This paper offers a brief introduction and interpretation of recent research on cultural techniques (or Kulturtechnikforschung) in German media studies. The analysis considers three sites of conceptual dislocations that have shaped the development and legacy of media research often associated with theorist Friedrich Kittler: first, the displacement of 1980s and 1990s Kittlerian media theory towards a more praxeological style of analysis in the early 2000s; second, the philological background that allowed the antiquated German appellation for agricultural engineering, Kulturtechniken, to migrate (...) into media and cultural studies; and third, the role of these conceptual dislocations in enriching media-genealogical inquiries into topics such as life, biopolitics, and practice. (shrink)

This article situates the emergence of cybernetic concepts in postwar French thought within a longer history of struggles surrounding the technocratic reform of French universities, including Marcel Mauss’s failed efforts to establish a large-scale centre for social-scientific research with support from the Rockefeller Foundation, the intellectual and administrative endeavours of Claude Lévi-Strauss during the 1940s and 1950s, and the rise of communications research in connection with the Centre d’Études des Communications de Masse (CECMAS). Although semioticians and poststructuralists used cybernetic discourse (...) critically and ironically, I argue that their embrace of a ‘textocratic’ perspective – that is, a theory of power and epistemology as tied to technical inscription – sustained elements of the technocratic reasoning dating back to these 1920s efforts to reform French universities. (shrink)

World War II research into cryptography and computing produced methods, instruments and research communities that informed early research into artificial intelligence and semi-autonomous computing. Alan Turing and Claude Shannon in particular adapted this research into early theories and demonstrations of AI based on computers’ abilities to track, predict and compete with opponents. This formed a loosely bound collection of techniques, paradigms, and practices I call crypto-intelligence. Subsequent researchers such as Joseph Weizenbaum adapted crypto-intelligence but also reproduced aspects of its antagonistic (...) precepts. This was particularly true in the design and testing of chat bots. Here the ability to trick, fool, and deceive human and machine opponents was a premium, and practices of agent abuse were admired and rewarded. Recognizing the historical genesis of this particular variety of abuse can help researchers develop less antagonistic methodologies. (shrink)

As a young philosopher Gilbert Simondon identified technology as a site of obsession, anxiety, and misunderstanding within contemporary culture. “Culture,” he wrote, “has become a system of defense designed to safeguard man from technics” (Mode of Existence, 1). According to Simondon, technique and technology ubiquitously structured thought and practice, especially in the contemporary world, yet philosophical tradition relegated the technical to an obscure zone of conceptual neglect. Simondon took the intimacy and obscurity that surrounded our relation to the technical as (...) a clarion call to philosophy. Over the course of thirty-odd years of philosophizing, he examined the relation of the technical to the cultural .. (shrink)

Assembling a distinctive genealogy of cybernetic thought situated in relation to Progressive Era technocracy, industrial capitalism, (de)colonial relations, and eugenic machinery, Code uncovers the vital interdependence of informatics, the humanities, and the human sciences in the 20th century. Rather than figuring cybernetics as emerging from Second World War military technologies and post-war digital computing, Code argues that liberal technocrats’ inter-war visions of social welfare delivered via ‘neutral’ communication techniques shaped the informatic interventions of both the Second World War and the (...) Cold War. Tracing how an organizing concept of code linked the work of diverse structurally-minded thinkers, such as Norbert Wiener, Warren Weaver, Margaret Mead, Gregory Bateson, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Roman Jakobson, Jacques Lacan, Roland Barthes, and Luce Irigaray, Bernard Dionysius Geoghegan reconstructs the cybernetic apparatus that spawned new fields, including structural anthropology, family therapy, and literary semiology – and grapples with the unfolding implications of such socio-technical dynamics for 21st-century critical theory, digital media, and data analytics. (shrink)

The present volume is welcome for a dual reason; one that it marks the resumption, after a period of over twenty years, of the scholarly translations of St. Bonaventure, begun under Boehner; the second is the intrinsic value of the translation and lengthy introduction, almost a third of the book. Since the Saint Anthony Guild and Franciscan Herald Presses have published some of the shorter and more popular writings of the saint, it is fitting that the Franciscan Institute, noted for (...) its more technical philosophical and theological studies, should have chosen this series of disputed questions. They are undoubtedly one of Bonaventure's most mature and important writings, stemming from his days as the Franciscan regent master of theology at the University of Paris. The translator has already distinguished himself with a number of other articles and translations of the Seraphic Doctor. His scholarly and informative introduction falls into three chapters, one on the historical background, a second on the originality of Bonaventure's general trinitarian theology, and the third on the specific themes treated in this set of disputed questions. The first throws new light on the origin of the Dionysian and Richardian elements that separate Bonaventure's treatment of the trinity from that of Aquinas. Bonaventure became acquainted with pseudo-Dionysius and Richard of St. Victor through the Summa fratris Alexandri attributed to Alexander of Hales and the early Franciscan Masters at the Paris house of studies. Fontal plenitude, fecundity, and goodness, that figured largely in the Greek Fathers, are developed by Bonaventure in an original and personal way. The incompleteness of the Dionysian model is filled in by Richard's psychological analysis of love and his conception of personhood. Innascibility as the key characteristic of the Father is given a positive twist; it implies one who is first in an absolute sense as the summation of Parmenidean perfection and whose fontal plenitude is not only the source of the dual procession in the Trinity, but spills over into a richly diverse and continuing creation that bears in varying degrees the stamp of its triadic source. Man as microcosm mirrors this most of all, especially that man in whom the Logos, or macrocosm of archetypal ideas, became incarnate. It is only in treatment of the Son and his relationship to creation as exemplar cause that the distinctive influence of Augustine appears. In the final introductory chapter, the specific Trinitarian themes of unity, based on a dynamic rather than a static Aristotelian notion of deity, simplicity, infinity, eternity, immutability, necessity, and primacy are discussed and what emerges is a deeper appreciation of the synthetic genius of Bonaventure, who drew from such a myriad of sources, yet wove his material into a unique system in which philosophy functions not as a propadeutic to theology, but as an integral and essential part. For that reason the work is of far wider interest than an arcane theological study that only philosophers with a penchant for history might read with profit.--A.B.W. (shrink)

My title is deliberately provocative. What could be less humanitarian than the Melian Dialogue? For most readers of Thucydides it is the paradigm of imperial brutality, ranking with the braggadocio of Sennacherib's Rabshakeh in its insistence upon the coercive force of temporal power. The Melians are assured that the rule of law is not applicable to them. As the weaker party they can only accept the demands of the stronger and be content that they are not more extreme. Appeals to (...) moral or religious norms are quite irrelevant, for in their position the Melians simply cannot afford them—as little as Mr. Doolittle could afford middle-class morality. The message is a hard one, and it has elicited outrage over the centuries from the majority of scholars who tend to prefer the καλὰ ὀνόματα of propaganda to the harsh underlying realities of imperial expansion. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, writing shortly after a war to protect western values had resulted in a new world order, finds it inconceivable that Athenian generals could discount divinely-inspired hope and insist on the imperative of force or that the Melians, that tiny state, would prefer the nobler to the safer course. In this he is echoed by George Grote, writing in the expansionist days of the early nineteenth century: ‘a civilized conqueror is bound by received international morality to furnish some justification—a good plea, if he can—a false plea or a sham plea if he has not better’. Instead, says Grote, the Athenian envoy ‘disdains the conventional arts of civilized diplomacy’; and the inevitable conclusion for him, as it had been for Dionysius, is that the Dialogue is fundamentally bogus, a composition of Thucydides ‘to bring out the sentiments of a disdainful and confident conqueror in dramatic antithesis’. (shrink)

Longinus' On the Sublime (date unknown) presents itself as a response to the work of the Augustan critic Caecilius of Caleacte. Recent attempts to reconstruct Longinus' intellectual context have largely ignored the works of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Caecilius' contemporary colleague (active in Rome between 30 and 8 B.C.E. ). This article investigates the concept of hupsos ("the sublime") and its religious aspects in Longinus and Dionysius, and reveals a remarkable continuity between the discourse of both authors. Dionysius' (...) works inform us about an Augustan debate on Plato and the sublime, and thereby provide us with an important context for Longinus' treatise. (shrink)

Κίμων ἔγραψε τὴν θύραν τὴν δεξιάν,τὴν δ’ ἐξιόντων δεξιὰν Διονύσιος.Cimon painted the door to the right,and the right door as one goes out, Dionysius.Denys Page correctly classified this epigram, which comes from a series ofSimonideain the ninth book of thePalatine Anthology, as a signature epigram. The Cimon mentioned in the first line of the epigram is regularly identified as Cimon of Cleonae, a late sixth-century B.C. painter commended by Pliny and Aelian for his technique and, possibly, use of perspective. (...) The identity of Dionysius from line 2 is disputed: from little that we know of a painter named Dionysius of Colophon who may have been a younger contemporary of Cimon, it is difficult to reach any conclusion. What connects the two artists is that they were both famed for their portrayal of humans and that they may have entered in a sort of a competition with each other. (shrink)

One of Sulla's first acts on assuming the dictatorship in 81 B.C. was to fill up the numbers of the Senate by the addition of some 300 new members. Tradition is divided on the question of the rank of these men before their promotion, and no unanimity has yet been reached in the matter. There are two distinct versions in the ancient authorities, both equally well attested. Appian and the Epitomator of Livy state that the new members were equites, while (...) Sallust and Dionysius of Halicarnassus assert that they included men of the lowest rank . When we turn to modern historians we find opinion similarly divided. Writers such as Lange, Zumpt and Herzog accept the first version, whereas Niebuhr, Botsford, Willems and Gelzer incline to the view of Sallust. It is tempting to do as some writers have done and to combine the two versions, saying that some of the new Senators were equites and some common soldiers. But this is a very arbitrary cutting of the knot. Herzog seems to play with the idea that Sulla promoted ordinary soldiers via the equites when he says ‘wobei noch dazu mancher war, der seine Ritterstellung erst eben errungen hatte.’ This, however, is mere guesswork. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Aristotle's Poetics and the PaintersGraham ZankerAristotle's Poetics uses the example of painting as an analogy to illustrate certain facts about poetry, specifically epic, tragedy, and comedy. But the use of painting as an analogy, though ancillary to Aristotle's subject, should yield evidence, if properly evaluated, on how the philosopher thought about painting, because the use of a thing as an analogy actually depends on how its user regards the (...) thing. We can legitimately infer Aristotle's opinions about certain aspects of painting from his comments about poetic mimesis, because analogy is by nature reflexive, or symmetrical: if poetry resembles painting in certain respects, then painting must in turn resemble poetry in those respects. And since, as I hope to show, the characteristics in question can be clearly defined from the Poetics, and since the terms denoting them are given consistent meanings throughout the treatise in regard to poetry, it would be all the more inconceivable that Aristotle did not mean the same with these terms when he applied them to painting. In fact, Aristotle's views on painting are important for establishing how painting was perceived in the fourth century B.C., at least in certain respects which I suggest are well worth noting. Here I refer in particular to the question of subject matter, the aspect of morality, and the issue of idealization in classical Greek painting. This short essay, then, is offered as an example of how an ancient treatise on literary aesthetics can benefit the art historian, especially by providing a framework within which the Greeks themselves viewed the art of their time.It is vital, first of all, to establish precisely what Aristotle is referring to when he says that poets represent people in action and that it is necessary that these be (48a1-6). For this I offer the following provisional and unprejudicial translation, the precise points of reference of which will be defined in the course of my argument: "either serious men () or insignificant men ()..., either better () than our level or worse () or of like level () as well, just like the painters, [End Page 225] for Polygnotus depicted superior people (), Pauson inferior, and Dionysius people of like level ()."This passage is often taken to refer to the moral status of the characters in poetry and in the paintings of Polygnotus, Pauson, and Dionysius. This is particularly so in the case of modern art historians. Rouveret, for example, affirms without substantiation that "pour Aristote, toute action est colorée par un ethos, d'autre part, les ethé se regroupent en deux catégories principales, les et les. Ces deux groupes déterminent deux types de mimesis tragique et comique. La tragédie représente donc toujours des " (1989, 132).1 And, having defined and in this way, she tries to show (121-61) how the text illuminates Aristotle's comment that Polygnotus was an while Zeuxis was not (50a25).But there are compelling reasons for believing that the reference here is basically to social class, with a flow-on effect on moral status.2 [End Page 226] In that case, according to Aristotle, tragedians and Polygnotus depict people of superior social status, comedy and Pauson represent people of inferior social status, and an unspecified literary genre (a type of tragedy if the Cleophon of 48a12 is the Athenian tragedian mentioned in the Suda)3 as well as the painter Dionysius (in all likelihood the fifth-century painter mentioned by Pliny at NH 35.113) depict people of an average social status "like you and me" (). That the reference is primarily social is clear in that the, who are the proper province of tragedy according to Aristotle, are described at 53a10-12 as people of high repute and in great prosperity,, the "people of distinction" like Oedipus and Thyestes, who are members of distinguished families.4The social reference of these terms in the Poetics is secured, and the relationship of the concepts denoted by them to moral considerations can be illustrated by reference to 54a19-22. There Aristotle argues that it is a prime requisite of tragedy that its characters be morally good,, in order that the true tragic effect... (shrink)

Philoxenus of Cythera's dithyramb, Cyclops or Galatea, was a poem famous in antiquity as the source for the story of Polyphemus' love for the sea-nymph Galatea. The exact date of composition is uncertain, but the poem must pre-date 388 B.C., when it was parodied by Aristophanes in the parodos of Plutus , and probably, as we shall see below, post-dates 406, the point at which Dionysius I became tyrant of Syracuse . The Aristophanic parody of the work may well (...) point to a recent performance in Athens, perhaps the first, and it is hard to identify any more significant reason for mentioning the poem. Previous accounts of the poem have concentrated on two main points, its supposed satirical purpose, and the possibly dramatic nature of its performance, but there has been no attempt to consider these two points in relation to each other, or to assess in detail the value of the source-material. I argue that although there is some evidence to support the satirical reading of the poem, the main value of this tradition is that it reveals Philoxenus' comic treatment of his subject, and that while the Galatea motif has previously been considered the essential element in this comic treatment, it was probably a small part of the plot, perhaps only briefly alluded to. Finally I provide reasons for doubting the prevalent view that the performance included dramatic elements. (shrink)

Every living science, especially in its early stages, is compelled to devise fresh terms, either by coining new words or by giving new meanings to old ones. Unless and until these fresh terms become absorbed in the vocabulary of everyday speech, their unfamiliarity makes them a target for the shafts of the humourist. There can be no doubt that in the late fifth century B.C. literary criticism was still a new science. We can trace its beginnings in the treatises of (...) the Sophists, many titles of which have been handed down to us. Strepsiades' lesson in metric, though of itself amusing enough, would certainly gain in topical appropriateness if enacted at a time when such investigations were not only much in the air, but were still novel. And the whole ‘Agon’ of the Frogs, the character of which is forecasted in lines 796–802, depicts in the strongest colours the contrasted views of technician and inspirationist. We should therefore naturally expect a play of such a kind, written at such a time, to be full of technical jargon, barely understood by the ‘man in the street,’ and forming the object of his half-contemptuous amusement. That is, I believe, exactly what we do find, to an extent insufficiently recognized. Professor Radermacher, in his recent edition of the Frogs, has rendered valuable service by pointing out the frequent occurrence in that play of technical terms which meet us later in Dionysius of Halicarnassus and other critics. But I believe that technical language lurks unsuspected in many other passages, though the precise meaning may often be beyond recovery. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Rome's Religious History: Livy, Tacitus and Ammianus on Their GodsHans-Friedrich MuellerJason P. Davies. Rome's Religious History: Livy, Tacitus and Ammianus on Their Gods. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. x + 341 pp. Cloth, $85.Did the Romans believe in their gods? This question, Davies argues, has too long dominated scholarship on Roman religion, and his challenging book eschews this question (along with its dichotomous counterpart: skepticism), aiming instead to (...) engage vigorously more recent scholarship on Roman religion. Davies has read Livy, Tacitus, and Ammianus Marcellinus with sensitive attention to expressions of general religious sentiment and categories, and he has placed his findings squarely in the context of current historiographical analyses of Roman religion's literary functions. Davies sums up nicely: "What we seek here is the nature of the complex cognitive relationship between historiography and religion" (12). Generally excluded from the conversation are scholars who are deceased and who do not write in English. More rigorously excluded are cross-references to ancient authors beyond Davies' chosen three (although they do creep in from time to time, one will not come to this book for Cicero, Caesar, Sallust, Valerius Maximus, Velleius Paterculus, Suetonius, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Plutarch, et al.). Instead, Davies attempts by well-enunciated and conscious choice to conduct a series of experiments: he reads each of his chosen authors in isolation in order to build a coherent and consistent picture of the religious system of each in close conversation with the last two decades' debates on what Roman religion was really about.Although I shall in due course address my own reservations about his methodology, I would argue that we may applaud Davies for his experimental daring. The progress of knowledge requires room for failures as well as successes. We learn from both, and Davies brings before us three separate experiments: two chapters on Livy and one each on Tacitus and Ammianus. Starting from the premise that for the Romans the gods existed, and that Roman society's basic intellectual framework was "Roman religion" (whatever this may have meant to its many and varied practitioners over the course of the centuries preceding Livy), Davies' fresh readings describe what this religion appears to have entailed for each of his chosen authors. Each of those readings yields an instance or "moment" in the history of the religions of Rome and, as such, is a contribution to "Rome's religious history" (thus fulfilling, to this extent, the promise of the volume's title).After a general introduction outlining this methodology (chap. 1), Davies devotes the next two chapters to Livy (chap. 2: "Livy and the Invention of Roman Religion" and chap. 3: "Gods and Men in Livy"). We find, as we would expect, some discussion of Papirius Cursor, who in 293 B.C.E. arose in the third watch of the night to solicit the requisite impetrative auspicium before engaging the Samnites in battle (Livy 10.40.2). Papirius consulted a keeper of the sacred chickens, who announced a tripudium solistimum, despite the fact that the chickens would not eat (10.40.4). On the basis of this false report, Papirius declares that the auspicium [End Page 313] is excellent (egregium), and he orders the troops to prepare for battle (10.40.5). Papirius' nephew, however, learns from some of the cavalry who had overheard an argument among the pullarii that the pullarius' report was suspect, and he dutifully informs his uncle (10.40.9–10). Livy describes the youth as a "iuuenis ante doctrinam deos spernentem natus" (10.40.10). Papirius subsequently commends the youth but commences battle (ultimately victorious) on the grounds that the report he had requested and received itself constituted the auspicium, regardless of these other circumstances, and that any consequences for mendacity would be borne by the liar (10.40.11). The keepers of the sacred chickens are ordered to the front line, and the guilty pullarius is struck, and mortally wounded, by a javelin (10.40.12–13). This the consul interprets in turn as confirmation of his own interpretation of the auspicium as well as expiation of wrongdoing by the guilty party; the consul's statement to this effect... (shrink)

The word “encyclopedia” comes to us from the Greek or, more precisely, is the deformed transcription, through Latin, of a erase in which we recognize a word composed of two elements, enkyklios and paideia, found in Quintilian in the ancient editions of De institutione oratoria (I, 10, 1). The expression itself, enkyklios paideia, appears only later, in the Hellenistic Age, under Roman domination, beginning with Dionysius of Halicarnassus (around the first century B.C.), but the concept goes back to the (...) Eleatics, especially to Hippias of Elis who, if we can believe the account in Plato's Dialogues, taught this total knowledge, later known with the term enkyklopaideia. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Rhetoric of Philosophical Politics in Plato's Seventh LetterV. Bradley LewisThe name Syracuse has come to stand as an emblem of the problematic relationship between philosophy and politics. While the sources1 differ on specifics, we can be confident that Plato visited there at least three times between 387 and 362 B.C. On his first trip, during the reign of Dionysius I, he became acquainted with Dion, the tyrant's (...) brother-in-law. When the elder Dionysius died, Dion, a devotee of philosophy, apparently contrived for the old man's son, namesake, and successor to invite Plato back, believing that the young tyrant could be philosophically educated and convinced to lay down tyranny in favor of a new regime based on the rule of law. The plan was defeated, however, by a combination of Dionysius's dissolute life and opposition by Dion's enemies at court. Dion was exiled, and Plato returned to the Academy. Dion implored Plato to return to Syracuse on the basis of reports of Dionysius II's renewed resolution to take up philosophy and by the tyrant himself (who seems to have made some thinly veiled threats against the still-exiled Dion). Plato's second visit to Dionysius was no more successful than the first, however, and he considered himself fortunate to have escaped with his life. After a meeting at which Plato recounted the events of his final trip, Dion marshaled an expeditionary force, which included volunteers from the Academy, and set out to expel Dionysius II by violence. The effort succeeded, but the new regime was itself riven by faction, and Dion was assassinated in 353.2The principal legacy of this ill-starred episode is contained in the letters that have come down to us under the name of Plato, particularly those numbered seven and eight. Scholarly discussion of Plato's Seventh Letter has usually focused on three questions: the doctrinal content of the letter and its relationship to the doctrinal content of the dialogues; the character of the letter as an apologia for Plato's Syracusan activities; and the general authenticity of the letter. While the second of these questions focuses correctly [End Page 23] on the rhetorical character of the letter, it ignores the most obvious aspect, namely, the letter's explicit addressees: the friends and comrades of Dion, and their request for political advice. If we take this rhetorical element with sufficient seriousness, we will see that the content of the letter is fully consistent with the teachings of the political dialogues, a point that tells in favor of the authenticity of the letter. Specifically, a focus on the rhetorical character of the letter reveals that its content is determined mostly by what emerges as an effort by Plato to influence his correspondents by moderating their understandable desire for vengeance and thus to forestall further bloodshed and disorder in Syracuse. What is most important about the letter, then, is not so much its account of Plato's actions in Syracuse, but its unveiling of his intentions with respect to Dion's followers. It is not the philosophical-political blueprint, sketched vaguely in the Seventh Letter, that is most important,3 but the concrete effort to mitigate the passions of his correspondents. Read in this light, the letter becomes even more important, since it contradicts the popular image of Plato as a proponent of dangerous political utopianism and portrays a more subtle relationship between philosophy and politics.1. Dion's intentions, Plato's apologyTo the extent that the rhetoric of the letter has been treated, commentators have usually focused on Plato's (or whoever the author) defense of his own actions in Sicily.4 While there is certainly warrant for this approach, the most important fact about the letter concerns its intended audience, the "relatives and comrades of Dion."5 As Plato explains in the opening of the letter, these are the men who have sought not only his advice, but his cooperation in completing the political project halted by Dion's death at the hands of several of his other purported "allies."The most striking feature of the rhetorical structure is that, while the letter... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Rhetoric of Philosophical Politics in Plato's Seventh LetterV. Bradley LewisThe name Syracuse has come to stand as an emblem of the problematic relationship between philosophy and politics. While the sources1 differ on specifics, we can be confident that Plato visited there at least three times between 387 and 362 B.C. On his first trip, during the reign of Dionysius I, he became acquainted with Dion, the tyrant's (...) brother-in-law. When the elder Dionysius died, Dion, a devotee of philosophy, apparently contrived for the old man's son, namesake, and successor to invite Plato back, believing that the young tyrant could be philosophically educated and convinced to lay down tyranny in favor of a new regime based on the rule of law. The plan was defeated, however, by a combination of Dionysius's dissolute life and opposition by Dion's enemies at court. Dion was exiled, and Plato returned to the Academy. Dion implored Plato to return to Syracuse on the basis of reports of Dionysius II's renewed resolution to take up philosophy and by the tyrant himself (who seems to have made some thinly veiled threats against the still-exiled Dion). Plato's second visit to Dionysius was no more successful than the first, however, and he considered himself fortunate to have escaped with his life. After a meeting at which Plato recounted the events of his final trip, Dion marshaled an expeditionary force, which included volunteers from the Academy, and set out to expel Dionysius II by violence. The effort succeeded, but the new regime was itself riven by faction, and Dion was assassinated in 353.2The principal legacy of this ill-starred episode is contained in the letters that have come down to us under the name of Plato, particularly those numbered seven and eight. Scholarly discussion of Plato's Seventh Letter has usually focused on three questions: the doctrinal content of the letter and its relationship to the doctrinal content of the dialogues; the character of the letter as an apologia for Plato's Syracusan activities; and the general authenticity of the letter. While the second of these questions focuses correctly [End Page 23] on the rhetorical character of the letter, it ignores the most obvious aspect, namely, the letter's explicit addressees: the friends and comrades of Dion, and their request for political advice. If we take this rhetorical element with sufficient seriousness, we will see that the content of the letter is fully consistent with the teachings of the political dialogues, a point that tells in favor of the authenticity of the letter. Specifically, a focus on the rhetorical character of the letter reveals that its content is determined mostly by what emerges as an effort by Plato to influence his correspondents by moderating their understandable desire for vengeance and thus to forestall further bloodshed and disorder in Syracuse. What is most important about the letter, then, is not so much its account of Plato's actions in Syracuse, but its unveiling of his intentions with respect to Dion's followers. It is not the philosophical-political blueprint, sketched vaguely in the Seventh Letter, that is most important,3 but the concrete effort to mitigate the passions of his correspondents. Read in this light, the letter becomes even more important, since it contradicts the popular image of Plato as a proponent of dangerous political utopianism and portrays a more subtle relationship between philosophy and politics.1. Dion's intentions, Plato's apologyTo the extent that the rhetoric of the letter has been treated, commentators have usually focused on Plato's (or whoever the author) defense of his own actions in Sicily.4 While there is certainly warrant for this approach, the most important fact about the letter concerns its intended audience, the "relatives and comrades of Dion."5 As Plato explains in the opening of the letter, these are the men who have sought not only his advice, but his cooperation in completing the political project halted by Dion's death at the hands of several of his other purported "allies."The most striking feature of the rhetorical structure is that, while the letter... (shrink)

Modern science developed in the interflow of culture between west and east. Combing of pratice technology with philosophic thoughts formed experimental method. Holistic views contacting atomism produced system theory. System thoughts are applicated in the science and engineering of biosystems, and the cencepts of system biomedicine (Kamada T.1992), systems biology (Zieglgansberger W, Tolle TR.1993), system bioengineering and system genetics (Zeng BJ. 1994) were established. From positive to synthetic thoughts, philosophy have been developed ontology, cosmology, organism theories. Structurity is structure logic (...) system founded on entity, develop, exist axioms, tolerance, adaptation, fluctuate, interweave, transform theorems and integrate, adaptation, construct laws. Structurity be discussed on the cosmos, life, culture system, creation, hologram theories of structure ontology, construct mutation, simi-structure organism and entity emergence, symbol implication. From the relation of structure, function and development, the structurity put forward the cycle, spiral, triangle structure stability patterns of self-organization in structure complement each other and stratification, functional couple and interflow bounds growth, coordinativetransformation and holographic symmetry. (shrink)

This paper traces the background to R. A. Fisher's multi-factorial theory of inheritance. It is argued that the traditional account is incomplete, and that Karl Pearson's well-known pre-Fisherian objections to the theory were in fact overcome by Pearson himself. It is further argued that Pearson's stated reasons for not accepting his own achievement has to be seen as a rationalization, standing in for deeper-seated metaphysical objections to the Mendelian paradigm of a type not readily discussed in a formal scientific paper. (...) The apparent, post-Fisherian, continued acceptance of Pearson's objections is presented as an interesting problem for the historian and sociologist. (shrink)

Despite the long controversy on the date and composition of the First Philippic, we are no nearer, it would seem, to a satisfactory solution. F. Focke, apparently following a suggestion in Gercke-Norden, developed what is perhaps the most reasonable presentation of the view that the speech was delivered in the spring of 350 B.C.; but what vitiates his argument in the long run is Focke's constant presumption that all the various datable references must belong to one and the same speech (...) or stratum of composition. For although the view of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, that the First Philippic really comprises two distinct speeches, has not in its extreme form won acceptance with modern scholars, other more moderate solutions are not impossible; and it would seem that Blass's revision theory suggests a more subtle way of handling the various inconsistencies between the first and the second parts of the speech. (shrink)