century. His concluding paragraph (pp. 34-35) sums up what we can learn from such data. Ainsi nous pouvons esp6rer voir naitre de la convergence de multiples d6tails recueillis dans les journaux, dans les albums amicorum, les registres universitaires et autres documents d'archives une ~tude d'ensemble du Voyage en France des ~tudiants n6erlandais au XVIIe sidle. Une telle ~tude, fond~e sur une connaissance, qui serait ~t ~largir et h preciser, des milieux universitaires et des cercles ~rudits de la France du XVIIe sidle, nourrie de la substance de rant de correspondances en grande partie in6dites, constituerait h coup stir le chapitre le plus attachant d'une histoire des relations culturelles franco-nberlandaises. Elle ne manquerait pas par surcrolt de faire apparaitre en pleine lumi~re ce fait trop souvent m6connu que les relations culturelles en ce temps restaient, en d~pit des conflits politiques ou des rivalit& ~conomiques, au sein m~me des pol~miques religieuses, des &hanges de personne ~t personne. I1 faut se bien convaincre que c'est dans une tr6s large mesure /~ partir de tels 6changes,--. (shrink)

Funeral Orations as Indicators of what a Good Life Ought to Be The central aim of this study was to uncover, based on funeral orations, what the Igbo of South-East Nigeria regard as the good life. Over two hundred and fifty funeral orations/tributes were investigated. These were classified into: tributes by spouses; by offspring; by close family members; by friends, associates and organizations. The study revealed that the notion of the good life among the Igbo was based on primary duties (...) and obligations at each of the four levels identified above and on related secondary duties and obligations. The good life was measured by the extent to which these duties and obligations were discharged and in the way their performance manifested in the provision of social amenities, help to educate members of the community and so on. What would ordinarily be regarded as virtues were considered desirable only in so far as they helped people fulfill their primary and secondary obligations, otherwise they were regarded as sterile or "bottled" virtues. (shrink)

Orations of the Fatimid Caliphs: Festival Sermons of the Ismaili Imams. Ed. and tr. Paul E. Walker. Ismaili Texts and Translations Series, vol. 10. London: I. B. Tauris, with the Institute of Ismaili Studies, 2009. Pp. xvii + 162 + 58. £29.50, $51.29.

Written in 1486 by the then 23-year-old Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, the Oration on the Dignity of Man is considered a 'Manifesto for the Renaissance' and one of the most influential philosophical texts of its day, setting the tone for humanism.

Thomas Reid is now recognized as one of the towering figures of the Enlightenment. Best known for his published writings on epistemology and moral theory, he was also an accomplished mathematician and natural philosopher, as an earlier volume of his manuscripts edited by Paul Wood for the Edinburgh Reid Edition, Thomas Reid on the Animate Creation, has shown. The Correspondence of Thomas Reid collects all of the known letters to and from Reid in a fully annotated form. Letters already (...) published by Sir William Hamilton and others have been reedited, and roughly half of the letters included appear in print for the first time. Writing in 1802, Reid's disciple and biographer Dugald Stewart doubted that Reid's correspondence &"would be generally interesting.&" This collection proves otherwise, for the letters illuminate virtually every aspect of Reid's life and career and, in some instances, provide us with invaluable evidence about activities otherwise undocumented in his manuscripts or published works. Through his correspondence we can trace Reid's relations with contemporaries such as David Hume and his colleagues at both King's College, Aberdeen, and the University of Glasgow, as well as his engagement with the most controversial philosophical, scientific, and political issues of his day. If anything, the letters assembled here serve as the starting point for understanding Reid and his place in the Enlightenment. (shrink)

An ardent treatise for the Dignity of Man, which elevates Humanism to a truly Christian level, making this writing as pertinent today as it was in the Fifteenth Century.

Oratorical practice may be viewed as the material enactment of a philosophy of class struggle. Drawing on the work of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, I propose “orator-machine” as a concept-term to describe speech making in the context of the open exterior of interconnected human and nonhuman machinic assemblages in capitalist modernity. My argument is based on a reconsideration of a single address, delivered by William D. “Big Bill” Haywood in 1911 at the Cooper Union in New York City. Reading (...) Haywood against the grain—as a conceptual innovator—allows me to demonstrate a mode of analysis that affirms the philosophical quality and ontological politics of oratorical performance. (shrink)

Philip Melanchthon, humanist and colleague of Martin Luther, is best known for his educational reforms, for which he earned the title Praeceptor Germaniae. His most influential form of philosophical writing was the academic oration, and this volume, first published in 1999, presents a large and wide-ranging selection of his orations and textbook prefaces translated into English. They set out his views on the distinction between faith and reason, the role of philosophy in education, moral philosophy, natural philosophy, astronomy and astrology, (...) and the importance of philosophy to a true Christian, as well as his views on Classical philosophical authorities such as Plato and Aristotle and on contemporaries such as Erasmus and Luther. Powerfully influential in their time, inspiring many Protestant students to study philosophy, mathematics and natural philosophy, they illuminate the relationship between Renaissance and Reformation thought. (shrink)

Philip Melanchthon, humanist and colleague of Martin Luther, is best known for his educational reforms, for which he earned the title Praeceptor Germaniae. His most influential form of philosophical writing was the academic oration, and this volume, first published in 1999, presents a large and wide-ranging selection of his orations and textbook prefaces translated into English. They set out his views on the distinction between faith and reason, the role of philosophy in education, moral philosophy, natural philosophy, astronomy and astrology, (...) and the importance of philosophy to a true Christian, as well as his views on Classical philosophical authorities such as Plato and Aristotle and on contemporaries such as Erasmus and Luther. Powerfully influential in their time, inspiring many Protestant students to study philosophy, mathematics and natural philosophy, they illuminate the relationship between Renaissance and Reformation thought. (shrink)

Eric Perrin-Saminadayar The Official Welcomes of Sovereigns and Princes in Athens during the Hellenistic Period p. 351-375 In reporting the official visit made by Attalus I to Athens in 200 BC, Polybius stresses the exceptional welcome the sovereign received on the part of the entire city. He describes a protocol of apantesis in accordance with a model met with elsewhere for other sovereigns. Now at Athens, if a protocol indeed existed regulating the welcome of important persons, this was not uniquely (...) reserved for sovereigns on an official visit: in the Hellenistic period the representatives of the "friends and allies" of the people, as well as of the Romans, were treated in just as sumptuous a manner. The Athenian protocol, which several inscriptions and some literary texts make it possible to reconstruct, envisaged a welcome at Piraeus by the ephebes and magistrates, who escorted the honoured personage to Athens with great pomp: this was the apantesis. Afterwards the visit itself (apodoche) was also regulated and its organisation entrusted to a magistrate specially allocated for the reception. At Athens this consisted of sacrifices in the civic sanctuaries, a public dinner and — an Athenian speciality — an oration before the people. (shrink)

La vie de Nicolas d'Autrecourt (1298-1369) connait un tournant decisif en 1346. Il est en effet contraint d'abjurer certaines de ses theses et de renoncer a tout droit a l'enseignement. Celui qui fut vers 1330-1340 l'une des principales figures de la faculte des Arts, aux cotes de Buridan, doit mettre un terme a une oeuvre philosophique deja riche de promesses. On propose ici la premiere traduction francaise de la Correspondance que Nicolas d'Autrecourt a entretenue avec le franciscain Bernard d'Arezzon et (...) le maitre es arts Gilles du Foin. Il esquisse la certains des themes importants de son epistemologie, exposant notamment les criteres de la connaissance evidente et developpant une theorie des inferences originale. On trouvera egalement une traduction des theses que Nicolas d'Autrecourt dut abjurer. On pourra ainsi se faire une idee de certaines de ses preoccupations intellectuelles qui n'apparaissent pas dans la correspondance et essayer de comprendre pourquoi la carriere d'un intellectuel prometteur fut ainsi brisee. (shrink)