This book explores the complex ways in which recent cultural discourses on gender and sexuality have found their way into the apparently inflexible structure of romantic comedy.

Shakespeare's romantic comedies, interpreted in the light of doctrinal material familiar to Shakespeare and his contemporaries, reveal Shakespeare's close and consistent affinity with St. Paul.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Comedy of Menander: Convention, Variation and OriginalityDavid KonstanZagagi, Netta. The Comedy of Menander: Convention, Variation and Originality. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1995. 210 pp. Cloth, $39.95.In his comedies, Menander exploits a relatively limited range of characters and scenes. His achievement, as Netta Zagagi shows, lies in subtle variations on inherited formulas rather than in radical departures from them. As an example of Menander’s (...) art, Zagagi (32–33) cites the characterization of the young Moschion in Perikeiromene, who is gloriosior than Polemon, the love-sick miles. Again, Chrysis in Samia, because she acts in league with Moschion against his father, “represents a pattern of behaviour traditionally reserved for the character of the mother in comedy” (33). Behind these modifications and mergings of types, Zagagi sees an ethical motivation, best illustrated in Micio’s condemnation of his stepson’s behavior toward the woman he has raped; Terence’s Adelphi, based on Menander’s, is “the only play known to us in which any serious consideration is given to the problematic nature of the story pattern under review” (43). Surely Charisius’ soliloquy in Epitrepontes is another example. Zagagi’s reflections on Menander’s sensitivity to his personae, in contrast to Aristophanes’ delight in caricature (45), are fair enough. It is less clear that Menander differs significantly from the practice of other poets of New Comedy, as Zagagi suggests (32).In the second chapter, Zagagi explains Menander’s method of composition by invoking three principles or techniques that are fundamental to his plays: “polyphony,” “economy,” and “emphasis on human interaction.” These are catch-all terms. “Economy,” for example, refers to Menander’s restraint in the development of scenes that might have “diverted the spectator’s attention from the main subject” of an episode (60). The same term covers Menander’s ability to set out necessary information without undue repetition (62), as well as his thrifty use of devices such as Knemon’s bucket, which first gets dropped in the well and subsequently causes the misanthrope himself to fall in (64). Such dramatic parsimony is the stock-in-trade of well-made plays.Polyphony too, designates three different things. Zagagi ignores Bakhtin’s now classic use of the term to refer to the amalgamation of generic voices characteristic of the novel. Instead, she describes as polyphony the mixture of registers achieved by crossing para-tragic bits of dialogue with the plain style of comedy (54), divine intervention in mortal affairs (57), which is treated in detail in the sixth chapter, and the interweaving of two plot lines in a single play—not contaminatio, precisely, but rather a deft combination of two or more story patterns. [End Page 127]Thus, Dyskolos is analyzed (47) into a “romantic” strand, involving Sostratos’ efforts to win Knemon’s daughter as his bride, and a story line centered on the character of the misanthrope (Zagagi adds for good measure two “minor strands”: the sacrifice to Pan and the Gorgias plot). Zagagi sees as the price of this complexity a loss of dramatic unity: in order to avoid compromising the sketch of Knemon’s grumpiness, Menander does his best to keep the two plots of the comedy separate: “It is precisely from Menander’s constant effort to preserve the credibility of his main hero’s [i.e., Knemon’s] character by shielding him from the romantic action of the play, that the disunity of the Dyskolos stems” (47). This interpretation illustrates a major weakness in Zagagi’s search for elementary units of narrative as the basis of Menandrean composition. Every romantic plot requires not only a lover, but an obstacle or blocking figure (in Northrop Frye’s expression) as well, who, for motives of his own, inhibits the realization of the lover’s passion. In many plays, this function falls to the father of the adulescens, who disapproves of his son’s liaison with a slave-girl or otherwise unsuitable partner. In Dyskolos, the father of the girl (who by the same token is represented as a citizen) plays this role. This is as simple a scheme as one can have, and violates no presumed rule of unity of action. Menander... (shrink)

Ernst Lubitsch, the great author of Hollywood comedy and pioneer of such genres as the sophisticated romantic comedy, the musical, and the screwball comedy, is a relatively overlooked figure in mainstream film theory. In this collection, renowned world thinkers and philosophers position Lubitsch as the premium director of subversive cinema, reflecting on his attitude toward love and politics which correspond to contemporary issues.Followers of the Hegelian, Marxist, Freudian, Lacanian, and Deleuzian traditions discuss thephilosophical, political, and ethical (...) dimensions of Lubitsch's late Hollywood work. They focus on love as stealing, the ethics of style, and comedy in times of austerity in the director's masterpiece, _Trouble in Paradise_ (1932); answer the question of why comedy is always polygamous; discuss links between masochism, melancholia, and ideology in _Ninotchka_(1939); celebrate the ethical gesture of comedy in _To Be or Not to Be_ (1942); and promote the revolutionary comic spirit of Lubitsch's last directorial effort, _Cluny Brown_ (1946). These essays' witty, subversive, and provocative approaches highlight Lubitsch's unique understanding of love, sex, comedy, and politics and idiosyncratic conception of totalitarian"nightmares" and capitalistic "paradise," countering the non-dialectic and politically correct discourse of mainstream and independent cinema today. (shrink)

The aim of this paper is twofold. In the first instance it is an attempt to offer a new perspective from which to reflect on the meaning and philosophical presuppositions of Friedrich Schlegel’s defence and use of (romantic) irony, as well other related notions: humour, wit, and other comic devices. I propose to situate this perspective within a revaluation of pleasure and joy. To do this in a new way (although not in opposition to authors such as Manfred Frank, (...) Elizabeth Millan-Zaibert, or Gary Handwerk), I refer to one of Schlegel’s earliest texts devoted to The Aesthetic Value of Greek Comedy from 1794. In addition, this paper questions the extent to which Schlegel’s position is tenable in the aftermath of the ‘death of God’. For this, I reflect briefly on the ways in which Nietzsche’s writings and notion of life-affirmation respond to Schlegel’s vindication of romantic irony. (shrink)

Hegel’s philosophical system turns to a species of the laughable at three critical junctures of his dialectic: comedy appears both at the conclusion of classical art and of Hegel’s discussion of poetry, and romantic art ends with humor. But we misunderstand these transitional moments unless we recognize that Hegel did not use comedy and humor synonymously. Comedy refers to a dramatic genre with a 2000-year-old history; humor was a relatively recent aesthetic phenomenon that had become central (...) to philosophizing about art in Hegel’s generation. Hegel also differentiated between subjective humor, which he associated with the novelist Jean Paul’s eccentric excesses, and objective humor. Focusing on the surprising examples Hegel offers of objective humor— from epigrams to Persian poetry to the obscure novels of T.G. von Hippel—I argue that we better understand Hegel’s “end of art” thesis by tracing ways both comedy and humor can end. By understanding those endings, we also come closer to imagining how art can continue. (shrink)

This article investigates the functions of the kōmos-chorus in Menander"s comedies. It first reviews the evidence for the diminished role of the comic chorus in the fourth century and then considers Menander"s practice of deploying a kōmos instead of a chorus. It argues that the performance contexts of the kōmos allowed it to serve multiple functions. The association of the kōmos with symposia and aristocratic violence rendered it a realistic device for clearing the stage after the first act. In addition, (...) the conclusion of the romantic plot with a wedding or pre-wedding celebration created the occasion for receiving a wedding kōmos, suggesting that the kōmos may have finally been greeted or received at the end of the fifth act. (shrink)

Many of Menander's comedies are structured according to a rape plot pattern in which a young Athenian citizen usually rapes and impregnates a female citizen prior to the opening of the play. In most cases, the rape leads to a happy ending: the marriage of the rapist and victim. This casual treatment of rape is striking because in all other respects Menander's plays are not only scrupulously faithful to Athenian law, they also use Athenian legal and social norms as their (...) own generic conventions. Although the rape of a female citizen was a serious oense in Athenian law, potentially punishable with death, and a flagrant violation of the norms of Athenian citizenship, Menandrian comedy never morally or legally problematizes rape. This study considers how the comedies neutralize the potential legal signicance of rape and what this tells us about Athenian law and the ideology of democratic citizenship. It argues that by portraying a neutral form of rape, Menander's comedies implicitly articulate those factors which had the potential to bring "rape" within the purview of Athenian legal discourse. Menandrian Comedy's strategic fidelity to the norms of Athenian citizenship also tells us something about the gender ideology of Athenian democratic citizenship, that is, the ways in which relations between the sexes support and sustain civic relations between men in Athenian political culture and democratic ideology. While Menander's romantic plots uphold the laws of citizen marriage, they do not passively enact the legal constructs. In one common variant of the rape plot, the gendered construction of citizenship embedded in Athenian law is specically conjoined to democratic norms. In this type of play, a wealthy young citizen rapes and eventually marries the daughter of a seemingly poor citizen. By using rape to generate matrimonial unions between the rich and the poor, these plays extend democratic norms into the social arena. The formation of marriages across class lines disrupts the eects of intergenerationality in reproducing social and economic inequalities. (shrink)

In order to explain Cavell's account of what makes movies so magical, this article will offer a chronological survey of his major writings on film, beginning with the first edition of The World Viewed (1971), where he poses an intriguing theoretical hypothesis about what distinguishes the movies from the other major art forms. The survey will continue by considering the expanded edition of The World Viewed (1979), Pursuits of Happiness: The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage (1984), and Contesting Tears: The (...) Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman (1997), and will conclude with an analysis of Cavell's discussion of Emersonian perfectionism in Cities of Words (2005). Throughout, I show how the specific film interpretations he proposes serve as archetypal examples of crucial features of his philosophy. Cavell's general thesis, I take it, is that films can pose particularly satisfying responses to the skepticism we all harbour about our most deeply held values. In a nutshell, the movies are magical because they tell us myths that allow us to see our lives as worth living, helping to restore our faith in the wellsprings of human value: romantic love, individual autonomy, nonconformity, and the search for self-improvement. (shrink)

_Desk Set_, a 1957 20th Century Fox studio comedy, made with the sponsorship of IBM, charts the relationship between a reference librarian, Bunny Watson, and Richard Sumner, the inventor of a computer which appears to threaten her job. The film displays a thriving philodendron within Bunny’s skyscraper office, illustrating her organic style of thinking, and implicitly inviting us to see the plant in opposition to the computer. The suggestion that the plant is in some sense excessive, claiming attention beyond (...) the norms of the ornamental background houseplant, opens questions about how we look at plants on film. We find here a reframing of figure and ground, which relates the philodendron to moments where plants become conspicuous in early film and in horror. _Desk Set_ reflects a vegetal landscape characterised by all the commonplace instrumentalising of plants in modernity, amongst which the philodendron emerges as an exception. The plant does not point outwards to a putative wilderness. Instead, our looking at it allows us to contemplate it as an individuated specimen, and to move from that act of looking to recognise its deep entanglement with the urban environment, and with human care. (shrink)

Slurs have been standardly assumed to bear a very direct, very distinctive semantic relationship to what philosophers have called “neutral counterpart” terms. I argue that this is mistaken: the general relationship between paradigmatic slurs and their “neutral counterparts” should be assumed to be the same one that obtains between ‘chick flick’ and ‘romantic comedy’, as well a huge number of other more prosaic pairs of derogatory and “less derogatory” expressions. The most plausible general relationship between these latter expressions (...) — and thus, I argue, between paradigmatic slurs and “neutral counterpart” terms — is one of overlap in presumed extension, grounded in overlap in associated stereotypes. The resulting framework has the advantages of being simple, unified, and, unlike its orthodox rivals, neatly accommodating of a much wider range of data than has previously been considered. More importantly, it positions us to better understand, identify, and confront the insidious mechanisms of ordinary bigotry. (shrink)

Horror – that is the invasion of something unbearable. In many films its starting point is a common, even idyllic every-day-scene: in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, we see an ear lying on a freshly mowed lawn which is surrounded by an immaculate white fence. In the following I raise the question if the common place could be seen as the breeding ground for the unbearable rather than serving as a contrast to the invasion of it. What if the endless repetition (...) of every- day-life itself quietly generates the monsters and their excesses as a kind of antidote and wake- up-call for the lethargy and lifelessness which creeps upon ordinary people in their ordinary lives? Should this motif work, then one finds rather surprising structural common features across the genre boundaries such as from a horror film to its apparent antipode, the romantic comedy (Pretty Woman meets Norman Bates). (shrink)

Reflection on the wrongs done by characters in Woody Allen’s romantic comedy “Manhattan” helps us get clear about the evidence required to judge them responsible and so liable to blame them for those wrongs. On the positive side, what is required is evidence that trust remains a possibility, despite the fact that they wrong, and this in turn requires evidence that the wrongdoer had, but failed to exercise, the capacity to do the right thing when they did that (...) wrong. On the negative side, what is not required is evidence of some explanation of that failure. This counts against a well-known suggestion of Gary Watson’s in “Skepticism about Weakness of Will.”. (shrink)

Since their first screen appearances in the 1930s, zombies have enjoyed immense cinematic popularity. Defined by Romero’s 1968 Night of the Living Dead as mindless, violent, decaying and infectious, they successfully function as ultimate fiends in horror films. Yet, even those morbid undead started evolving into more appealing, individualized and even sympathetic characters, especially when the comic potential of zombies is explored. To allow a zombie to become a romantic protagonist, however, one that can love and be loved by (...) a human, another evolutionary step had to be taken, one fostered by a literary association. This paper analyzes Jonathan Levine’s Warm Bodies, a 2013 film adaptation of Isaac Marion’s zombie novel inspired by William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. It examines how Shakespeare’s Romeo helps transform the already evolved cinematic zombie into a romantic protagonist, and how Shakespearean love tragedy, with its rich visual cinematic legacy, can successfully locate a zombie narrative in the romantic comedy convention. Presenting the case of Shakespeare intersecting the zombie horror tradition, this paper illustrates the synergic exchanges of literary icons and the cinematic monstrous. (shrink)

This fascinating study explores the difficulties faced by modern Westerners in their search for a meaningful life. It sheds light on this enduring cultural dilemma through a close reading of four popular film and television narratives: Pixar's animated feature film, Toy Story; Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins and The Dark Knight; the television romantic comedy, Sex and the City; and, finally, the mobster drama, The Sopranos. The readings are guided by a number of inter-related questions. First, in what ways (...) do these popular stories speak to the modern West's meaning dilemma? What do they have to say about contemporary culture, and its capacity to illuminate the fundamental human? What are the core problems faced by the central characters and how are they resolved? Finally, and perhaps most importantly, do the four stories that come into focus suggest hope or despair in the modern West's search for meaning? (shrink)

Academic philosophy may have lost its audience, but the traditional subjects of philosophy--love, death, justice, knowledge, and faith--remain as compelling as ever. To reach a new generation, Paul W. Kahn argues that philosophy must take up these fundamental concerns as we find them in contemporary culture. He demonstrates how this can be achieved through a turn to popular film. Discussing such well-known movies as _Forrest Gump_ (1994), _The American President_ (1995), _The Matrix_ (1999), _Memento_ (2000), _The History of Violence_ (2005), (...) _Gran Torino_ (2008), _The Dark Knight_ (2008), _The Road_ (2009), and _Avata_r (2009), Kahn explores powerful archetypes and their hold on us. His inquiry proceeds in two parts. First, he uses film to explore the nature of action and interpretation, arguing that narrative is the critical concept for understanding both. Second, he explores the narratives of politics, family, and faith as they appear in popular films. Engaging with genres as diverse as romantic comedy, slasher film, and pornography, Kahn explores the social imaginary through which we create and maintain a meaningful world. He finds in popular films a new setting for a philosophical inquiry into the timeless themes of sacrifice, innocence, rebirth, law, and love. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Response to Lauren Kapalka Richerme, "The Diversity Bargain and the Discourse Dance of Equitable and Best," Philosophy of Music Education Review 27, no. 2 (Fall, 2019)Nasim NiknafsI was asked to write a response to Lauren Richerme's convincing research on why and how one should distinguish between "equitable educational practices"1 and what she calls following Ellen Berry the "diversity bargain" where equity as the second-best option has always taken a (...) hit from the more dashing diversity. If I may metaphorically put this conversation into a romantic comedy, equity is always the wingperson of color to diversity as the main protagonist; by the end of the show it is the main protagonist who survives the hardship and reaches salvation, be it a long-lost love, an oasis of sorts, or making it to the finish line. The rest of the cast have the function of complementing and highlighting the main actor but never substituting for it; or they are as Homi Bhabha would say, "almost the same but not quite."2 For the sake of filling in the blank of let's-add-more-color-into-it, the genuine conversation over the nuances of equitable practices gets undermined and diffused of its poignancy. And this is what Richerme is arguing against: let us not forget that a more significant challenge than a mere technicolor presence is at play. In that, my response to Richerme's essay would [End Page 215] not be so much of a response but a grand nod, a body gesture, an embedded signal of approval between two human beings born and raised in two different parts of planet earth who after years of diverse and perhaps un-equitable educational access ended up in the same room at the same time. Thus, my nod to Richerme also originated from personal experiences and intimate familiarities with unequitable educational access. Yes, people of color can be assets to their institutions and their corresponding fields who add to the diversity of knowledge creation practices, but it is not people of color's project or responsibility to act as the trophy to alleviate the unhappy conscience of educational malpractice or give a helping hand to the main protagonists for whom the scenario has already been written. Undoubtedly, they can take on that role if they want to, but it is only contingent upon where their desires lie not where they should lie.I strongly agree with Richerme's claim that music classrooms and I would add any classroom and learning environment should be a place and space for "sharing stories and insights"3 to not only learn about the content material whatever it may be but to learn to empathize with one another, understand positive and negative human behaviors toward humans and their environment, and act against discriminatory practices, racial, ethnic, religious, and gender prejudices, and to the point of Richerme's essay, unequitable practices that are insistent in today's political climate on a global scale.At this very juncture I diverge not from Richerme's fine thesis and argumentation, but from the larger issue of the premise of her arguments grounded on Thomas Green's educational framework.4 Green argues that the "rank order of political arguments that can be mustered in support of the [educational] system … [is] roughly as follows": (1) the fundamental or compelling interests of the state; (2) the aggregate of individual or parental interests; (3) societal interests; and (4) educational goods for their own sake."5 Following Green's framework Richerme analyzes contemporary music education initiatives in relation to the differing political strengths of each group of stakeholders: the state, parents, society, and educational goods for their own sake.There is a sense of mistrust in the local and national government implied by Green's framework, reminding one of the cumulative mistrust of the elite by U.S. citizens. Years of neglect, condescension, and lack of attention to the real and tangible needs of people amalgamated into what today one sees as white nationalism, plutocracy, and protectionism across borders. Green wrote his book, Predicting the Behavior of the Educational System, in 1980; historically the world order was increasingly metamorphosing and establishing itself... (shrink)

In his "Pursuits of Happiness: The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage" (1981) as well as in "Contesting Tears" (1997), Stanley Cavell has convincingly argued that the question of marriage—“is it better to be alone than in pair?”—has the philosophical legitimacy of classic questions such as “What can I know?” and “Why is there something instead of nothing?” In this regard, the structure of the “comedy of remarriage” is significant. It does not consist in illustrating how two people get together, (...) but rather in narrating how they get back together. This genre of comedy focuses on the overcoming of a separation—an inner obstacle—rather than on the overcoming of external obstacles. Drawing on Cavell’s well-known work, this contribution aims at investigating the political dimension underlying romance. The chapter illustrates and analyzes the comedy of remarriage as a paradigm through which we can understand the political dimension of marriage and the romantic dimension of everyday politics. (shrink)

Societies change; and sociology has, since its inception, described and evaluated these changes. This article proposes a revised theory of collective learning processes, a conceptual framework which addresses ways in which people make sense of and cope with change. Drawing on Habermas’ classic proposal, but shifting the focus from argumentation towards storytelling, it explains how certain articulations allow for collective learning processes (imagining more inclusive orders), while others block learning processes (imagining more exclusive orders). More specifically, the article points to (...) narrative genres (romance, tragedy, comedy and irony) which organize feelings and shape the social bond, proposing that ironic and tragic stories have the potential to trigger collective learning processes, while romantic and comic stories tend to block them. (shrink)

Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit has attracted much attention recently from philosophers, but none of the existing English-language books on the text addresses one of the most difficult questions the book raises: Why does the Phenomenology make such rich and provocative use of literary works and genres? Allen Speight's bold contribution to the debate on the work of Hegel argues that behind Hegel's extraordinary appeal to literature in the Phenomenology lies a philosophical project concerned with understanding human agency in the modern (...) world. It shows that Hegel looked to three literary genres - tragedy, comedy, and the Romantic novel - as offering privileged access to three moments of human agency: retrospectivity, theatricality, and forgiveness. Taking full account of the authors whom Hegel himself refers to, Allen Speight has written a book with a broad appeal to both philosophers and literary theorists. (shrink)

Poor ethnology, never where it should be! One could almost believe that in the intellectual comedy it is always condemned to play the role of the incorrigible blundering fool.Take a different view. Thirty years ago it was used for any job going, the indispensable commodity of the cultured milieux of the period. The opinion-shapers perfidiously reduced it to structuralism, which was then running out of steam and scarcely intimidated them any longer. Encouraged by this decline, they affected to believe (...) that ‘structures’ had an empirical existence in society, indeed absolutely anywhere their limitations had made themselves felt for far too long, and that ethnology finally won its freedom at the same time as the various changes in custom and social practice which took place as a result of the huge emancipation movement of May 1968. At once ethnology, the sacred instrument of access — or a smattering of it — was to be found in the media, in the professional training of nurses, the therapies of Bonneuil, the fashion for water-bath deliveries, the electoral campaigns of informed politicians, the ‘spin-offs’ of the Second Vatican Council, and so on. Today, on the other hand, it is to be found nowhere at all, not even among ethnologists, who appear with any intellectual label whatever, but above all not as practitioners of a science. They are the new romantics, the new adventurers, the incredible travellers, all having to do no more than produce a strictly personal experience, or at least states of mind. In short, ethnology passed itself off the first time as a kind of panacea, and the next it was declared no use for anything whatsoever, being at best a pretext for narcissistic effusions and at worst a snare for the naive. The more they would have us believe it can do everything, the more nothing can be done for it. (shrink)

This article discusses irony as an aesthetic, therefore affective, value, as exemplified in Stendhal’s irony. Affective phenomena vary in nature and intensity, and one same emotion can be coloured differently (adjectives indicate its nuances, as, for example, in “sweet nostalgia” or “desperate nostalgia” etc.). Irony involves a very complex gamut of aspects and degrees: it can be satiric, comic, tragic, nihilistic, paradoxical etc. I first consider what kinds of irony Stendhal avoided. He discarded both the tragic satire of Chateaubriand and (...) Romantic nihilistic irony. Then I look at Stendhal’s theory of laughter, as hinted at in several of his writings where he reflects upon various forms of comedy while developing his own ideal of comedy as it will appear in his major novels (see Journal littéraire, Histoire de la peinture en Italie, Racine et Shakespeare, and Correspondance). Dissatisfied with Hobbes’ definition of laughter as involving a feeling of superiority, he considered two conditions for the comic effect: clarity and suddenness. Both become fundamental in his literary style. At the same time Stendhal was convinced of the affective superiority of the moderns over the Ancients: only the moderns, forged by Christian sensitivity, experienced tender emotions. Tenderness should color everything: the novel should aim at the ideal of opera-bouffe, where comedy is “a mixture of gaiety and tenderness,” while the writer masks his tenderness by using a “sweet” (douce) irony towards his favourite characters. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Elizabethan Bacchae STEPHEN ORGEL Euripides’s Bacchae, with its antic hero and celebration of the joys of revenge, would seem to be especially relevant to Elizabethan drama, an ancestor of The Spanish Tragedy or Hamlet. In fact, however, it seems to have been practically unknown to the Elizabethans. With the new ProQuest version of EEBO (Early English Books Online) it is now possible to search early English books for (...) specific references; so I paired the name Euripides with books printed in England before 1640 to see what came up. I got 474 hits. Many of these, of course, were duplicates, appearing in works that were issued in multiple editions—the actual figure, however, was still something over three hundred. Most of those, however, were cases in which Euripides’s name simply appears in a list of famous ancient authors. Citations which actually quoted Euripides for the most part indicated no knowledge of the work cited, but were only bits of wisdom that might have come from any of the multitude of collections of aphorisms and moral stories throughout the period. There was only one English edition of a play of Euripides in Greek, The Trojan Women, published by John Day in 1575— continental editions were, of course, easily obtainable, but it must be to the point that English publishers did not see a sufficient market to produce them domestically; and there were no subsequent editions of Day’s Trojan Women. As for The Bacchae, I found only a single case where I believe it is being cited, and in a context, moreover, that indicates some familiarity with the play. John Bishop’s Beautiful Blossoms, a collection of historical anecdotes published in 1577, recounting the history of Demetrius, king of Macedonia, says, “Then fled Demetrius unto Thebes, where one scoffingly applied vnto him that verse arion 28.3 winter 2021 64 the elizabethan bacchae of Euripides: he came vnto the Dyrcean springs, and Ismenus, his divine and goodly fourme and shape being chaunged in to a mortall.”1 This is a version of a bit of Dionysus’s opening speech, I am here at the springs of Dirce, the river Ismenos, Changing my shape from divine to mortal... There is no reason to assume that John Bishop (about whom I can learn nothing) knew the play, but he is certainly citing someone who did. The play, then, to the Elizabethans was either practically unknown or deliberately ignored. It was not translated into English until the 1780s, and then two translations were published within a year of each other—for the English, it was an enlightenment and romantic text. Schlegel’s Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature (delivered 1806, published 1846) and Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy (1872) were the works that established The Bacchae as the quintessential Greek tragedy, though for Nietzsche, ironically, the two destroyers of the Greek tragic sense, the two great cultural villains, were Euripides the ironist and Socrates the arch-rationalist. But Nietzsche sees Euripides, at the end of his life, having a major change of heart, realizing that Dionysus was simply too powerful to be expunged from art and society; and The Bacchae was thus the fullest expression of this tragic truth. The problems with this argument are manifold: Euripides the ironist is quite evident in The Bacchae, so it hardly represents a change of heart; and the claims of the irrational are fully present in his earlier plays, for example, in Hippolytus, where all the poetic energy is in expressing the uncontrollable violence of passion, and the virtues of morality and self-control are meagre indeed. The essay was soundly refuted in its own time, and Nietzsche withdrew and recanted it. Its celebrity is a modern phenomenon: whatever its historical defects, it speaks to the dangerous attractions of unreason. There is a perverse element in Nietzsche’s argument, too: Dionysus, as the embodiment of revelry, is surely as essential Stephen Orgel 65 to comedy as to tragedy; and one could press this further. At the end of The Symposium, Socrates tells Agathon and Aristophanes, tragic and comic dramatists, that their arts (or crafts: the word is techne) are essentially the same. Heavy weather has... (shrink)

One of the primary and most consequential properties of consciousness is that it is absolutely isolated. One’s consciousness cannot be shared by anyone else. Self- consciousness about this condition can give rise to a debilitating sense of loneliness. One important task of culture is to manage this sense of loneliness, to defer and diminish it. Religion supplies ideas that function in this way. Literature supplies imaginative experiences to the same ends. After introducing the general topic through a literary example, the (...) paper takes up the problem of other minds and solipsism, considering aspects of the issue treated by Wittgenstein, Moore, Heidegger and Descartes. The possibility of solipsism both demonstrates and results from the unbridgeable isolation of consciousness. The second section turns to the mind/body relation. It argues that intentionality is irreducible to a purely physical explanatory account. This is not because the mind is a brain-like entity that interacts with the body. Rather, it is because any physical explanatory account presupposes an observer or speaker outside the system being observed or described. The irreducibility of that observer is, so to speak, the flip side of solipsism. The unobserved observer is, precisely, each one of us. Each of us is removed in just this way from the world he/she is perceiving and addressing hence, our isolation. The third section turns to the varieties of loneliness here called ‘longing’, ‘grief’ and ‘despair’ relating these to the inevitability of death, primarily the death of others. The fourth part takes up the feeling that makes loneliness intense, love. It goes on to consider the thematization of loneliness in the most common narrative structure cross- culturally, romantic tragi-comedy. The concluding sections examine the ways in which religion and literature serve not only to represent loneliness, but, what is more important, to inhibit or manage it. (shrink)

Lovers often disagree. We may reject the specific goals our loved ones pursue or the broad values they hold. Some philosophers suggest that such evaluative conflict makes romantic love in its ideal form deficient. I argue that this is mistaken. On the contrary, our ideal of love holds that we can love people for ‘who they are’ (as we say), even as we profoundly disagree with them. My argument draws on intuitive cases from screwball comedy about love amid (...) conflict, love across political party lines, as well as ‘forbidden’ love across religions and cultures. At a deeper level, I sketch an ideal of love I call intimate independence and argue that this ideal is (i) fully compatible with any evaluative conflict, (ii) embedded in our ordinary attitudes towards mature love between equals, and (iii) an ideal worth achieving. As long as intimate independence is a compelling ideal, deep conflict will not seem like an obstacle to true love. The ideal reminds us that love can bring together people with radically different points of view, and that to insist on shared ends or values is thus to miss a part of the meaning and power of love. (shrink)

To speak of democracy is often to speak less of a fact than of a hope. In his introduction to Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville admitted that ‘… in America I saw more than America; I sought the image of democracy itself, with its inclinations, its character, its prejudices and its passions, in order to learn what we have to fear or to hope from its progress’. De Tocqueville recognised that democracy's success would rely on its constant promotion, the (...) affirmation and revaluation of its terms and conditions, such that it sustains the investedness of its (voluntary) participants. This paper considers the work of Stanley Cavell as inheriting the tone of de Tocqueville's romantic will to democracy, particularly in the discovery of its analogous image in ‘remarriage comedy’. I look first at the ways in which popular pictures of (in this case, American) democracy on film sustain an expression of hope for a better set of relations amongst equal and consenting participants, an expression that is identified as romantic in nature. By contrast, I will also discuss how representations of democracy's reality on screen—pictures that sit outside comfortable generic expectations, and reveal those moments in which interest in democratic participation or values has ebbed or is dormant—have as much to tell us about democracy's character as more idealist expressions of what it might be or become. (shrink)

Buffed up to a metallic shine; loose fitting, lopsided, or kludgy; getting in the way or getting lost; collapsing in an explosion of dust caught on the warehouse CCTV. Modern things are going their own ways, and this book attempts to follow them. A course of thought about their comings and goings and cascading side effects, _The Way Things Go_ offers a thesis demonstrated via a century-long countdown of stuff. Modernist critical theory and aesthetic method, it argues, are bound up (...) with the inhuman fate of things as novelty becoming waste. Things are seldom at rest. Far more often they are going their own ways, entering and exiting our zones of attention, interest, and affection. Aaron Jaffe is concerned less with a humanist story of such things—offering anthropomorphizing narratives about recouping the items we use—as he is with the seemingly inscrutable, inhuman capacities of things for coarticulation and coherence. He examines the tension between this inscrutability on the one hand, and the ways things seem ready-made for understanding on the other hand, by means of exposition, thing-and-word-play, conceptual art, essayism, autopoesis, and prop comedy. Among other novelties and detritus, T_he Way Things Go_ delves into books, can openers, roller skates, fat, felt, soap, joy buzzers, hobbyhorses, felt erasers, sleds, magic rabbits, and urinals. But it stands apart from the recent flood of thing-talk, rebuking the romantic tendencies caught up in the pathetic nature of debris defining the conversation. Jaffe demonstrates that literary criticism is the one mode of analysis that can unpack the many things that, at first glance, seem so nonliterary. (shrink)

This article explores the role of filmic objects within the romantic relationships featured in Ernst Lubitsch’s silent The Marriage Circle (1924) and the comedy Trouble in Paradise (1932). I argue that these objects reflect a unique engagement with the materiality of film décor, which makes use of the strong presence of objects to portray intimacy as the site of inconclusive meaning. By examining both films together, I demonstrate how the world of inanimate objects brings erotic undertones to the (...) surface while challenging the material conditions of the erotic itself. In order to do so, I examine the ways in which Lubitsch relies on material details not only as functional narrative devices, but as elements that challenge and complicate our interpretations of familiar things. While the underacknowledged use of objects in The Marriage Circle illustrates the logic of displacement that stands at the center of the director’s style, Trouble in Paradise provides a framework for recognizing the critical role of objects in the structure of desire in his films. This article sets up a new reading of tactility and materiality in Lubitsch’s use of mise en scéne and seeks to give objects a prominent role in the analysis of his style. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:René Girard LOVE DELIGHTS IN PRAISES: A READING OF THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA Valentine and Proteus have been friends since their earliest childhood in Verona, and their two fathers want to send them to Milan for their education. Because of his love for a girl named Julia, Proteus refuses to leave Verona; Valentine goes to Milan alone. In spite ofJulia, however, Proteus misses Valentine greatly and, after a (...) while, he, too, goes to Milan. The two friends are reunited in the ducal palace; the duke's daughter, Silvia, is present and Valentine briefly introduces Proteus. After she departs, Valentine announces that he loves her and his hyperbolical passion irritates Proteus. Once alone, however, Proteus has his own announcement to make: he no longer loves Julia; he, too, has fallen in love with Silvia: Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten.1 If there ever was a "love at first sight," this must be it, we think, but Proteus is not so sure: in three crucial lines, he suggests a different explanation: Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise, Her true perfection or my false transgression, That makes me reasonless, to reason thus? (Il.iv. 196-98) 231 232Philosophy and Literature The entire comedy massively confirms the crucial role of Valentine in the genesis of Proteus's sudden passion for Silvia. According to our romantic and individualistic ideology, a borrowed sentiment such as this one is not genuine enough to be really intense. This is not true in Shakespeare; Proteus's desire is so furious that he would actually rape Silvia if Valentine did not rescue her in extremis. When Shakespeare wrote his plays, the second-hand desire he portrays had no name, no official existence, but this is no longer true. We call it mimetic or mediated desire. Valentine is the model or mediator of this desire. Proteus is its mediated subject and Silvia is their common object. Mimetic desire can strike with the speed of lightning because it does not really depend upon the visual impact made by the object; it only seems to. Proteus desires Silvia not because their brief encounter made a decisive impression on him but because he is predisposed in favor of whatever Valentine desires. Mimetic desire is not some modern idea that I would force upon an unwilling writer; it is Shakespeare's own idea and we can see this again in Proteus's soliloquy, which keeps minimizing the role of perception in the genesis of his desire for Silvia: She is fair; and so is Julia that I love, That I did love,... (Il.iv. 199-200) IfSilvia is no more desirable objectively thanJulia, her only advantage is that Valentine already desires her. Shakespeare undermines the predominance of sight in the expression love at first sight. In A Midsummer Night's Dream as well, the two girls are said to be equally beautiful, also for the purpose of reinforcing the case for mimetic desire. II The dramatic context of this first mimetic desire, and of many others in Shakespeare, is the close and ancient friendship of the two protagonists. When Proteus is about to arrive in Milan, Valentine describes this friendship to Silvia and her father: I knew him as myself; for from our infancy We have convers'd and spent our hours together. (II.iv.62-63) René Girard233 When two young men grow up together, they learn the same lessons, they read the same books, they play the same games, and they agree on just about everything. They also tend to desire the same objects. This perpetual convergence is not incidental but essential to the friendship ; it occurs so regularly and inevitably that it seems preordained by some supernatural fate; it really depends on a mutual imitation so spontaneous and constant that it remains unconscious. When we think of imitation, we imagine two people copying each other's manners, habits, accents, and even their likes and dislikes in the still childish and innocent manner of two childish friends. We never think of what Proteus's desire for... (shrink)

The book holds the French translation of Hegel's 1828 review of K.W.F. Solger's Posthumous Writings and Correspondence, published by his friends in 1818, along with a lengthy introduction in French. In his review, Hegel distinguished between Solger's little-known theory of aesthetic irony, which he had likened to Hegel's own dialectic of the Absolute, from the romantic irony of Friedrich Schlegel.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Philosophy 41.1 (2003) 134-135 [Access article in PDF] Allen Speight. Hegel, Literature and the Problem of Agency. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Pp. xii + 154. Cloth, $54.95. Paper, $18.95. Hegel's notorious use of literary references in his Phenomenology of Spirit has been a source of numerous interpretive difficulties, sparking disagreements not only about the actual referents of Hegel's literary allusions, but also—and (...) more importantly—about the meaning and purpose of such allusions. In this insightful, highly readable new book, Allen Speight challenges the stale orthodoxies that have pitted the Phenomenology's systematic/philosophical readers against its literary/historical ones, and offers an innovative interpretation that takes seriously the work's literary structure and allusions, while also giving due consideration to its systematic philosophical aims. Combining the rich sensibility of a literary mind with the careful rigor of a philosophical mind, Speight deftly shows how Hegel's Phenomenology is a work whose very aim, in part, is to transcend the traditional, but often limiting, dichotomy between philosophy and literature.As Speight explains it, the general purpose of this book is to make "a contribution to understanding the philosophical project of the Phenomenology and why that project requires Hegel's appropriation of literary works and forms as it does" (9-10). The book's philosophical point of departure is the critical mass of recent scholarship that sees Hegel's epistemological task in the Phenomenology as essentially Sellarsian in its critique of the "Myth of the Given." For Speight, the Hegelian critique of the myth of the given implies that all knowledge claims are essentially corrigible and socially mediated, and this implies—in turn—that any attempt to draw rigid lines of demarcation between a purely "systematic" and a purely "historical" or "anthropological" approach to philosophy and its problems must ultimately fail. From this interpretive vantage point, Speight holds, a strong case can be made for the essentially literary character of Hegel's Phenomenology, and the essentially philosophical purpose of his literary allusions. As Speight is careful to acknowledge, his own distinctive approach to the Phenomenology is not meant to rule out other, divergent emphases or interpretations, but only to provide "a way of better understanding the role that literature plays within the philosophical enterprise of the work as a whole" (18).Speight begins to deliver the details of his promised "better way" by investigating what he calls the "literary turn" or the seemingly sudden "eruption of the literary" that starts to motivate the Phenomenology's transition from the section on "Reason" to the section on "Spirit." For Speight, the shapes of Active Reason that are crucial in this transition begin to raise a new set of problems concerning human agency. Furthermore, it is not at all a coincidence that Hegel's heightened concern with agency at this juncture of the Phenomenology [End Page 134] is accompanied by an unmistakable burst of literary references. Rather, it is an indicator of Hegel's careful, deliberate, and self-conscious strategy of using literature to make a philosophical point about agency, since it is literature—according to Speight's Hegel—that gives us privileged access to the philosophical problems of agency and their potential resolution.For Speight, Hegel's use of tragedy gives us special insight into the retrospectivity of all human action; his use of comedy points to the theatricality (or what we might call the socially mediated expressivity) of all human action; and his use of the romantic novel points to the necessity (and eventually opens up the possibility) of the forgiveness implied by all human action. While Hegel had already made use of both tragedy and comedy in the Reason section of the Phenomenology, it is only in the Spirit section, Speight argues, that these literary-philosophical shapes are taken up (e.g., in Antigone and Rameau's Nephew) in a historically self-conscious way that can lead (via the "beautiful soul" novel) to the possibility of forgiveness and thereby instigate the transition to the Religion section.Speight's "better way... (shrink)

Stimulating, thought-provoking text by one of the 20th centurys most creative philosophers clearly and discerningly makes accessible such topics as probability, measurement and quantitative language, structure of space, causality and determinism, theoretical laws and concepts and much more. "...the best book available for the intelligent reader who wants to gain some insight into the nature of contemporary philosophy of science."Choice.

The obligatory chapter -- My, how clever: what is humor and what humor is -- Joking matters -- Comedy tonight -- Killing it: humor and comedy aesthetics -- Can't you take a joke?: humor ethics -- Am I blue?: the ethics of dirty jokes -- Is that a Mic in your hand or are you just happy to see me?: comedy ethics.

Socially Assistive Robots are increasingly conceived as applicable tools to be used in aged care. However, the use carries many negative and positive connotations. Negative connotations come forth out of romanticized views of care practices, disregarding their already established technological nature. Positive connotations are formulated out of techno-deterministic views on SAR use, presenting it as an inevitable and necessary next step in technological development to guarantee aged care. Ethical guidance of SAR use inspired by negative connotations tends to be over-restrictive (...) whereas positive connotations tend to provide over-permissive guidance. To avoid these extremes, we report on the development and content of 21 ethical orientations regarding SAR use in aged care. These orientations resulted from a multi-phased project, which consisted of empirical-ethical research focusing on older adults’ intuitions regarding SAR use and philosophical-ethical research focusing on philosophical-ethical argumentations regarding SAR use. This project led to the Socio-historical contextualization of the ethics of SAR use, in which the ethical impact of SAR use is localized on three interrelated analysis levels: societal, organizational, and individual-relational. The 21 novel orientations regarding SAR use are structured according to these levels and further categorized into foundational and applied orientations. The first category leads to critical reflection on SAR use while the latter category inspires decision-making processes regarding this use. While going beyond the care-romantic and techno-deterministic gaze of SAR use in aged care, the described orientations balance themselves between their over-restrictiveness and over-permissiveness. (shrink)

Bill Cosby’s immorality has raised intriguing aesthetic and ethical issues. Do the crimes that he has been convicted of lessen the aesthetic value of his stand-up and, even if we can enjoy it, should we? This article first discusses the intimate relationship between the comedian and audience. The art form itself is structurally intimate, and at the same time the comedian claims to express an authentic self on stage. After drawing an analogy between the question of the moral character of (...) comedians and the aesthetic value of their stand-up and the debate over the ethical criticism of art, this article argues that it is reasonable to find a comedian’s performance less funny, because stand-up’s artistic success relies on this intimacy. It contrasts the comedy of Bill Cosby with that of Louis C.K. C.K.’s moral flaws are much more present in his comedy, and it is therefore more difficult to find him funny. Last, it is ethically permissible to enjoy their comedy, if no harm to others results, both because it does not corrupt the audience’s character and because amusement is valuable. (shrink)

"Romantic love is a defining phenomenon in human existence, and an object of heightened interest for literature, art, popular culture, and psychology. But what is romantic love and why is it typically experienced as so significant to our existence? Using central ideas from the philosophy of S2ren Kierkegaard as well as engaging with contemporary discussions in the philosophy of love, this book explores the nature of romantic love and philosophically substantiates its meaningfulness to an individual's life. It (...) does so by developing a connection between love and selfhood, here explained in terms of one's distinct individuality. To be a self, it is claimed, is to possess a 'name,' that is, an individual essence. Further, the book argues, it is when we love that we regard people by their names; we respond to who they are. Accordingly, the idea anchoring the book is that love is a correspondence between essences: if Jane loves Edward, she responds to him being 'who he is,' by virtue of her being 'who she is.' The conception of being thus correspondent has important implications as to the moral and spiritual value of romantic love. Relying on Kierkegaard's analysis of the self, of faith, and of love - even if sometimes in a way that departs from Kierkegaard's explicit position - the book explores these implications. By doing this, it construes romantic love as a desirable phenomenon, emotionally, morally, and spiritually". (shrink)

Within the broader horizon of asking about the relevance of the Reformation, or more particularly, Martin Luther’s thought, this paper first draws on the old debate whether there can be a Christian conception of tragic guilt by reconstructing an argument Giorgio Agamben develops against von Fritz’s denial of this possibility. The paper shows that Agamben makes a similar move as Protestantism by claiming that natura, which is always already spoiled by hamartia, is objective, naturaliter not personaliter. But in doing so, (...) he does not draw the proper consequences. He tries to re-inscribe this realization into a post-Thomist anthropology, thus not drawing the most radical conclusions necessary from the objectification of hamartia as natura, namely that natura is always already lacking and is itself in a sense an object as lack. This paper shows how this consequences is, on the contrary, developed in Martin Luther’s notion that the “whole of nature” is corrupted and in the ensuing totus-homo principle. To draw the delineation of the production of this lack, it is useful to draw on the notion of kerygma and its usage in both tragedy and the Pauline New Testament. With it, one can think of a repetition of the constitution of the subject through a “message” or “kerygma” that is heteronomous. What is left in and through this repetition can be viewed as “nothingness”, as is shown in the example of Martin Luther’s translation of the humilitas of Mary as “nothingness”. This product of kerygma is at the same time potentially the cause for another type of subjectivity, a comic subjectivity, yet one which carries the heritage of its tragic constitution with it. As a methodological consequence, this paper suggests that it is not possible to develop proper notions of the subject within contemporary debates without repeating or representing the event of the site of this potentially comic subjectivity within the early thought of Martin Luther. (shrink)