Uma leitura do verso 179 da Medeia de Sêneca sob o enfoque processual do Direito Romano, vinculado às diversas disposições legais relativas às actiones noxalis , permite o alargamento da compreensão do estatuto da protagonista trágica. Nessa nova possibilidade tradutória, Medeia adquiriu, de modo claro, a feição de injustiçada, com o realce da perfídia de Jasão e da tirania de Creonte. Por outro lado, essa leitura processual do texto literário senequiano ainda permite a percepção da prática da contaminatio (...) efetuada pelo autor, que atualizou a narrativa grega para a realidade latina por meio de sua adequação jurídica à realidade romana. (shrink)

A peça trágica, Medeia, é uma das maiores criações de Sêneca. É notável que Medeia tivesse empreendido uma luta interna para manter-se fiel ao seu passado de crimes, pois pretendeu exacerbar seu lado criminoso e, por fim, acabou travando uma batalha com sua própria consciência. No decorrer da peça, invocou até mesmo o universo, solicitando vingança à sua dor; entretanto, ela é mãe, revestida, internamente, de um “medo feminino”. Pretende-se apresentar, neste estudo, de que forma Medeia empreende tal luta (...) interna para arrancar do peito esse sentimento e desvencilhar-se do medo feminino a ponto de tornar-se “inumana” e matar os próprios filhos. (shrink)

Seneca stands apart from other philosophers of Greece and Rome not only for his interest in practical ethics, but also for the beauty and liveliness of his writing. These twelve in-depth essays take up a series of interrelated topics in his works, from his relation to Stoicism, Epicureanism, and other schools of thought; to the psychology of emotion and action and the management of anger and grief; to letter-writing, gift-giving, friendship, and kindness; to Seneca's innovative use of genre, style, and (...) humor. Recalling Socrates's critique of philosophical writing in Plato's Phaedrus, this volume gives particular attention to Seneca's ideas about the techniques of reading, writing, and study that make philosophy beneficial to the individual and to society. Clear explanations and careful translations make the volume accessible to a wide range of readers. (shrink)

I try to show that Seneca’s Medea provides us with two elements -which, as far as I am aware, have not received proper attention- that complement his approach to the phenomenon of anger, and which can improve our understanding of the Stoic psychology of action defended in De ira. The first element is linked to the question of whether the angry person is responsive to reasons or not; the second one concerns the question of indifference, tolerance and forgiveness, and addresses (...) the issue of Medea's inability to conceive of a more appropriate or desirable reaction to Jason’s offense than anger. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Seneca, Ethics, and the Body: The Treatment of Cruelty in Medieval ThoughtDaniel BarazIn an impassioned article written in 1941 Lucien Febvre urges the writing of a history of human sensibility and suggests in particular writing a history of cruelty. 1 The general direction indicated by Febvre has been followed, but as far as cruelty is concerned his plea is still as relevant today as it was five decades ago. (...) And since cruelty is one of the attributes commonly associated with the Middle Ages, 2 it is particularly interesting to examine what and how medieval thinkers wrote on the subject.An examination of sources dealing with cruelty from late antiquity to the early modern period yields surprising results. Whereas the writings of the thinkers of late classical antiquity and of the early modern period do include discussions of the issue, the writings of medieval thinkers before the thirteenth century contain only brief remarks. The first and only exception until the end of the Middle Ages is a short question on cruelty in Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae. Other types of medieval sources, such as legal texts, chronicles, and literary texts, reveal the same scarcity of references to the subject during most of the Middle Ages. Thus this period seems to represent a gap between antiquity and the early modern period, with a reawakening of interest in the issue of cruelty towards the end of the Middle Ages.The relative silence of medieval sources calls for identifying the factors which affected the treatment of cruelty by medieval thinkers. What are the [End Page 195] reasons for the neglect of the subject as well as for the late revival of interest in it? And when the issue is discussed, what factors shape the discussion? Two issues seem crucial to me in answering these questions: the conception of the relation between body and soul and the relative weight given to actions vs. intentions in the dominant ethical framework. A third issue, of equal importance, provides a focus for the investigation of the treatment of cruelty in the Middle Ages and the factors affecting it; and this is the reception of Seneca. As interest in Seneca’s writings grew, so did the preoccupation with cruelty. There is a close thematic interaction between these two processes, beyond the chrono-logical coincidence.Most obviously, discussions of cruelty as a subject per se referred explicitly to Seneca’s writings on the subject. Less directly, when cruelty was treated only in passing in the context of the Christian tradition, the manner in which the subject was addressed reflected a lack of Senecan influence, so that Seneca’s influence was felt through its absence. Nevertheless, the Christian tradition continued to influence references to cruelty even after the revival of Senecan influence during the high Middle Ages and to a certain degree even served as a filter, determining which aspects of Seneca’s writings on cruelty were used.Thomas Aquinas and SenecaThe first medieval discussion of cruelty as a subject per se is the question De crudelitate (2-2-159) in the section on temperance in Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae. Aquinas bases his discussion almost exclusively on classical sources, primarily Seneca’s De clementia. 3 Seneca referred to cruelty in detail both in this work and in another moral essay, De ira. His De clementia was written at the beginning of Nero’s reign, and it is addressed to the young emperor, his former pupil. Its stated aim is to praise Nero for possessing the quality of clementia, and to show how important this quality is for rulers. 4 The concept of clementia describes a quality of political men, the term having acquired political significance since the times of Caesar and Augustus. 5De clementia was written before most of the actions which earned Nero his reputation were perpetrated; the only concrete action which may have inspired Seneca to write it was the murder of Britannicus, of which Nero was suspected. Regardless, the emperors preceding Nero were certainly not renowned for their [End Page 196] clemency. Suetonius tells that one of Caligula’s amusements was to attend sessions of torture and execution; that he insisted on slow... (shrink)

O gênero trágico conheceu um tempo de declínio ao longo do primeiro século antes de nossa era, acentuado, particularmente, pelo desinteresse de Augusto. Na dinastia claudiana, contudo, reaparece desenvolvido por uma nova figura: Sêneca. Embora inspirado nos tragediógrafos áticos, Sêneca revela originalidade, sobretudo nos cânticos corais que entremeiam os episódios das tragédias, muito diferentes dos coros presentes nas peças gregas, como se pode observar em Medéia.

The language of Seneca’s messenger speeches concentrates preceding patterns of imagery into grotesquely violent action. In three tragedies – Phaedra, Thyestes, and Trojan Women – the report of an anonymous messenger dominates an entire act. All three scenes describe gruesome deaths: the impalement of Hippolytus on a tree trunk in Phaedra, Atreus’ butchering of his nephews in Thyestes, and the slaughter of Astyanax and Polyxena in Trojan Women. In portraying violence, these messenger speeches repurpose language established in earlier scenes to (...) realize and deform a dominant theme of each play: distorted sexuality, appetite, and moral dissolution. (shrink)

The relationship between the choruses of Seneca's tragedies and the action of the plays in which they occur is one of the least understood and most controversial aspects of the Roman dramatist's work. It is often asserted that Seneca's choral odes are mere act-dividers, that their relationship with the play's action is loose and unconvincing. I would not care to assert that the handling of the chorus is flawless in all instances in Seneca's tragedies , but in his best works (...) it is, I believe, masterly. In this paper I propose to illustrate the close and complex interconnection between ode and action in Senecan tragedy through an analysis of the choruses of Thyestes. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reason m Seneca JOSIAH B. GOULD MAx POHLENZ,in his last great work on the Stoa,1 maintained that Logos is the central concept of Stoic philosophy (I, 34). Neither Mette2nor Edelstein,3each of whom reviewed Pohlenz's study, notes the author's frequent reminders that Stoicism is "eine Logosphilosophie" and his contention, set forth early in Volume I, that the concept of Logos has in Stoic philosophy "pushed wholly to one side the (...) Aristotelian J,o~sin doctrine as well as in terminology." One who is familiar with the fragments of the writings of the early Stoics hardly needs to be told that for Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus, Logos is a fundamental notion. Help is needed when one tries to make clear to himself the content of this notion. An example is the moral philosophy of Chrysippus as we have reconstructed it from the fragments of his writings. For Chrysippus the basic expression in Stoic moral philosophy, "life in accordance with nature" (zb ~arh ~b~Lu~'~u) becomes "life in accordance with reason" (r~ KaTh~,bTou~'~). I have, however, found it difficult to render an account of what, for Chrysippus, it would be to live in accordance with Logos or reason. On one hand, it would appear that to live in conformity with reason is to be guided by cumulative experience or generalizations from past experience about what would or would not be advantageous. It seems, that is, to be assent to reason when it passes from experience of this benefit following on that action to judgments such as "that kind of action issues in this kind of advantage." On the other hand, reason or Logos, in a fully developed state, we are informed, is the knowledge of genuinely good and genuinely bad things; and such knowledge is obviously not the kind of thing to be induced from particular experiences. In the first place a judgment that a particular consequence of a particular deed is of value presupposes the knowledge which Chrysippus describes as the "knowledge of things really good or really advantageous." For example, given that one has a relatively clear notion as to what health is, he with some experience, can judge whether or not this food and that activity contribute to health. But, on Chrysippus' view, it would seem that reason or Logos in order to come to conclusions about the value of health-inducing foods or activities has to possess a relatively clear notion about the value of something else in whose acquisition health is instrumental. The assertion that actions leading to health or wealth have value could not follow from some special insight by Logos into the intrinsic worth of health or wealth, for it is explicitly denied that they are unqualifiedly good. The question then arises whether Logos has an insight into 1Max Pohlenz, Die Stoa. Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung. 2nd. ed. (GSttingen: Vandenhoeck & Rupreeht, 1959). H. J. Mette, Max Pohlenz: Die Stoa. Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung. 2 Bde. (G6ttingen : Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht). Review, GnomonXXIII (1951),27-39. Ludwig Edelstein, Max Pohlenz. Die Stoa. Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung. (GSttingen : Yandenhoeck und Ruprecht, I [1948},490 pp.; II [1949],230 pp.). Review,American Journal of Philology, LXXII (Oct., 1951),426--432. [13] 14 HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY something else which is genuinely good by reference to which judgments can be made about the value of health and wealth under certain conditions. The suspicion that this is so is heightened by the exalted status assigned to the wise man. The ideal of the wise man does not fit snuglywith Chrysippus' conception of Logos as a generalizing instrument for determining what things and activities are useful. The wise man is too contemptuous of or, at least, too indifferent toward the "goods" of the world. It is unthinkable that he should attend to them with a view to determining which of them is useful. He knows already; his wisdom comes from other parts. He is sure of what is really good because an unobfuscated reason or Logns has declared this to him in an immediate way; he has not had to wait for the verdict of reason's generalizations on experience. It is difficult to ignore either of... (shrink)

For Seneca passions are not just bad judgments that need to be defeated. Even though he generally agrees with Chrysippus on the matter of the ontology of passions, Seneca differentiates mainly in his emphasis that passions are the reason why man leads an inauthentic, unhappy and undignified life. The Roman philosopher employs practical techniques that refer to the ordinary man, the man who rationally desires to change his merely-being into well-being. But that action requires the energetic engagement of the individual (...) and the admittance of his particular responsibility. The role of individuality is particularly stressed, especially on the premises that man needs to make this constant and conscious effort to help himself, and to cure his own soul, often with the aid of others who share the same path. Under this prism, the treatment of passions leads to a culmination where man is not only bound to achieve his ontological excellence, but also to relieve his soul from the traumas of passions and to connect himself with the moral and existential safety that the presence of “recta ratio” guarantees. Seneca in De Ira defines passion as the result of an ‘impetus’, an horme, which lacks self-control and is closed to reason and counsel. As such, a passion makes the soul unfit to know the right and the true. In such a condition, man loses contact with the firm cognitive criteria that would allow him this knowledge and would ensure a eudaemonistic living “secundum naturam”. Although Seneca is convinced that the stoic teaching should address literally everyone in order to ameliorate one’s life and make it authentic and right, he upholds that it is better to totally exclude passions from the soul than try to control them. That gives certain gravity to the recognition that virtue, although it potentially belongs to every human being, is an absolute good, the only good that can be attained. But virtue, through this condition of emancipation from passion and of correction, is not an idealistic situation. Virtue is necessary, because only virtue can save man from leading an unhappy life, since it is the crucial prerequisite for the life of a rational and conscientious being. (shrink)

This paper explores the potential for psychic conflict within Seneca's moral psychology. Some scholars have taken Seneca's explicit claim in De Ira that the soul is unitary to preclude any kind of simultaneous psychic conflict, while other interpreters have suggested that Seneca views all cases of anger as instances of akrasia. I argue that Seneca's account of anger provides the resources for accommodating some types of simultaneous psychic conflict; however, he denies the possibility of psychic conflict between two action-generating impulses, (...) thus rejecting the phenomena of genuine akrasia and enkrateia. Although superficially counterintuitive, Seneca's cognitivist account of anger, according to which anger is complex and requires assent to the propositions that ‘I have been wronged’ and ‘I ought to seek revenge’, renders his denial of akrasia and enkrateia more plausible. (shrink)

Numerous scholars have taken the popular stance against Roman emperor Nero’s actions. In the style of fictional narrative, this article argues for the defense of Nero against the widely held opinion. The article is written under the guise of Seneca, his tutor and advisor. It is written in the genre of biography and in the format of a letter addressed to Cassius Dio.

En este artículo, nos preguntamos si es pertinente un análisis del personaje de Medea de Eurípides, y más concretamente, de su filicidio, a la luz de la doctrina aristotélica de la acción. Resulta dudoso, y quizás equívoco, hablar de "responsabilidad" (en sentido aristotélico) en el caso de la heroína, ya que sus motivaciones, como las de todo héroe trágico, tienen un doble signo: enfrentado a una ἀνάγκη superior, también desea lo que está forzado a hacer. Además, Medea no es una (...) mujer común: es un personaje ontológicamente complejo que participa, más de lo que frecuentemente se ha enfatizado, del plano divino. In this article we wonder if it is pertinent to analyse the character of Euripides' Medea and, more precisely, her filicide, in the light of Aristotle's doctrine of action. With regard to the heroine, it is doubtful and perhaps confusing to talk about "responsibility" (in Aristotelian terms) because her motivations, as all tragic heroes', are two-sided: faced to a superior ἀνάγκη he wants what he is forced to do as well. In addition, Medea is not an ordinary woman: she is an ontologically complex character that has a share in the divine level, a share which is more crucial than what has usually been emphasized. (shrink)

Seneca’s Letters sketch a theory of attentive action according to which distraction is caused by inconsistent beliefs about values, such that the degree of an agent’s attention to an endorsed action is proportionate to the consistency of her beliefs about value, i. e. her proximity to virtue. The agent’s activity of attentive action is co-ordinated with a state of alertness to her interests, which accordingly triggers switches in attention that sustain the endorsed action in single-minded agents or cause distraction if (...) the new interest is irrelevant to it. Seneca’s theory reflects the older Stoic conception of the tensional mental strength of the virtuous agent, which Chrysippus identified as the causal factor over and above virtue that ensures her successful performance of right action. (shrink)

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)

Often, when Seneca wants to defend a thesis that seems original to him in relation to the Stoic school, he claims to enjoy distracting himself with subtle games that quickly become boring puzzles. This article would like to show how Seneca, especially in letters 58, 113, 117, but also in his other writings, establishes the meaning of what is, what is not and what is quasi. The goal is important, since Seneca seeks to give incorporeal things, lekta, a power of (...) action that they should not have, because only bodies can act. Seneca’s solution remains problematic. However, Seneca finds its original conceptual features in the highly abstract and fictional thinking of Roman law, particularly in the reflection on the meaning of res. (shrink)

‘Sapiens and Sthitaprajna’ studies the concept of a wise person in the Stoic Seneca and in the Bhagavad-Gita. Although the Gita and Seneca’s writings were composed at least two centuries and a continent apart, they have much in common in recommending a well lived life. This book describes how in both - a wise person is endowed with both virtue and wisdom, is moral, makes right judgments and takes responsibility for actions. A wise and virtuous person always enjoys happiness, as (...) happiness consists in knowing that one has done the right thing at the right time. Both Seneca and the Gita demand intellectual rigor and wisdom for leading a virtuous and effective life. They provide guidelines for how to become and be wise. Both systems demand a sage to be emotionally sound and devoid of passions. This leads to mental peace and balance, and ultimately tranquility and happiness. While surveying these similarities, this study also finds differences in their ways of application of these ideas. The metaphysics of the Gita obliges the sage to practice meditation, while the Stoics require a sage to be a rational person committed to analyzing and intellectualizing any situation. This comparative study will be of interest to students of both Ancient Western and Ancient Indian Philosophy. Practitioners of Stoicism and followers of the Gita should find the presence of closely related ideas in a very different tradition of interest while perhaps finding somewhat different prescriptions a spur to action. (shrink)

The article aims at clarifying the Stoic theory of ``prescription'', more specifically, the Stoic reflection about the method to formulate rules and directions for moral conduct. First, the possibility to provide particular precepts is considered in the frame of some major doctrines such as the equivalence between moral end and conformity to nature, the theory of the ``indifferents'', the partition of actions into katorthomata and kathekonta. Accordingly, both internal Stoic debate on the real value of particular precepts, and Hermagoras' classification (...) of zetemata, are considered in order to bring up the impact of early Stoic prescriptive theory on late Hellenistic ethics. Special attention is paid to Seneca's evidence from Epistles 94 and 95 - in their relation to Hermagoras' teachings -, and Plutarch's text from De Stoic. rep., ch. 11, with regard to Chrysippus' theory of prescription. (shrink)

The mechanism of emotions in Stoicism has been presented by Graver a decade ago as relying on a “pathetic syllogism” having as its premises a judgment about the goodness of a certain type of object and a judgment that it is proper to have a certain emotional response to that object. It is true that each emotion is an irrational impulse resulting not only from the opinion that something is good but also from the opinion that it is appropriate to (...) have a certain type of emotional response to that object, as shown by Graver. However, the present paper intends to present an alternative to Graver’s view by reducing the mechanism of emotion to the mechanism of all impulses: each impulse is an assent given to the impression that it is befitting for me to accomplish certain actions, and what Cicero and Stobaeus describe is not the combination of two premises resulting in an emotion as a conclusion, but the idea that it is necessary to give one’s assent to the impulsive impression to produce an emotion. Likewise, in Seneca, it is in such a way that a preliminary form of impulse is transformed into an emotion. A universal judgment about an object being good or a reaction being appropriate is certainly involved in certain emotions, but not in all of them, since many emotions depend on a fresh impression that overwhelms the general rational judgments of someone due to one’s insufficient mental preparation and to the weakness of one’s mind. In those cases, an emotion may involve the impression that a behaviour or a feeling is appropriate without endorsing the idea that it is universally good or appropriate, since the mechanism of the emotion relies on the vividness of one particular impression even against one’s system of beliefs. (shrink)

The article addresses the issues of values in ancient philosophy. The aim of the study is to analyze and reflect on the views of ancient philosophers on values and to examine their influence on the development of moral philosophy. The following approaches and research methods were used: the historical-philosophical approach – to study the views of ancient philosophers on values in the context of their time; the comparative approach – to compare the views of different philosophers on values; and the (...) analytical approach – to logically analyze key concepts such as the Good, virtue, happiness, justice, etc. It has been established that in the history of European philosophy, the concept of “values,” as an embodiment of the term “the Good” (that which brings benefit), originates in ancient philosophy. Various approaches to understanding values that existed in ancient philosophy are characterized. It is noted that Seneca’s views on values combined key Stoic principles such as virtue and self-control; Plato regarded the Good as the highest value and the goal of human life, linking it to justice both at the individual and societal levels; for Aristotle, the highest value and the goal of human life was happiness, which a person strives for through their actions and moral deeds. It is emphasized that, unlike the Pre-Socratics, who focused on studying the natural world and cosmological questions, the philosophers of classical Greece turned their attention to society and the state, considering that a rational (just, ideal) state is the key to personal well-being. It is demonstrated that questions about the place of a person in the world, their path, the essence of good and evil, and moral guidelines unite Greek and Roman Stoics with the existentialist philosophers of the 20th century. The theoretical significance of the study lies in its ability to analyze the origins of fundamental philosophical categories – Good, virtue, justice, and happiness – and trace their influence on the further development of philosophy. The practical significance lies in the fact that the research materials can be included in lecture courses, allowing students to better understand the origins of modern ethical and moral principles. A promising direction for further research is considered to be the comparison of ancient and modern concepts of values. The article belongs to the theoretical type. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Phaedra's Labyrinth as the Paradigm of Passion: Racine's Aesthetic Formulation of Mimetic Desire Jacques-Jude Lépine Haverford College The actual model of Racine's Phaedra is no more the one that he claims to follow in his preface than one ofthose which his critics have sought in vain to find in the works of his immediate predecessors.1 Indeed, the comparative reading ofRacine's last profane tragedy against his sources shows that Seneca (...) and Euripides only provided a very general framework, one might say a traditional theme, which Racine completely recasts on the level of the plot, structure, characters, poetic esthetics, and theatrical performance. On the other hand, the myth of Phaedra's involuntary passion for her stepson Hippolytus, the hunter who was supposed to be atavistically insensitive to erotic seduction, could very well have been reorganized on the basis of another mythological episode which precedes it, the killing of the Minotaur by Theseus in the Labyrinth. There are many explicit references to this episode throughout Racine's Phaedra. There are even more than a rich but strictly thematic critic has been able to detect (see Racine), underscoring the fundamental point of my essay that the intensely poetic character of the Labyrinth, and particularly its function as a fantastic spatial frame, is not simply of a decorative nature. In Racine's work, as in any other genuine literary masterpiece, there is a unity ofcontent and form. The many references to the Labyrinth are determinant for the very subject ofPhaedra, which is the representation of passion, the only subject of interest for Racine. In fact, I intend to demonstrate that Racine used the unique topography of the Labyrinth as a paradigm of the logic of the relationships between his ' These works are Garnier's "Hippolyte" (1573) and Quinault's "Bellérophon" (1671). 48Jacques-Jude Lépine characters because of its capacity for fully expressing the mimetic origin of passion, a decisive discovery the gradual stages towards which may be traced in all his previous works. The Monster Hunt as a Metaphor of the Dramatic Action In order to demonstrate this point, I will start from the textual data, even though it will be necessary to go beyond a simple inventory of the themes explicitly connected to the Labyrinth. The first of these themes is obviously the one of monstrosity. At some point in the play, all the main characters accuse themselves, or are accused, of being a monster (Barthes 115). The relationship between this moral monstrosity (expressed in ambiguous statements suggesting a physical sign) and the return of Theseus, whose numerous monster hunts Hippolytus recalls in the opening scene,2 is easy to see. As has been already noted, the theme of the monster hunt is present from beginning to end of the play, where the fight between Hippolytus and the sea monster occurs (see Jasenas). But the monsterpar excellence is the Minotaur, whose death at the hands of Theseus Phaedra recalls in a famous speech which serves to reveal her passion to Hippolytus through a series of substitutions in the original cast of characters: Oh, why were you too young top have embarked Within the ship that brought him [Theseus] to our shores? You would have been the monster's killer then, In spite of all the windings of his maze. To find your way in that uncertain dark, My sister would have armed you with the thread. But no! In this design I would have been Ahead of her, my sister! Me, not her, It would have been whom love at first inspired; And I it would have been, Prince, I, whose aid Had taught you all the Labyrinth's crooked ways. A single thread would not have been enough To satisfy your lover's fears for you. I would myself have wished to lead the way, And share the perils you were bound to face. Phaedra, into the Labyrinth, with you Would have descended, and with you returned, To safety, or with you have perished. (647-62) 2 See verses 73-90. References to Margaret Rawlings's translation of Phaedra will be given parenthetically in the text. The verse numbers refer to the French edition... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient RomePeter TooheyRobert A. Kaster. Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome. Classical Culture and Society. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. xii + 245 pp. Cloth, $45.Emotion, Restraint, and Community has much in common with William Miller's well-known The Anatomy of Disgust (1997). There is their interest in disgust, their focus on the social and literary life of the emotions, and, best (...) of all, their tone. The ironic, fresh, often funny, and personal tone of Kaster's book is very like that of Miller's. The tone is utterly unlike anything one normally expects from a learned classical volume from a learned press. Similarities end there. While [End Page 137] Miller focuses on the modern world, Kaster's book on the social life of the emotions takes as its research object Roman literature up until Christianity becomes the religion of the Roman Empire. In five chapters, Kaster looks at five emotions (verecundia, pudor, paenitentia, invidia, and fastidium) and offers, as a conclusion, a vision of what it must have been like for a Roman male to have control over the workings of these five emotions. That person, he suggests, is what would have been termed integer—upright, honest, and undamaged.Based on word searches and contextual analyses for each of the terms, Kaster's discussion provides an engaging way of describing the life of these emotions. Rather than relying on dictionary definitions, he briefly analyzes and illustrates his terms in their literary contexts. Then he produces scripts, which consist not just of the things you think, feel, and do as they relate to these five emotions, but which also show how they are played out in a social context. What does it feel like to be the object of fastidium, for example, or to direct it at another? Kaster's analysis, therefore, concerns itself more with the cognitive dimension of these emotions rather than the affective. Or, to adapt his own terminology, the analysis is on the occurrent (situational) rather than dispositional (psychological).How does Kaster understand the basis of each of these terms and how it is that they are defined socially? Verecundia ("respect" or "shame"—the subject of chapter 1) "animates the art of knowing your proper place in every social transaction and basing your behavior on that knowledge; by guiding behavior in this way, verecundia establishes or affirms the social bond between you and others, all of whom (ideally) play complementary roles" (15). Kaster makes his understanding even more clear when he states that "verecundia is what might be called 'ignorability': not being invisible, quite, but being seen to claim the minimum amount of social space needed to carry out a given line of action" (17). Pudor ("decency," "shame," "embarrassment"), the subject of the second and longest chapter, can be paraphrased as "being aware of others being aware of you" (28–29). He expands on this to add that "while it was understandably your goal to receive the largest possible share of creditable attention ('honor') and experience the least possible discomfort from discrediting attention ('shame'), honor and shame were experienced as complementary, rather than opposed" (29).Kaster is not, therefore, interested in the modes by which verecundia and pudor can become internalized. He does not believe that a Roman's valuation of what action could or could not be judged as invoking verecundia or pudor can be made without immediate recourse to others (cf. 59). He is not interested, for example, in the way that Seneca, with his recommendation for daily (Epistles 83) self-scrutiny (so, for example, Epistles 16.2: excute te et varie scrutare et observa) might have evaluated an action. Seneca, as we know, suggested that you judge an action, hence its capacity to evoke an emotion such as verecundia, by checking it against a judge internal to your mind, such as an imagined Scipio, Cato, or Laelius (Epistles 25.5–6; see Edwards, G&R 54, 1997). The point is an important one. Kaster sees little shift in the way verecundia and pudor, or indeed his five emotions generally, are understood throughout the period he covers (roughly [End Page 138] 200... (shrink)

ABELARD'S ethical theory, presented above all in his Ethics, is a version of what I'll call intentionalism': the view that the agent's intention determines the moral worth of an action. Now even in Abelard's day, the common understanding of morality seemed to endorse the following principle: (P) An agent should intend to Φ only if bringing about Φ would be good -/- But Abelard replaces (P) with its obverse, a principle he identifies as the rational core imbedded in traditional Christian (...) moral teaching: (P*) An agent should bring about Φ only if intending to Φ would be good Abelard's arguments against (P) and in support of (P*) are remarkably similar to those given by the most famous exponent of intentionalism, Kant. For Kant's ethical theory, especially as he presents in the first section of the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, identifies (P*) as the philosophical conception corresponding to the "common rational knowledge of morals." Abelard and Kant locate moral worth in features of the way the agent conceptualizes her performances, and each thinks that goodness is characterizable in terms of the form such conceptualization takes. Both are deeply indebted to Stoic ethics, familiar to each largely through Seneca's letters, and they share a common project: 'christianizing' Stoic metaethics so that the classical equation of virtue with happiness is revised to leave room for God and the Afterlife. -/- I'l l proceed as follows. In §1, Abelard's arguments against (P) will be canvassed. In §2, I'l l look at his arguments in favor of (P*) and a 'mediaeval categorical imperative'. In §3, a comparison with Kant's intentionalism should make the virtues of Abelard's theory apparent. In §4, I'l l discuss Abelard's failed attempt to baptize Stoicism. Finally, by way of conclusion, I'll offer a suggestion about why intentionalism, in any of its versions, is an ethical theory to take seriously. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Concept of Will in EarlyLatin Philosophy NEAL W. GILBERT AN HISTORICALDISCUSSIONOf the concept of will is best begun with an analysis of the use of voluntas in Latin philosophy, from its earliest occurrences in Lucretius and Cicero on down to Augustine and medieval times. This development can be traced without much controversy because the line of transmission and development is more or less unbroken. But the correlating of (...) Latin psychological terms with their Greek originals presents problems. Greek philosophy was indeed the source from which Latin philosophical psychology developed: Lucretius reflects Epicurean doctrine, while Cicero and Seneca were strongly influenced by Stoic philosophy when they discussed moral action. However, many modern scholars are convinced that the Greeks had no word that corresponds to our "will" at all, and so we seem to be left with no choice but to regard the will as an original creation of Latin philosophy. But this would be to overlook the fact that ancient Latin writers sometimes specifically equated voluntas with certain Greek terms, and such evidence ought not to go unexamined. Voluntas was well established in Latin usage before Roman writers began to concern themselves with philosophical problems, but it did not have a technical sense. It meant simply "good will," or "favor," or concretely, a "will, or testament. ''I Clustered around it were other derivatives of "volo," such as "benevolentia" and "malevolentia," "well-wishing" and "ill-wishing." When Roman writers began to deal with philosophical problems, there were a number of different contexts in which voluntas could play a leading role. Chief among them, naturally, was the "freedom of the will" which, then as now, intrigued the ordinary man or the moralist. However, discussions revolving around the determinist-libertarian issue often fail to clarify the concept of the will itself. Major philosophers (Chrysippus, Augustine, or Hume, for example) offer fine distinctions within moral action when considering the determinist-libertarian dispute, but lesser figures are apt to "C'est seulement lots de la creation du vocabulairephilosophiqueque voluntas a pris le sens abstrait et technique de 'volont6'." Ernout, A., and A. Meillet,Dictionnaire Etymologique de la langue latine, 4th ed. (Paris, 1959),sub "volo." [17] 18 HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY neglect the detailed analysis of moral action in favor of sweeping metaphysical pronouncements. When a Latin writer wished to say that a person did something of his own accord, the locution most natural to him was "sua sponte," an ablative absolute derived from the same root as our word "spontaneous." The nominative case of "sponte" ("spons") was almost never used, so that dictionaries are perhaps somewhat misleading in suggesting that the word "spons" means "free will": it would be more correct to say that the phrase "sua sponte" means "of his own free will." Latin writers also indicate that someone did something willingly by saying that he did it "non invitus" ("not unwillingly "). Finally, they could apply the adjective "voluntarius" to such an action, or say that it was done "ex voluntate." When the latter term begins to be used as a designation for a separate faculty of the soul distinct from reason or intelligence, it begins to resemble the modern concept of will. Augustine is usually given credit for introducing the concept of will into philosophy, but even the earliest Latin treatment of the free-will problem framed the issue in terms of voluntas. Nevertheless, I think that the received view is substantially correct, although it would be more proper to say that what Augustine introduced into philosophy was not the concept of will in general but the concept of the evil will. What Augustine called the "good" will ("bona voluntas") was closely related to the "reasonable desire" of the Stoic sage, rendered into Latin by Cicero as voluntas, without any adjective. The addition of the evil will altered the outlines of moral analysis considerably, involving among other things the major shift from a Socratic or Platonic psychology and ethics (usually labeled "intellectualistic") to a Christian psychology and ethics (usually labeled "voluntaristic"). Such a characterization is likely to be drawn too sharply, and to overlook anticipations of voluntarism in Greek thought or reminiscences of Greek intellectualism in Christian thought. Hence it may be useful... (shrink)

Seneca asserts in Letter 121 that we mature by exercising self-care as we pass through successive psychosomatic “constitutions.” These are babyhood (infantia), childhood (pueritia), adolescence (adulescentia), and young adulthood (iuventus). The self-care described by Seneca is 'self-affiliation' (oikeiōsis, conciliatio) the linchpin of the Stoic ethical system, which defines living well as living in harmony with nature, posits that altruism develops from self-interest, and allows that pleasure and pain are indicators of well-being while denying that happiness consists in pleasure and that (...) pain is misery. Augustine divides the narrative of his own development into the stages of babyhood (infantia), childhood (pueritia), adolescence (adulescentia), and young adulthood (iuventus) in the Confessions, a text wherein he claims familiarity with more than a few works of Seneca (Conf. 5.6.11). Furthermore, he had access to Stoic accounts of affiliation not only in Seneca’s Letter 121, but also in Cicero’s On Goals, and in non-extant sources of Stoic ethical theory. After pointing out that Augustine endorsed the notion of self-affiliation outside of the Confessions, I raise the question of whether he also makes the notion of affiliation thematic in his philosophical autobiography. I argue that he does indeed present himself and some of his primary relationships – with his mother and his long-term girlfriend – in terms of personal and social oikeiōsis. In addition, his self-critiques in the early books of the Confessions can be more fully understood if compared to Stoic developmental theory. He depicts himself as failing to progress intellectually, socially, and morally: although he passed through the successive constitutions, becoming physically larger and cognitively capable, he did not mature correctly by the standards of his Stoic sources. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Political Identity of the Philosopher:Resistance, Relative Power, and the Endurance of PotentialSamuel McCormickThe troublemaker is precisely the one who tries to force sovereign power to translate itself into actuality.—Giorgio AgambenBeyond the Straussian Practice of "Philosophic Politics"In the second half of the 1920s, Bertolt Brecht began a series of short stories about a "thinking man" named Mr. Keuner. Among the first stories he published was "Measures Against Power" ("Maßnahmen (...) gegen die Gewalt"), the opening passage of which provides the subject of this essay:As Mr. Keuner, the thinking man [Denkende], was speaking out against power in front of a large audience in a hall, he noticed the people in front of him shrinking back and leaving. He looked around and saw standing behind him—Power [Gewalt]."What were you saying," Power asked him."I was speaking out in favor of Power," replied Mr. Keuner. [End Page 72]After Mr. Keuner had left the hall, his students inquired about his backbone [Rückgrat]. Mr. Keuner replied: "I don't have a backbone to be broken. I'm the one who has to live longer than Power [Gerade ich muß länger leben als die Gewalt]."(2001, 3)How are we to understand the political activity of this "thinking man"? Clearly, Mr. Keuner is no Cynic. Unlike Diogenes, who famously ordered Alexander the Great to step out of the way and then openly rebuked his authority as king, Mr. Keuner refuses to play the part of the parrhesiastes.1 His political activity more closely resembles that of a Stoic philosopher. Consider, for instance, the way his reply to Power echoes that of Seneca the Younger: "It seems to me erroneous to believe that those who have loyally dedicated themselves to philosophy are stubborn and rebellious, scorners of magistrates or kings or of those who control the administration of public affairs. For, on the contrary, no class of man is so popular with the philosopher as the ruler is" (Ep. 73.1–2 [1920, 105]).Given this attitude toward the powers that be, we might also figure Mr. Keuner's conduct in terms of the Straussian practice of "philosophic politics." For Leo Strauss, one of the most striking, and sometimes strident, twentieth-century scholars to consider the political identity of the philosopher, philosophic politics consists in "satisfying the city that the philosophers are not atheists, that they do not desecrate everything sacred to the city, that they reverence what the city reverences, that they are not subversives, in short, that they are not irresponsible adventurers but good citizens and even the best of citizens." This is the defense of philosophy that is required "always and everywhere," Strauss concludes, regardless of what the dominant political order might be (1991, 205–6).Although he is certainly willing to appease Power, Mr. Keuner differs from Strauss's philosophic politician in three fundamental ways, each of which suggests that a closer examination of his speech and action is in order. First, the Straussian practice of philosophic politics does not consist in advocating for political or social change but in defending the discipline of philosophy. For Strauss, "there is no necessary connection between the philosopher's indispensible philosophic politics and the efforts which he might or might not make to contribute toward the establishment of the best regime" (1991, 205). For Mr. Keuner, however, the discipline of philosophy—and with it his identity as a "thinking man"—is neither in need of defense nor distinct from his political activity but, instead, available for use as a persuasive resource in his interaction with Power. How he [End Page 73] avails himself of the tropes and topoi of philosophical inquiry can only be determined by examining his conduct closely.Second, the proper site of philosophic politics is not the political activity of "thinking" men and women but their philosophical tracts and treatises. Thus, in searching for the "philosophic politics" of Mr. Keuner, Strauss would have us focus not on his interaction with Power but on the writings for which he has come to be known as a "thinking man." As I argue in a recent edition of this journal (2005, 302–3), this... (shrink)

Spinoza (1632-1677) writes in the fourth proposition of the third part of his masterpiece, the Ethics (1677), the bold statement that self-destruction is impossible. This view seems to be very hard to understand given the fact that in our western world we have recently been confronted with an increasing number of suicides, all of which are - per definition – ―actions of killing oneself deliberately‖. Firstly, this article aims at showing, based on the last chapter of the first part of (...) the Cogitata metaphysica (1661), that Spinoza might have applied the mechanical analogy of a body in motion in his views on life. This interpretation allows to resolve the paradox of suicide in Spinoza. Secondly, this paper gives a new interpretation of one of the three categories of suicide (the ―Seneca category‖), which the Dutch philosopher distinguishes in E4p20s, making a link with his definition 39 of timor. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Manhandling of Maecenas:Senecan Abstractions of MasculinityMargaret GraverGaius Maecenas was many things: a magnet for wealth, a shrewd political player, a patron of exceptionally sophisticated taste, and to some, at least, a cherished friend. It is disconcerting, then, to see what a one–sided image of him appears in the philosopher Seneca. Although reasonably complete evidence was available, Seneca's account hardly gets beyond Maecenas' mannerisms of dress and deportment, "how (...) he walked, how prissy he was, how he sought the limelight, how he refused to conceal his faults."1 And even these traits are boiled down, in the last analysis, to a matter of prose style: "isn't his prose just as loose as his tunic was unbelted?"2The motive for this reductive treatment is well worth investigating. If Seneca passes too quickly over some aspects of Maecenas' character, it may be that his real object is not Maecenas himself but an abstract principle which Maecenas serves to illustrate. My aim here is to show that Seneca's literary thought does indeed become abstract in this way, and that the principle involved—essentially a point of hermeneutics—holds considerable interest both in literary studies and in moral philosophy. Speaking as a philosopher, Seneca uses Maecenas to explore from the negative side a conception of the ideal condition for the human psyche; speaking as both philosopher and critic, he comments as well on the means by which that condition is to be recognized from without. This ideal condition he calls by the name virtus, a word which retains its culturally determined associations with the male gender and norms of masculine behavior even while it invokes centuries of philosophical and especially Stoic thought on the ethical goal.3 The complexity of virtus can be traced also in his remarks on what he calls the "virile" style, and in other related metaphors extending well beyond those passages immediately concerned with Maecenas. The sometimes peculiar results can be seen as a by–product of the interaction between cultural mores of first–century Rome and serious philosophical thought on questions of character, action, and evaluation.The notion of a "virile" style does not, of course, originate with Seneca himself. Recent work by Gleason and Richlin in particular emphasizes the frequency with which terms borrowed from the realm of gender and sexuality are employed by rhetorical writers, as early as the Ad Herennium author and prominently in the works of Seneca the Elder.4 The younger Seneca differs from his predecessors, however, in that he consistently attaches gender language not to the deportment of speakers but to the style of written works.5 Terms which Cicero had applied primarily to the pitch and modulation of the voice or the grooming, stance, and gestures of the speaker (pronuntiatio), Seneca philosophus transfers confidently to discourse received exclusively by reading: passages from Maecenas' memoirs (Ep. 114.4–8) and Arruntius' histories (114.17–19), a book by his own interlocutor Lucilius (46.1–3), philosophical works of Epicurus and others (33.1–2), his own letters, and those of Lucilius (75.1, 115.1–2).This habit of imputing "virility" (or its absence) to writers, as opposed to speakers, requires Seneca to offer some further explanation of his thinking. For it is not at all clear that features of written style can be [End Page 608] reliably linked with personal characteristics of the author; in fact, there was at Rome a strong current of opinion which regarded this assumption as a particularly egregious fallacy.6 A theorist who insists upon it nonetheless must be either very misguided or very thoughtful. Seneca shows himself to be the latter sort of theorist in two ways: first, in specific passages of the 114th Epistle which attempt to justify the derogation of Maecenas through an unusually careful description of the role of the ingenium or literary talent; second, in a broad parallel between his stated views on propriety of style and his Stoic–derived position on probity of conduct. Given their manner of articulation, even his most derisive remarks on "effeminacy" commit Seneca to a positive notion of stylistic excellence which can be linked to a recognizably Chrysippan... (shrink)

The figure of Alexander inevitably dominates the history of his reign. Our extant sources are centrally focussed upon the king himself. Accordingly it is his own military actions which receive the fullest documentation. Appointments to satrapies and satrapal armies are carefully noted because he made them, but the achievements of the appointees are passed over in silence. The great victories of Antigonus which secured Asia Minor in 323 BC are only known from two casual references in Curtius Rufus, and in (...) general all the multifarious activities in the empire disappear from recorded history except in so far as they impinge upon court life in the shape of reports to Alexander and administrative decisions made by him. Moreover, the sources we possess originate either from high officers of Alexander's court, such as Ptolemy and Nearchus, or from Greek historians like Callisthenes and Cleitarchus, whose aims were literary or propagandist and whose interests were firmly anchored in court life. Inevitably Alexander bestrides that narrow world like a colossus and monopolises the historical picture. But even the figure of Alexander is far from fully fleshed. No contemporary history survives, and for continuous narratives of the reign we are dependent upon late derivative writers who saw Alexander through the filter of centuries of rhetoric and philosophy. The king had long been a stock example of many contradictory traits; he was at once the conqueror and the civiliser, the tyrant and the enlightened king. Cicero and Seneca saw him as the type of unbridled license, Arrian as the paradigm of moderation. The result is that the sources present a series of irreconcilable caricatures of Alexander but no uniform or coherent picture. (shrink)

The article examines the reasons for silence in Thomas More, starting from his History of King Richard the III, considering then his actions as speaker of the House of Commons and later as Chancellor, and, finally, his refusal to take the oath to uphold the Acts of Succession and Supremacy. Another relevant subtopic takes a cue from Seneca's assertions about silence to allow the author, after careful reading of a paper published by F. Mitjans on Moreana, to correct an assertion (...) made, in an earlier essay, in regard to the Seneca details in Lockey's copy of Holbein's More family portrait, as well as to present a more analytical assessment of the relevance of Seneca's presence in More's works. It turns out that More cites Seneca more often than has been thought, but with certain fairly crucial reservations, which should—at least in part—explain More's apparent reluctance to quote Seneca's name: another case of silence, which needs to be probed. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:A Renaissance ExerciseRoy GlassbergDescribing the influence of Aristotle's Poetics on education in Renaissance Italy, Lane Cooper writes, "Before 15431 it was a regular academic exercise to compare a Greek tragedy with a Senecan, with the demands of the Poetics as a standard."2An interesting prompt for an article, one that I shall here pursue. In what follows, I compare Sophocles's Oedipus Tyrannus with Seneca's Trojan Women in terms of their (...) adherence to a set of three criteria culled from the Poetics, dramatic elements that were regarded by Aristotle as conducive to a well-constructed tragedy. For example, Aristotle writes in chapter 6 that "the most powerful elements of emotional interest in Tragedy [are] Peripeteia or Reversal of the Situation, and Recognition scenes."3 And that these are most effective when they occur concurrently (A, p. 41). Thus, I will inquire of each play whether it includes a scene of reversal and recognition and whether these happen simultaneously.Criterion one: Aristotle states in chapter 13 that "a well-constructed plot should … be single in its issue rather than double as some maintain" (A, p. 47). The plot of Trojan Women is double, one line of action leading to the death of Astyanax, the son of Hector and Andromache, and the other to the death of Polyxena, the daughter of Hecuba and Priam. The plot of Oedipus Tyrannus, on the other hand, is single, with its action focused on Oedipus from its beginning through its middle to its end. [End Page 490]Criterion two: Aristotle tells us in chapter 13 that "a perfect tragedy should … imitate actions which excite pity and fear, this being the distinctive mark of tragic imitation" (A, p. 47). He further remarks that "pity is aroused by unmerited misfortune and fear by the misfortune of a man like ourselves" (p. 45). Thus, we pity Andromache and Hecuba for the loss of their children and fear the loss of our own. Similarly, we pity Oedipus for his unmerited misfortune, his situation being the result of a curse brought down upon Laius, his father. And we fear being subject, ourselves, to unmerited divine hostility.Criterion three: As noted above, reversal and recognition are regarded by Aristotle as providing "the most powerful elements of emotional interest in Tragedy" (A, p. 27).In Oedipus Tyrannus, reversal and recognition transpire simultaneously when the messenger comes bearing good news that turns out to be bad news: that the king and queen of Corinth are not Oedipus's real parents.4 We find no scenes of reversal and recognition in Trojan Women.Thus, in comparing Oedipus Tyrannus with Trojan Woman in terms of the three criteria presented above, the game goes to Sophocles.Roy GlassbergPortland, OregonFootnotes1. 1543 was the date of Cinthio's translation of Aristotle's Poetics into Italian, thus making the students' efforts at their own translations moot.2. Lane Cooper, The "Poetics" of Aristotle: Its Meaning and Influence (New York: Cooper Square Publishers, 1963), p. 201.3. Aristotle, Poetics, trans. S. H. Butcher (Mineola: Dover Publications, 1951), p. 27; hereafter abbreviated A.4. Sophocles, Oedipus the King, trans. Robert Fitzgerald (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1954), pp. 54–55.Copyright © 2022 Johns Hopkins University Press... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Inner Citadel. The Meditations of Marcus AureliusJames KerPierre Hadot. The Inner Citadel. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Translated by Michael Chase. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998. Pp. xii + 351. Cloth, $45.00Marcus Aurelius has sometimes been viewed as a Stoic "half-way to Platonism," so overawed by the brevity of human life within the infinite procession of eternity that he "almost lost faith in his own existence" (J. (...) M. Rist). Hadot's book, however, in this excellent English translation (first published as La Citadelle Intérieure: Introduction aux "Pensées" de Marc Aurèle, Paris, 1992), argues not only that the Meditations are thoroughly Stoic in their doctrine, but that to call Marcus a Platonist (or a pessimist) is to misinterpret the techniques by which he seeks to live a Stoic life. For Hadot it is the teachings of the philosopher-slave Epictetus that explain the Meditations, and the bulk of the book is concerned with demonstrating that Marcus's writings are spiritual exercises by which the author seeks to instill in himself three basic Epictetan disciplines corresponding to the tripartite Stoic system of logic, physics, and ethics. Readers of Hadot's other works will already recognize his concern with the ancient conception of philosophy as a way of life [3]. This study aims to show how Marcus's self-therapy relates to specific elements of Stoic doctrine and to redefine our understanding of the Meditations as a literary work.The book begins by tracing Marcus's initiation into the philosophic life, with special emphasis on the role of statesman-philosopher Junius Rusticus, who introduced Marcus to the writings of his influential teacher, Epictetus. In Chapter Two Hadot approaches the text which we refer to as the Meditations and argues that they are better referred to as Marcus's "personal notes" (hypomnêmata): their characteristic features (discontinuity, repetition, self-address, and refined literary form) are due to their being the product of day-by-day exercises in which Marcus, focussed upon the definitiveness of the present moment, strove to keep the essential rules of life ever present in his mind. Marcus's constant repetition of familiar doctrine indicates that for him "the [End Page 116] essential thing was not to invent or to compose, but to influence himself and produce an effect upon himself" (244).Hadot is at pains in Chapter Three, however, to reveal that these exercises derive from the "highly rigorous conceptual system" which he calls "the true key to the Meditations," namely, a set of three dogmas that require (a) the regulation of judgment to assent only to what is objectively true; (b) the restriction of the desires to that which is in accordance with universal Nature and Destiny; and (c) the disciplining of one's impulse toward action to be just and altruistic, in agreement with one's human nature. According to Hadot, this systematic distinction between the disciplines of judgement, desire, and impulse, and the three dogmas on which they depend, is "a doctrine which is peculiar to Epictetus and which is not found in Stoicism prior to him" (70). Marcus, then, in organizing his spiritual exercises around these three disciplines, "was working with pre-existing materials" (52). Thus Chapter Five is dedicated entirely to explaining how the practical disciplines of judgment, desire, and impulse to action, which Hadot argues correspond respectively to logic, physics, and ethics, operate within "the Stoicism of Epictetus."There is a certain apparent tension generated by Hadot's argument concerning the Stoicism of Epictetus. Although he depicts him as a distinctive innovator, Hadot also states that Epictetus does not change the system of Zeno and Chrysippus but simply adds "color and tonality" (73)—a statement that allows him to classify both Epictetus and Marcus as authentic Stoics but thereby risks undermining his argument about Epictetus's distinctiveness. This real ambiguity could be explained by reference to the emphasis on originality in Stoicism, in which the embodiment of philosophy in each new Stoic establishes him as an independent authority. (As Seneca says to Lucilius, "Zeno said this. But what do you say?" Epistulae Morales 33.7.) Indeed Hadot illustrates how didactic procedures in particular were... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 127.1 (2006) 149-152 [Access article in PDF] Mario Erasmo. Roman Tragedy: Theatre to Theatricality. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2004. xii + 211 pp. Cloth, $45. [Erratum]This is a study of Roman tragedy from Livius Andronicus to Seneca. Erasmo states that his aim is to study the development of the form, "focusing on the process of how Roman tragedy became increasingly theatricalized and the role (...) [End Page 149] played by Roman culture in shaping the perception of theatricality on and off the stage" (x). The center of the study is, therefore, the incorporation into Roman tragedy, either in the script produced by the dramatist or in the same script as manipulated in performance, of material drawn from Roman life and political culture and, by extension, the reflection of theatrical figures and motifs in the world outside. Most interesting, therefore, is the material handled in chapters 3 and 4 (52–121), where Erasmo engages inter alia with Pompey's restaging of the Clytemnestra of Accius, with the Iter of Cornelius Balbus, and with the Thyestes of Varius Rufus. There are some provocative suggestions here which merit attention. There is also much of which this cannot fairly be said.Erasmo begins his account with the tragedies of Livius Andronicus (9–14) and moves on to Naevius (14–18), Ennius (18–28), Pacuvius (34–42), and Accius (42–51). Each author is given a brief introduction, and his place in the history of the genre is set out. Erasmo then takes one play of each of these writers and attempts to set out what can be inferred from the extant fragments that remain. It often appears that the principal criterion for selection of this sample work is simply that its remains are rather more numerous than those of any other work of the author in question. There is little guarantee that they will actually develop Erasmo's central thesis. This finally makes for one rather unsatisfactory coda after another. More effective is the deployment of the material to hand in chapters 3 and 4 (52–121), although it was probably unnecessary to print the dream narrative of the Accian Tarquin twice (62–63 and 92–93). Seneca takes center stage only in the brief chapter 5 (122–39).Erasmo notes the rather different definitions of the term "metatheatre" offered by Gentili and Slater (5). It is probably fair to say that the definition drawn from the latter ("theatre that demonstrates an awareness of its own theatricality") is rather more familiar to most modern readers. Yet Erasmo has a further claim, and this is summarized on the same page: "allusions to personalities or events outside of the theatre or to the dramatic action of the play are needed to understand the play." This is a markedly unclear piece of prose, but what Erasmo is trying to say probably emerges rather better if we delete "outside of" and read "external to." For what "metatheatre" means in Erasmo's discussion of Ennius (19 and 22) is the playwright's inclusion in his adaptation of Euripides' Iphigenia and Medea of language redolent of Roman society and custom. Now this does not directly draw attention to the modes of representation of the play at issue to the same extent as does, for example, the appearance on stage of the choragus in the Curculio, but there is little doubt that Erasmo is reaching here for something important.Some interesting work has been done of late on Pompey's rather unfortunate identification of himself with Agamemnon (see especially E. Champlin in D. Braund and C. Gill [eds.] Myth, History and Culture in Republican Rome [Exeter, 2003], 295–319; and F. R. Berno in Maia 56 [2004]). Erasmo offers his own contribution to this issue with his discussion of the staging of the Clytemnestra of Accius (83–91). Pointing to Cicero Ad Familiares 7.1.2, he treats the grand [End Page 150] spectacle of Agamemnon's entry as a reperformance of Pompey's own triple triumph six years before. Yet why put all this in the context of a drama... (shrink)

_Perennial wisdom from one of history’s most important but lesser-known Stoic teachers__ “He knew that all a philosopher could do was respond well—bravely, boldly, patiently—to what life threw at us. That's what we should be doing now.”—Ryan Holiday, Reading List email_ The Stoic philosopher Musonius Rufus was one of the most influential teachers of his era, imperial Rome, and his message still resonates with startling clarity today. Alongside Stoics like Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, he emphasized ethics in action, displayed (...) in all aspects of life. Merely learning philosophical doctrine and listening to lectures, they believed, will not do one any good unless one manages to interiorize the teachings and apply them to daily life. In Musonius Rufus’s words, “Philosophy is nothing else than to search out by reason what is right and proper and by deeds to put it into practice.” At a time of renewed interest in Stoicism, this collection of Musonius Rufus’s lectures and sayings, beautifully translated by Cora E. Lutz with an introduction by Gretchen Reydams-Schils, offers readers access to the thought of one of history’s most influential and remarkable Stoic thinkers. (shrink)

Justus Lipsius was a 16th -century renaissance humanist and literary scholar who, crucially for the history of philosophy, was involved in the publication and reinterpretation of Stoic thought, primarily focusing on the works of Seneca. Despite a fair amount of scholarship on Lipsius’s contribution to the history of philosophy, the role of Stoicism in the early to mid-17th century is still not well understood. In this thesis I show, through close examination of Lipsius’s work, that Neo-Stoic ethics in the 17th (...) century amounts to a view about the relationship between providence and human actions. After identifying ways that Stoic philosophy was used to explain this connection, I derive two key normative duties that are constitutive of a Neo-Stoic account of ethics: 1) a duty to accept the determinations of providence (whatever they may be) and 2) the duty to develop a large body of rational knowledge about the universe. In the remainder of this thesis, I map the influence of these Neo-Stoic positions on Rene Descartes, Princess Elisabeth of Bohemia, and Nicolas Malebranche’s moral philosophy. I contend that all these Cartesian-inspired thinkers draw upon the foundational components of Neo-Stoicism in their accounts of ethics. I first consider how the correspondence between Descartes and Elisabeth represents a debate about the viability of certain Neo-Stoic theses. And then, I argue that Malebranche’s moral philosophy should be read as the natural progression of the Neo-Stoic “seeds” planted throughout this correspondence. In developing a conceptual framework for what constitutes a Neo-Stoic position and mapping the influence of this system on prominent Cartesian thinkers, my thesis tells a conceptual story about the history of Stoicism. My thesis particularly seeks to emphasize the way that Stoicism becomes intertwined with the history of 17th century moral philosophy based on the desire of Early Modern figures to balance voluntarist and intellectualist intuitions. (shrink)

One of the most discussed parts of Cicero’s De Officiis is a theory (1.107–121), attributed by Cicero to a Stoic scholarch Panaetius, which attributes to all human beings four different roles (personae): our universal or rational nature; a set of our individual natural dispositions or traits; what we are by external circumstances; and the vocation or lifestyle that we freely choose. An appropriate action (officium) is to conform to constraints associated with one or more of these personae. Since Cicero does (...) not provide any clear model for weighing up or harmonizing constraints corresponding with different roles, scholars have worried that this theory is unstable and even conflicting. In particular, our individual inclinations often seem to pull against our reason or virtue. The aim of the first part of this article is to vindicate the cogency of the four-personae account by interpreting the relationship between the first and second persona in terms of the Stoic distinction between virtue and indifferent things. Our individual psychological dispositions are quasi-externals that are to be used well by our reason: they are first-order constraints on our reason, which itself is the second order constraint. Therefore, the first and second personae cannot directly conflict with each other. We are to use the individual dispositions well by choosing in the given circumstances (the third persona) a profession or a way of life (the fourth persona) that best suits these dispositions. In the second part, I am trying to show that this two-order psychological model of the self was adopted by other Stoics after Panaetius, particularly Epictetus and Seneca. All these thinkers distinguished between our universal psychological traits, i.e. our rationality, and individual natural psychological dispositions that are to be used well by our reason. I also provide an assessment of how this psychological model bears on recent debates in the scholarship about the Stoic philosophy of self, and suggest how it was motivated by developments in the Stoic ethics. (shrink)

IN PLACE OF AN ABSTRACT: I here report on my work-in-progress addressing Rousseau’s naturalistic account of human agency. In the first half of these notes I attempt to throw light on the distinctive character of Rousseau’s philosophical naturalism. I compare Rousseau’s naturalism both to that of his own contemporaries and to some of our own (§1), but argue that Rousseauian naturalism is better understood as a development of ancient forms of ethical naturalism, particularly as mediated by Seneca (§2). I then (...) turn to consider how Rousseau’s distinctive naturalistic commitments shape his treatment of the problem of self-consciousness, in particular with regard to the self-consciousness involved in action. I argue that Rousseau identifies two fundamental structures of self-consciousness essential to beings with natures like ours. The first is Rousseauian conscience, understood following the Stoics as a form of natural selfsentiment (§3); the second is associated with the distinctively human task of confession, understood as a form of self-judgment (§4). (shrink)

The untranslatable and intriguing notion of ethos (mores, goodness, character, etc.) contrasts in Ancient rhetoric with pathos and logos, the other two pisteis or means of persuasion. Rhetorical ethos is characterized by ambivalence; is it essentially extra- or intra-discursive? an effect of the soul or an effective simulacrum? stable or circumstantial? As a discursive image, an artefact of speech, ethos remains problematic in its legitimacy. As shown in this volume, Montaigne's readings of Ancient theories of ethos resonate in the Essais. (...) The rhetorical effectiveness of Plutarch and Socrates versus Brutus and Seneca, for instance, is assessed in terms of ethos and a revealing style. Montaigne weighs rhetorical and ethical theories as he judges the writings of others, stages diverse types or characters, and develops in his book his own notion of ethos, paradoxical and dynamic, changing as is our soul. A variety of ethe narrated or enacted are also examined: Stoic figures and philosophers, generals, courtiers and honnetes hommes, Indians, tragic heroes and heroines, among others. This collection of essays, beyond Montaigne studies, contributes to intellectual history, and to rhetorical, ethical, and political inquiry, for the early modern period and beyond. Montaigne's quest for more human and humane modes of expression and action can be better understood in light of the notion of ethos, which raises issues of representation, subjectivity, social interaction, moral philosophy, politics, pragmatics, anthropology and identity. The contributors to this volume offer fresh new voices in the art of conversation about the Essais as they explore the many ramifications of Montaigne's ethos and the manifold ethe he brings forth. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:TragedyA Lesson in SurvivalChristopher Perricone (bio)Tragedy and Its Historical Context"Tragedy" in the strict sense of the word refers to an ancient Greek literary genre, a form of drama for the most part performed publicly in the theater. As is well known, the word "tragedy" literally means "goat song." The belief among scholars is that early singers of tragedy wore goatskin costumes in imitation of satyrs. Also, as is well (...) known, Aristotle defines "tragedy" in the strict sense of the word as "the imitation of an action that is serious and also having magnitude, complete in itself; in language with pleasurable accessories, each kind brought in separately in the parts of the work; in a dramatic, not in a narrative form; with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions."1 Of course, when one thinks of tragedy in the strict sense the names that come to mind are Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. It is arguable that these men not only set the stage for and developed the idea of tragedy in the strict sense, but they also laid the foundations of tragedy for centuries to come.After the Greeks, not surprisingly, tragedy evolves. The strict sense of the term as a point of reference, origin, or nucleus, remains—that is, after the Greeks, tragedy still retains that sense of "an imitation of an action that is serious." However, when one considers what later goes by the name of tragedy, one is hard-pressed, without resorting to Procrustean measures, to fit with any precision those later works of tragedy into the original Greek mold. After the Greeks, Seneca composes tragedies, as do Marlowe, Shakespeare, Corneille, Racine, Goethe, Schiller, Ibsen, Chekov, Lorca, Anouilh, Miller, et al. Even the sense of "serious" is not exactly the same: is the seriousness of Hedda Gabler's or Willie Loman's fate at all comparable to the fates of [End Page 70] Medea or Oedipus? The former cases surely seem serious in some domestic sense, whereas the latter clearly are intended to imply seriousness on a much grander and perhaps cosmic scale.The reason I mention all this is that "tragedy," both in what I call the strict and nuclear ancient Greek sense of the term (which does not imply that tragedy is clearly and distinctly defined, even in ancient Greece) and in the looser, derived sense of the word, has a long and compelling history. Tragedy is a form of drama to which we continually return. It is a genre that seems intrinsic not only to our very idea of theater but also to the very nature of art itself. Although one may debate the plausibility of writing tragedies in a disillusioned and nonheroic age, nevertheless one can hardly imagine the theater existing without tragedy. One way or another, it seems tragedies, whether in the strict or loose sense, will always be performed, and not merely out of nostalgia. Indeed, given the compelling nature of tragedy, it seems no accident that among the giants of literature, the tragedians are significantly represented. The compelling nature of tragedy is nicely expressed by the literary critic F. L. Lucas, and his statements should be considered a complement to Aristotle:Tragedy, then, is a representation of human unhappiness, which pleases us notwithstanding, by the truth with which it is seen and the fineness with which it is communicated—"l'amertume poignante et fortifiante de tout ce qui est vrai." ["The invigorating and poignant bitterness of whatever is true"; my translation.] The world of everyday seems often a purposeless chaos, a mangy tiger without even the fearful symmetry of Blake's vision; but the world of tragedy we can face, for we feel mind behind it and the symmetry is there. Tragedy, in fine, is man's answer to this universe that crushes him so pitilessly. Destiny scowls upon him; his answer is to sit down and paint her where she stands.2It is not only true that tragedy as practice and performance has a long and rich history; the study of tragedy has an equally long and rich history. The idea of tragedy has attracted, tantalized, frustrated, and exercised... (shrink)

A ten-step guide to reaching your peak potential through the wisdom of Stoic philosophy by entrepreneur and Olympic champion speed skater Mark Tuitert. For twenty years, Mark Tuitert has used the principles of Stoic philosophy to become a gold-medal winning Olympic champion athlete, successful entrepreneur, as well as to deal with the challenges in his professional and private life. Now, in the internationally-bestselling book The Stoic Mindset, Mark lays out the ten practical lessons through which everyone, in any situation, can (...) develop a Stoic mindset. Applying the teachings of Stoic masters including Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus to the twenty-first century, Tuitert empowers readers to discover how Stoicism can change their lives and help them reach their full potential. With a gift for breaking down difficult concepts into practical applications, Tuitert distills thousands of years of Stoic philosophy into ten short principles, with an action item at the end of each chapter to help readers actualize theories. One step at a time, readers learn to develop a mindset that is both focused and relaxed, so that they can find fulfillment in a chaotic and unpredictable world. (shrink)

For many years Professor Sandbach, Emeritus Professor of Classics at Cambridge, lectured on the Stoics. His book—reflecting a contemporary interest in Stoicism—is most welcome, even if it is not the long and comprehensive undertaking his friends were hoping for. Even so it is deceptively short and simple, containing vast erudition and a masterly touch for evaluating sources. Sandbach begins with the life of Zeno and his influences, to put Stoicism in perspective, goes on to treat the "system," and ends with (...) the great personalities of the earlier and later Stoa. The plan is excellent and avoids both the misconceptions of systematization and the disunity of purely biographical approaches. While critical of basic illogicalities and defects in the system, he sympathetically illuminates the context of a statement and the nature of Stoic exaggeration, e.g., Chrysippus on eating a parent’s corpse. Some of Sandbach’s observations can be noted here: the system can be understood and explained without recourse to Semitic origin; the Stoics knew nothing more than Aristotle’s now lost exoteric works; correct action was also concerned with morally indifferent acts, and later Stoics valued a good act performed by the ordinary man; a divine sign was not necessary to commit suicide, nor did Zeno receive such ; the Stoics did not want to abolish passion or emotion, as such, but mental disturbance. Finally, with regard to the great personalities, Sandbach considers both Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius as rather unorthodox Stoics. (shrink)

Most research on Ernesto “Che” Guevara has been concerned with emphasizing his ideological Marxist commitments and anti-imperial material objectives. These scholarly concerns usually constellate recycled subjective themes highlighting the revolutionary leader hating injustice, and loving justice, in tandem with the objective of eliminating imperialism and advancing a Third World project. In 2012, Che’s Apuntes filósoficos (Eng. Philosophical Notes) were published and highlighted that his exposure to philosophy regrettably occurred late in his life, and surprisingly, the difficulty he had in reading (...) Marx and Hegel. The objective, therefore, of this multidisciplinary research navigating law, theology, philosophy, and politics is threefold. First, it alludes to and critiques the familiar pedagogy of Guevara emphasizing the importance of developing a “theory in action”, “learning through action”, being a “humanist”, and “leading by example”. Secondly, it considers the consequences of Che reifying emotion (eros) over reason (logos) thereby providing a possible answer to his “failed revolutionary story” in the Congo and Bolivia with his pedagogy involving an unstable compound mixing the emotion of compassion with rage thus clouding his reason. Finally, the third section highlights that we should not relegate emotion away from the sphere of political discourse, but rather harmonize it with reason to avoid chaotic and unpredictable errors based on subjective truths. Emphasizing the former at the expense of the latter—as maintained by a realist approach to International Relations and positivist jurisprudence accenting International Law—risks undermining scholarship challenging the immoral consequences arising from a naturalized assumption separating reason and revelation thus decriminalizing colonial practices characterizing the North and South. (shrink)

Seneca is the earlist Stoic author for whom we ahve access to a large number of complete works, and these works were higly influential in later centuries.

This volume offers clear and forceful contemporary translations of the most important of Seneca's 'Moral Essays': On Anger, On Mercy, On the Private Life and the first four books of On Favours. They give an attractive, full picture of the social and moral outlook of an ancient Stoic thinker intimately involved in the governance of the Roman empire in the mid first century of the Christian era. A general introduction describes Seneca's life and career and explains the fundamental ideas underlying (...) the Stoic moral, social and political philosophy that informs the essays. Individual introductions, footnotes and biographical notes place the essays in their historical and philosophical contexts, and further assistance to students is provided by section headings in the translations which organize the principal transitions in the argument and the more unfamiliar aspects of Seneca's writing. (shrink)

Lucius Annaeus Seneca was a Roman Stoic philosopher, dramatist, statesman, and advisor to the emperor Nero, all during the Silver Age of Latin literature. The Complete Works of Lucius Annaeus Seneca is a fresh and compelling series of new English-language translations of his works in eight accessible volumes. Edited by world-renowned classicists Elizabeth Asmis, Shadi Bartsch, and Martha C. Nussbaum, this engaging collection restores Seneca—whose works have been highly praised by modern authors from Desiderius Erasmus to Ralph Waldo Emerson—to his (...) rightful place among the classical writers most widely studied in the humanities. On Benefits, written between 56 and 64 CE, is a treatise addressed to Seneca’s close friend Aebutius Liberalis. The longest of Seneca’s works dealing with a single subject—how to give and receive benefits and how to express gratitude appropriately—On Benefits is the only complete work on what we now call “gift exchange” to survive from antiquity. Benefits were of great personal significance to Seneca, who remarked in one of his later letters that philosophy teaches, above all else, to owe and repay benefits well. (shrink)