In poem 40, through a series of rhetorical questions, Catullus confronts Ravidus about what made him commit such a foolish action as to fall in love with Catullus’ own lover. The poem ends with the lines: eris, quandoquidem meos amores | cum longa uoluisti amare poena, ‘You will be, since you have chosen to love my lover at the risk of receiving a long punishment’. There is a long-standing tradition of scholarship which testifies to the frequency with which Catullus incorporates (...) wordplay in his poems, including bilingual puns. This essay proposes another such pun by arguing that Catullus is making a play on words through the homophony of the Latin verb eris and the Greek noun ἔρις. (shrink)

This paper is devoted to the analysis of Plotinus’ citation of the Heraclitean saying B113 DK in the second treatise On the Presence of Being (VI 5 [23]). I shall argue that the use which the author of the Enneads makes of this fragment has been hitherto misunderstood by scholars and that, for this reason, the significance of the passage and its role within Plotinus’ argument have been missed. Close attention will be paid to the tool through which Plotinus conveys (...) his own reading of Heraclitus’ tenet, i.e. etymology, and to the passages in which he both lays down and puts into practice the programmatic guidelines for his interpretation of the Presocratic. In addition, I shall interpret Plotinus’ recourse to a wordplay which is, in character, quite Heraclitean as a proof of the importance of his philosophical engagement with the Obscure. (shrink)

‘말놀이’라고 번역한 ‘니룩따’는 발음의 유사성을 근거로 하여 어의를 해석하는 인도의 지적 전통으로, 불교 특히 대승불교에서는 이 지적 전통을 채용하여 새로운 사상을 주장하거나 자신의 정당성을 주장해 왔다. 이 논문은 이러한 전통 중 『반야경』에 나타난 ‘무명’(無明 avidyā)에 대한 말놀이에 대해 다루었다. 대승불교 경전에 속하는 『팔천송반야』와 『대품반야』의 산스크리트본에는 무명을 발음의 유사성, 보다 정확하게는 동일한 “√vid”어근을 취하지만 그 어근의 다른 뜻인 ‘존재하다’를 취하여 “avidyamāna”즉 존재하지 않는 것으로 풀이하고 있는 말놀이가 나타난다. 그렇지만 현장의 『대반야경』 중 『팔천송반야』와 『이만오천송반야』에 상응하는 버전의 한역 등에는 또 다른 방식의 해석 (...) “존재하지 않는 것을 [존재하지 않는다]라고 알지 못하는” 전통적인 ‘무지’(ajñāna)의 해석도 나타난다. 필자는 이러한 말놀이를 살펴보기 위하여 『팔천송반야』와 『대품반야』의 다양한 버전들, 그리고 이 경전들에 대한 하리바드라와 아리야 비묵띠세나의 주석서를 참조하였다. 그 결과 『반야경』의 ‘무명’에 대한 말놀이가 ‘비존재’로부터 전통적인 해석에 일치하도록 ‘무지’로 점차 변화했을 것이라고 추정하였다. 그리고 최초의 ‘비존재’라는 말놀이는 『반야경』의 새로운 사상인 “공성”을 가지고 당시 주류 불교의 핵심 교리인 12연기를 설명하거나 더 나아가 대체할 수 있다는 것을 보여준 시도로 추측하였다. (shrink)

This article argues that Caesar puns on the cognomen of Pompey the Great through his use of the adjective magnus at least twice in his Bellum Civile. In each instance, the wordplay contributes to (1) evoking the memory of Pompey's past triumphs and (2) exploring the gulf between past reputation and present reality. By focussing on this particular wordplay, the article contributes to a wider discussion of Caesarean language and wit as well as to studies of Caesar's art (...) of characterization. (shrink)

Hecuba's grief upon learning of Hector's death in Hom.Il. 22.430‒6 and in the presence of his corpse later on inIl. 24.747‒59 seems to foreshadow the queen's miserable fate in the aftermath of the fall of Troy. In the subsequent literary tradition, the character of Hecuba ends up merging with the destiny of her city: as Harrison points out with reference to Seneca'sTroades, Hecuba, the Latin counterpart of Greek Hekabe, functions as a metaphor for the fall of Troy (118), even represents (...) the fallen Troy itself (128). In turning into an exemplar of maternal grief, she also comes to embody the vicissitudes of fortune. In these pages, I am interested in exploring a possible wordplay on the queen's name in Seneca'sTroades, which may have originated, as I suggest, from Hecuba's distinctive posture in Euripides’ diptychHecubaandTrojan Women(for convenience's sake I will employ the Latin form of the name throughout these pages with the exception of a few passages, in which the Greek form ‘Hekabe’ will be used in order to bring to the fore an etymological connection I will discuss below). (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Arms and the Man:Wordplay and the Catasterism of Chiron in Ovid Fasti 5Barbara Weiden BoydIn a recent essay, Ian Brookes has drawn attention to the way in which Ovid's description of the catasterism of Chiron in Fasti 5 "suppresses Chiron's hybrid nature" as centaur "in order to allow us to sympathize with him as a fellow human."1 Brookes also directs us to the ironic ambiguity used by Ovid (...) to portray the episode's three main characters, Chiron, Achilles, and Hercules, each of whose histories, as alluded to by Ovid, shares with or borrows from the mythical histories of the other two characters.2 Thus, the wordplay associating Chiron's name with the Latin manus (as if derived from ), an etymological link already discussed by Santini (1976, 49-56), is demonstrated by Brookes to point instead here to the character of Achilles, whose "man-slaying hands" () are known from Iliad 18.317 and 24.478-79; the arrow wound in the left foot here fatal to Chiron is suggestive of Achilles' vulnerable heel; and the poison here responsible for Chiron's death is the same poison that Deianira will one day use to kill Hercules.3I want in the following discussion to extend the line of argument begun by Brookes through a fuller consideration of Ovid's exploitation of shared motifs in the mythical histories of each of these characters, and to focus in particular on the important role of wordplay, of a sort not previously observed, in the episode. My reading, while demonstrating that Brookes has made a valuable start on the literary analysis of the passage as a whole, will reach a somewhat different conclusion and suggest that Ovid's narrative intentionally subverts the superficial solemnity of the story told.It will be useful to begin with a full quotation of the episode (Fast. 5.379-414): [End Page 67] Nocte minus quarta promet sua sidera Chiron380 semivir et flavi corpore mixtus equi. Pelion Haemoniae mons est obversus in Austros: summa virent pinu, cetera quercus habet. Phillyrides tenuit: saxo stant antra vetusto, quae iustum memorant incoluisse senem.385 ille manus olim missuras Hectora leto creditur in lyricis detinuisse modis. venerat Alcides exhausta parte laborum, iussaque restabant ultima paene viro. stare simul casu Troiae duo fata videres:390 hinc puer Aeacides, hinc Iove natus erat. excipit hospitio iuvenem Philyreius heros, et causam adventus hic rogat, ille docet. respicit interea clavam spoliumque leonis, 'vir' que ait 'his armis, armaque digna viro!'395 nec se, quin horrens auderent tangere saetis vellus, Achilleae continuere manus. dumque senex tractat squalentia tela venenis, excidit et laevo fixa sagitta pede est. ingemuit Chiron, traxitque e corpore ferrum:400 adgemit Alcides Haemoniusque puer. ipse tamen lectas Pagasaeis collibus herbas temperat et varia volnera mulcet ope; virus edax superabat opem, penitusque recepta ossibus et toto corpore pestis erat:405 sanguine Centauri Lernaeae sanguis echidnae mixtus ad auxilium tempora nulla dabat. stabat, ut ante patrem, lacrimis perfusus Achilles: sic flendus Peleus, si moreretur, erat. saepe manus aegras manibus fingebat amicis:410 morum, quos fecit, praemia doctor habet. oscula saepe dedit, dixit quoque saepe iacenti 'vive, precor, nec me, care, relinque, pater.' nona dies aderat, cum tu, iustissime Chiron, bis septem stellis corpora cinctus eras.I have discussed elsewhere4 Ovid's effective use of second-person address to the reader at Fasti 5.389 to draw attention to the novelty of his narrative: this is the only extended narrative in the extant literary tradition [End Page 68] in which Achilles and Hercules actually meet as a result of their mutual acquaintance with Chiron. This meeting is, as Brookes (1994, 496) has observed, "something of a coup": only the most elastic of relative mythological chronologies could permit this meeting to occur. I propose that in fact we take Ovid's videres, appearing immediately after Ovid has set the scene by describing the landscape (379-82) and by introducing each of his three protagonists in three successive couplets (383-88), as an invitation to scrutinize carefully the play with characterization thus made possible, a play signaled first and foremost in this episode through Ovid's use of the epithet semivir (380) to describe... (shrink)

As Aeneas begins his story of Troy's fall he wonders if in relating it even her enemies, such as the Myrmidons or Dolopes or the soldiers of Ulysses, could refrain from tears . The reference to a weeping soldier of Ulysses is a subtle allusion to Vergil's Homeric model, but why are the Myrmidons and Dolopes mentioned? The usual explanation that these were the soldiers of Neoptolemus, who plays a central role in Aeneas' account of Troy's fall, is not entirely (...) satisfactory. In Homer the Myrmidons inhabit Phthia and are thus naturally linked with Achilles and Patroclus, but the Dolopes seem to play no role at all in the fighting. Their name occurs only once in the Iliad and not at all in the Odyssey. (shrink)

This essay explores selected examples of puns and etymologizing in the Pali canon. It argues that they do not solely serve a satirical intent, but are sophisticated rhetorical devices, skilfully employed by the Buddha to induce a reflective awareness in the listeners and persuade them into accepting his view. Their rhetorical function and efficacy is investigated, while foregrounding a new interpretation of the Aggaññasutta.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Altars Altered: The Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay in Aeneid 1.108–12Pamela R. Bleisch*In his recent monograph True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay (1996) James J. O’Hara discusses what he terms “naming constructions as etymological signposts”; these are points in the text where Vergil calls attention to etymological wordplay by his use of words such as nomen, cognomen, verum nomen, voco, dico, appello, (...) or perhibeo (75–79). O’Hara remarks on a few passages which feature naming constructions even though no etymologizing seems to be involved, and notes Aeneid 1.108–10 as one such example:tris Notus abreptas in saxa latentia torquet (saxa vocant Itali mediis quae in fluctibus Aras, dorsum immane mari summo)....The South wind snatched up and hurled three ships onto the rocks hiding in midocean, the rocks which the Italians call Altars, a huge spine on the surface of the sea....The naming construction here—vocant Itali, “the Italians call”—is pronounced, but the etymologizing wordplay has escaped the attention of Vergil’s readers. O’Hara comments: “This is not quite etymologizing, but Vergil uses the naming signpost to call attention to the name of these rocks: Arae, Altars” (78). I would in fact argue that this passage of the Aeneid prominently features etymologizing, of the type which O’Hara elsewhere in his monograph calls “translation with paronomasia” (63). Vergil’s Arae, “Altars,” plays on the Greek arai, “curses, bane, ruin.” 1 According to Servius, the Greeks called these rocks Bomoi, “Altars” (Serv. Auct. on Aen. 1.108). Vergil, by glossing the Italian name [End Page 599] from a Greek vantage point, alters Bomoi into Arai, “Altars” into “Curses.” The word latentia, “hiding,” in line 108 alerts Vergil’s audience to be on the lookout for hidden meanings, while the repetition of saxa, “rocks,” in lines 108 and 109 highlights the double entendre of the proper name. The phrase vocant Itali serves as a signpost for the punning etymology, for it raises the issue of foreign language and translation.In Vergil’s punning etymology at Aeneid 1.108–10 the naming construction serves as the gloss itself; Itali calls the reader’s attention to the etymological translation with paronomasia. O’Hara cites another example of this in the Georgics: navita tum stellis numeros et nomina fecit / Pleiadas, Hyadas, claramque Lycaonis Arcton, “Sailors then gave numbers and names to the stars: Pleiades, Hyades, and the illustrious Bear, Lycaon’s daughter” (1.137–38). “By saying it was sailors who named the Pleiades and Hyades, Vergil takes a stand, as it were, and suggests the etymology from sailing for both words” (p. 78). The Itali in Aeneid 1.109 play an analogous role to the navita in Georgics 1.137; the subject of the naming construction simultaneously points to an etymological riddle and provides the clue to its solution.In Aeneid 1.109 Vergil plays on the name Arae/Arai; he also plays on an alternate name for the Arae, found in Sinnius Capito: hippou nota, the Horse’s Back (Serv. Auct. on Aen. 1.110). O’Hara notes: “In Vergil’s line 110, dorsum is an allusion to this other name, Back; Vergil says, in effect, ‘I am deliberately calling these rocks not “Back,” as some do, but “Altars”’” (78). By playing with the Greek name Horse’s Back, O’Hara argues, Vergil takes a stand on the etymology of these rocks. He is right to characterize Vergil’s allusion to hippou nota as a correction, but he misconstrues its rhetorical force. Vergil does not assert the authority of the Italian name; rather, he signals the Italian name as a variant, and privileges the Greek as the natural, dependable, true name: “the rocks which the Italians call Altars, that is: the Horse’s Back.” This is a bit like saying: “the dish which the Italians call polenta, that is: grits.” One culture is marginalized, while the other is assumed as the norm. The absence of a naming signpost with the word dorsum reasserts the authority of the Greek name Horse’s Back, while the phrase vocant Itali defines the Italian name as foreign.Both of Vergil’s wordplays... (shrink)

The conclusion of Chrysalus' famouscanticumcomparing the successful duping of his master Nicobulus to the sack of Troy has often been suspected by critics (Plaut.Bacch.976–7):nunc Priamo nostro si est quis emptor, comptionalem senemuendam ego, uenalem quem habeo, extemplo ubi oppidum expugnauero.Now, if there's any buyer for our Priam, I'll sell as a job lot the old man, whom I have for sale as soon as I've stormed the city.The lines are condemned by Leo, Gaiser, and Jocelyn, but defended by Lefèvre and (...) printed by Lindsay, Barsby, Questa (in his first and third editions, but not his second), and most recently De Melo. In addition to qualms about the inconsistency of casting Nicobulus as Priam here when he was Ilium little over thirty lines earlier – an inconsistency which can surely be attributed to the ebullience of Chrysalus rather than the incompetence of an interpolator – the main objection to these lines is their divergence from the mythological tradition about Priam's fate at the sack of Troy. As Jocelyn puts it, ‘The threatsenem uendam… would have been ludicrous to any audience acquainted with the heroic story.’. (shrink)

The primary obscenity futuo is unsurprisingly rare in literary Latin. Apart from a single occurrence in Horace's Satires, its usage is limited to the even lower genre of scoptic epigram, as represented by Catullus, Octavian, Martial and the Priapeia, though it frequently occurs in graffiti. Adams has shown how it tends to be a neutral and even affectionate term, lacking any sense of aggression, though not of the assertion of conventional virility. Nevertheless, it is used almost exclusively of recreational, extramarital (...) and/or illicit sex. This may be in part a function of the way in which its obscenity and low linguistic register restrict it to the low genres which tend to deal with such subject matter, but this is a potentially circular argument and, whether chicken or egg came first, the undeniable result is an association of the verb with intercourse which is not primarily or even in any way aimed at procreation. It is striking and anomalous, therefore, when Martial uses futuo, on five occasions, in contexts relating to the production of children. Of course, on a purely logical and biological level, the connection between futuo and the engendering of children is an obvious one. Nevertheless, the aforementioned strong associations of the verb with sex aimed at everything but procreation renders its use in this context jarring. This incongruity and clash of registers is, of course, characteristic of Martial's technique, and the obscenity gains an added spice from being applied to respectable marital relations. The jarring quality is an end in itself and accounts for itself. Yet I wish to argue that there is a further dimension to this discordant association of ‘fucking’ and ‘begetting’, based on a bilingual wordplay between futuo and its near-homonym, the Greek verb φυτεύω. By means of this pun, Martial mischievously suggests not only that ‘fucking’ can be mentioned in the context of ‘begetting’, but also that the two are—in accordance with biology but against all decorum—identical. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological WordplayPamela R. BleischJames J. O’Hara. True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996. xvii 1 320 pp. Cloth, $44.50, £35.This monograph provides a study and catalogue of Vergilian poetic etymological wordplay, defined by O’Hara as “explicit reference or implicit allusion to the etymology of one of the words (...) a poet is using. A poet may simply explain or allude to the derivation of a word or may suggest further that the derivation of the name is appropriate because it corresponds to some essential feature of the thing named, or gives the true explanation (etymos logos) of the thing” (3). O’Hara’s monograph includes an introductory essay of 163 pages: in part 1 he surveys etymological thinking and wordplay before Vergil, particularly, but not exclusively, the Alexandrian poets; in part 2 he analyzes the form and style of Vergilian wordplay; and in part 3 he examines how etymologizing furthers Vergil’s poetic goals, focusing on some of the prevailing imagery and themes of the Aeneid. The main portion of the monograph is a heavily annotated catalogue which presents and discusses all examples of etymological wordplay that O’Hara or any other scholar has found in Vergil’s Aeneid, Eclogues, and Georgics.O’Hara’s catalogue of Vergilian etymological wordplay is a gold mine of information and a welcome contribution to Vergilian studies. Bartelink’s Etymologisering bij Vergilius, published more than thirty years ago and never translated from the Dutch, had made Vergilian etymology a largely inaccessible topic. Organized by category and lacking indices locorum and verborum, Bartelink’s work did not readily lend itself to consultation. O’Hara’s monograph, with running commentary format, indexes, and cross-references, is easy to use. His catalogue is heavily annotated: each entry includes a quotation of the Vergilian etymologizing passage, discussion of the wordplay, passages from ancient grammarians or poets that explicitly mention the derivation, passages from elsewhere in Vergil or other poets which allude to the same or similar etymologies, [End Page 300] and, finally, up-to-date bibliographical references. As for dubious examples of etymologies, O’Hara tends to be much more inclusive and open-minded than Bartelink: “I place them in the catalogue, with question marks and often with discussion of the problem, in part because what looks implausible to me may look more plausible to another” (112 n. 367). He does not restrict his study to poetic etymology alone but includes “a slightly broader range of wordplay, both to be more useful and because strenuous efforts to distinguish or separate etymological wordplay from ‘related phenomena,’ are not worthwhile, and probably not true to the practice of the poets” (3). Thus he even includes anagrams (e.g., amor/Roma at Aeneid 4.347) in his catalogue, although he expresses reasonable doubts about their value as etymologies. The catalogue contains a wealth of material not found in Bartelink; see, for example, the discussion of Dictamnum, of mater Acidalia, and the section on wandering Dido and the planets. (This last is a must-read, and, to my mind, provides compelling evidence for Pöschl’s identification of Dido with the moon in Iopas’ song [Art of Vergil, Ann Arbor, 1966: 151–54]; and cf. Brown, HSCP 1989, 322–23).The monograph takes a descriptive rather than analytical approach and refrains from engaging in the debate over the determinacy or indeterminacy of meaning in Vergilian poetry; it may prove more accessible and timeless as a result. O’Hara is a reader’s writer: clear, concise, and helpful; his bibliography demonstrates his characteristic thorough research. The University of Michigan Press has done a beautiful job formatting a text fraught with pitfalls: extensive quotations in Latin and Greek featuring italics, boldface, and dotted underlining; plenteous and lengthy footnotes featuring all of the above. The very few errors I found did not detract from the authority or accessibility of the book; the volume does credit to both press and author.O’Hara’s introductory essay is intended as a preliminary to the catalogue, rather than as a full discussion of... (shrink)

The Latin etymological wordplay, although the object of more and more studies, has received few definitional attempts that take into account both the singularity of the ancient etymology and the playful modalities implemented by the poets. Whereas sound echoes and paronyms are the basis of certain ancient etymological connections, it is important to have a poetic approach to the process based on the allusive capacity of the origin of words, and to insist on the playful part of the process.In (...) what way is the origin of words one of the means available to Latin poets to play with the literary, philological and antiquarian knowledge of their readers? How can it enter into a process of connivance with the reader? What are the characteristic features of etymological ludism in its poetic singularities? Of Latin etymological ludism in particular, in its relationships with Greek? (shrink)

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.” In order “to look again at the actual words of _Walden_, the main literary monument to the era’s eccentric etymological speculation” (Michael West), “deliberately” is the best place to start. This article aims to subject Walden’s most notable (instance of the) adverb to Thoreau’s hermeneutic methodology, “laboriously seeking [its] meaning” and minding the “perpetual suggestions and provocations” of etymology. In other words, it is an attempt to read the word (...) as deliberately as he, a Harvard-trained translator of the Classics and connoisseur of Enlightenment and Romantic philological theories, wrote it. This article focuses on wordplay stemming from the pseudo-etymological root “_liber_”—from freedom, through bark and leaves, to books. Throughout, the multi-layered ad-verb is shown to illustrate Thoreau’s idiosyncratic conception of ancient _askesis_. (shrink)

Critognatus’ speech has long been recognized as heavily by Caesar's hand, although few have questioned whether any speech was delivered by the Arvernian noble at all; and it has long puzzled readers with its contradictory manner and fierce criticism of Rome. But the etymologizing wordplay across several languages demonstrated below (along with other distinctly comical elements) renders it more than likely that both the speech and the speaker are products of the author's imagination. In its Nabokovian mode, it offers (...) a glimpse of Caesar the linguist and introduces a playfulness into the dire situation before Alesia that suggests that the ‘Barley-Muncher’ and his speech should be reconsidered in a different, more humorous light. (shrink)

Wordplay involving names is routine in Homer. Less common, but not rare, is wordplay that does not have anything to do with names. Thus, at Iliad 1.290f. there is a play on ; at 24.611 an implicit play on / ; at Odyssey 12.45–46 a possible play on.

Anagrams and syllabic wordplay of the kind championed by Frederick Ahl in his Metaformations have not always been favourably received by scholars of Latin poetry; I would hesitate to propose the following instance, were it not for the fact that its occurrence seems peculiarly apposite to the context in which it appears. That Roman poets were prepared to use such techniques to enhance the presentation of an argument by exemplifying its operation at a verbal level is demonstrated by the (...) famous passage of Lucretius in which the poet seeks to illustrate the tendency of semina … ardoris to create fire in wood by the literal presence of elements from the word for ‘fires’ in that denoting wood. A similar conception may underlie the association insinuated by the love elegists between amor and mors, suggesting that death is somehow ‘written into’ love: so Propertius declares laus in amore mori, while Tibullus appears to point to the lurking presence of death in the pursuit of love in the lines interea, dum fata sinunt, iungamus amores: | iam ueniet tenebris Mors adoperta caput – so swift and unexpected is death's approach that it is already present in aMOReS in the preceding line. Ovid's awareness of the poetic potential of this kind of play is fully exhibited in his celebrated account of Echo and Narcissus in Metamorphoses 3, where the subject matter gives the poet ample scope to exploit the humorous and pathetic possibilities afforded by Echo's fragmented repetitions of the frustrated entreaties of her beloved. (shrink)

Written with verve and intensity (and a good bit of wordplay), this is the long-awaited study of Flaubert and the modern literary field that constitutes the ...

In this classic, the world's expert on language and mind lucidly explains everything you always wanted to know about language: how it works, how children learn it, how it changes, how the brain computes it, and how it evolved. With deft use of examples of humor and wordplay, Steven Pinker weaves our vast knowledge of language into a compelling story: language is a human instinct, wired into our brains by evolution. The Language Instinct received the William James Book Prize (...) from the American Psychological Association and the Public Interest Award from the Linguistics Society of America. This edition includes an update on advances in the science of language since The Language Instinct was first published. (shrink)

The most popular of Friedrich Nietzsche's works, Thus Spoke Zarathustra ranks among the most remarkable feats of German literature. A symphony of language, it abounds in every kind of wordplay and an intricate network of leitmotifs. This dual-language edition features one third of Nietzsche's work, keeping the most famous concepts intact and encompassing a variety of moods and modes as well as the author's full linguistic scope. Editor Stanley Appelbaum presents accurate English translations on the pages facing the original (...) German, an informative introduction to the author's life and oeuvre, plus notes throughout the text and brief summaries of the omitted chapters. (shrink)

One of the most striking innovations in Aristotle’s philosophical writing is also one of its most characteristic features. That feature is Aristotle’s idea that terms central to philosophy, including ‘cause’ [aition], ‘good’, and even the verb ‘to be’, are, as he likes to put it, “said in many ways.” To be sure, philosophers before Aristotle give some evidence of having recognized the phenomenon of being said in many ways. Plato, in particular, suggests that things in this world that we call (...) “just” are only namesakes of the Just Itself. But, beyond that, homonymy seems to have been, even for Plato, no more than a source of ambiguity for wordplay. Aristotle is apparently the first philosopher to propose a taxonomy of homonymy and to view the identification and analysis of homonymies as a genuinely philosophical project. (shrink)

The question “What is humour?” has exercised in varying degrees such philosophers as Aristotle, Hobbes, Hume, Kant, Schopenhauer and Bergson and has traditionally been regarded as a philosophical question. And surely it must still be regarded as a philosophical question at least in so far as it is treated as a conceptual one. Traditionally the question has been regarded as a search for the essence of humour, whereas nowadays it has become almost a reflex response among some philosophers to dismiss (...) the search for essences as misconceived. Humour, it will be said, is a family-resemblance concept: no one could hope to compile any short list of essential properties abstracted from all the many varieties of humour— human misfortune and clumsiness, obscenity, grotesqueness, veiled insult, nonsense, wordplay and puns, human misdemeanours and so on, as manifested in forms as varied as parody, satire, drama, clowning, music, farce and cartoons. Yet even if the search for the essence of humour seems at first sight unlikely to succeed, I do not see how we can be sure in advance of any conceptual investigation; and in any case we might do well to start with the old established theories purporting to give the essence of humour, for even if they are wrong they may be illuminatingly wrong and may help us to compile a list of typical characteristics. (shrink)

In the sense-certainty chapter of the Phenomenology of Spirit, we find one of Hegel’s famous puns, which utilizes homophonic affinities and differences between the verb beiherspielen and the noun Beispiel. I argue that the effect of this pun is that the word Beispiel acquires, beyond its usual meaning of ‘example’ or ‘instance’, the meaning of a play of something inessential, a play in passing. After reviewing all available translations into English, I suggest that, in order to preserve this wordplay, (...) one can translate Beispiel as ‘by-play’. Furthermore, I analyse other occurrences of the word beiherspielen in the Phenomenology and elsewhere in Hegel’s texts. Next, I focus on the crucial importance of this pun for Derrida’s interpretation and critique of Hegel’s dialectic. Only for a certain loose translation of beiherspielen does Derrida’s reasoning appear plausible. I conclude with a discussion of the ideal of terminological uniformity in translating Hegel’s texts. In preserving the wordplay by translating Beispiel as ‘by-play’, one is forced to sacrifice the uniformity of translation. (shrink)

Hunters of acrostics have had little luck with Horace. Despite his manifest love of complex wordplay, virtuoso metrical tricks and even alphabet games, acrostics seem largely absent from Horace's poetry. The few that have been sniffed out in recent years are, with one notable exception, either fractured and incomplete—the postulatedPINN-inCarm.4.2.1–4 (pinnis?Pindarus?)—or disappointingly low-stakes; suggestions of acrostics are largely confined to theOdesalone. Besides diverging from the long-standing Roman obsession with literary acrostics, Horace's apparent lack of interest is especially surprising given (...) that Virgil, his contemporary, friend and ‘poetic pace-maker’, was at the time conducting what seems to be a systematic adaptation of Hellenistic acrostic-poetics into Latin poetry. (shrink)

In these lines from the fourth poem of his first collection of satires, Horace defines his poetic identity against the figures of his satiric predecessor Lucilius and his contemporary Stoic rival Crispinus. Horace emerges as the poet of Callimachean restraint and well-crafted writing in contrast to the chatty, unpolished prolixity of both Lucilius and Crispinus. A proponent of the highly wrought miniature over the sprawling scale of Lucilius, Horace knows when enough is enough. And, owing to a playful link between (...) what is satis and satura, this makes Horace not only a skilful poet but also the consummate satirist. I suggest that this programmatic message is both emphasized and illustrated by a piece of wordplay beginning in line 14. In a previously unnoticed telestich, the last letters of lines 14–18 spell out the word satis. Moreover, this hidden word—made possible only by the particular arrangement of words in all five of its lines—anticipates and deepens the poem's later interest in the matter of compositio, or artful word-arrangement. While this may be unique as an example of a Horatian telestich, Horace does engage in various forms of wordplay elsewhere, and could look not only to Hellenistic poets but also to Lucretius as a predecessor in this regard. In the Satires, a collection in which problems of libertas make forms of implication and veiled speech especially significant, a wide range of hidden words and wordplay has been detected and suggested. The instance observed here reaffirms Horace's interest in wordplay, while its uniqueness as a telestich is, as I hope to show, particularly suited to its context in this poem. (shrink)

Aratus has been notorious for his wordplay since the first decades of his reception. Hellenistic readers such as Callimachus, Leonidas, or ‘King Ptolemy’ seem to have picked up on the pun on the author's own name atPhaenomena2, as well as on the famous λεπτή acrostic atPhaen.783–6 that will be revisited here. Three carefully placed occurrences of the adjective have so far been uncovered in the passage, but for a full appreciation of its elegance we must note that Aratus has (...) set his readers up to notice a fourth. (shrink)

Critical reception of Marcel Duchamp since the 1970s has tended to elevate him into the very figure of the Artist he sought to attack. One aspect of this domestication has involved neglecting Duchamp’s fin de siècle ‘eroticism’ with its sexual innuendos and double-entendres. Yet this very readymade vulgarity allows us to recover a Duchamp still capable of disrupting the genres of Art and the gendered Artist, by revealing a theory embedded in his work which continually reverses and displaces phallocentrism in (...) a game consisting of the confusion of genders and genres. We argue that Duchamp’s disruption of the discursive typologies of the genre of art can be profitably read through this apparently trivial sexualized wordplay, particularly in the transgender passage into Rrose Sélavy. Reading this aspect of Duchamp after, i.e. within and against, Lacan demonstrates how Duchamp’s singular regime of signs governed by equivocity and indetermination subverts the ‘phallic function’ of the signifier. (shrink)

Beginning with Jacques Derrida’s Beast and the Sovereign, I identify two forms of curiosity: 1) scientific curiosity, which proceeds through objective dissection and 2) therapeutic curiosity, which proceeds through observational confinement. Through an analysis of Derrida’s treatment of both sorts of curiosity, I notice and develop a third, deconstructive form of curiosity. Through repeated turn to the work of Sarah Kofman, I characterize this third curiosity as, by turns, linguistic, animal, and critical. As linguistic, this curiosity is a penchant for (...) wordplay and a keenness for the unsteady reservoirs of signification, resisting any clean dissection of meaning or the confinement of terms. As animal, it tracks a scent, regularly suspending its paw, as if to emphasize the meandering and precarious quality of knowledge. And as critical, it combats the illusions of pure revelation and instead draws attention to the conjuring trick, the systematic substitution of signs, undergirding it. Finally, I consider in what way Derrida’s resistance to philosophy may be read on the grounds not of a singular wonder but of multiple curiosities. (shrink)

That Cicero as a young didactic poet embraced the traditions of Hellenistic hexameter poetry is well recognized. Those traditions encompass various forms of wordplay, one of which is the acrostic. Cicero's engagement with this tradition, in the form of an unusual Greek-Latin acrostic at Aratea 317–20, prompts inquiry regarding both the use of the acrostic technique as textual commentary and Cicero's lifelong concerns regarding translation.

Hellenistic and Roman acrostich inscriptions are usually full of verbal and visual clues, which point the reader in the direction of the ‘hidden message’ contained in the vertical lines of the text. The authors of such inscriptions want their audiences to appreciate the skill that has gone into their composition. There are several complementary ways in which the presence of an acrostich might be signalled to the reader or viewer and their attention directed towards it. These include direct verbal statements, (...) or more subtle allusions, within the text of the inscription. But, even without having read its text, the viewer of an inscription containing a ‘hidden message’ is often immediately aware that some kind of wordplay is at work. Acrostichs, palindromes and various kinds of word square are all graphically striking, or their appearance may be enhanced to make them more so. Regular spacing, the repetition of the acrostich in a separate column and the use of painted or incised grids are all ways in which the layout of the text on the stone can invite the viewer to play a word game. In some cases, as I will argue in this paper, acrostich makers envisaged—even intended—the participants in this game to include the illiterate as well as the literate. (shrink)

This article proposes that Horace's Epodes and Ovid's Metamorphoses open with significant acrostics that comprise the first two letters, in some cases forming syllables, of successive lines: IB-AM/IAMB (Epod. 1.1–2) and IN-CO-(H)AS (Met. 1.1–3). Each acrostic, it will be argued, tees up programmatic concerns vital to the work it opens: generic identity and the interrelation of form and content (Epodes), etymology and monumentality (Metamorphoses). Moreover, as befits their placement at the head of collections, both acrostics negotiate the challenge of literary (...) commencement. The introduction reviews recent developments in acrostic studies and discusses important predecessors and parallels for Horace's and Ovid's ‘two-letter’ and syllabic acrostics. Two subsequent sections examine the acrostics singly, and a conclusion compares the dialogues that these acrostics open between author and reader, underscoring the welcome challenge which Ovid's acrostic offers to the prevailing scholarly view that this form of wordplay is a strictly visual affair. (shrink)

This article argues that the defamiliarization caused by extensive repetition, termed ‘semantic satiation’ in psychology, was used by ancient poets for specific effects. Five categories of repetition are identified. First, words undergo auditory deformation through syllable and sound repetition, as commonly in ancient etymologies. Second, a tradition of emphatic proper-name repetition is identified, in which the final instance of the name is given special emphasis; this tradition spans Greek and Latin poetry, and ultimately goes back to the Nireus entry in (...) the Catalogue of Ships. Third, repetition is used for wordplay, where the final instance of the repeated term not only is emphasized but also incurs some change to its meaning or shape. Fourth, the incantatory repetition of divine names in hymns and cultic invocations amplifies a sense of divine presence behind and beyond the repetend. Fifth, repetition of half and full lines by different speakers in Old Comedy serves to undercut and parody the original sense of the repeated words. Extensive repetition in ancient literature was never merely ornamental but was used for a range of specific auditory and semantic effects with distinct and identifiable structures. (shrink)

Aratus’ Phaenomena calls upon its reader to scrutinize the letters of the text as carefully as the stars and constellations that form its subject matter. The poem abounds with clever letter-play and wordplay, and its reception too is characterized by verbal cleverness, as later authors vie with Aratus and one another to create ingenious textual effects. Among the best-known examples is the word ἄρρητον at Phaen. 2, a witty hidden sphragis for Aratus, who nowhere in his work directly names (...) himself. Later poets picked up on this pun: Callimachus speaks of the λεπταὶ ῥήσιες Ἀρήτου, repeating the verbal root of ἄρρητον in ῥήσιες and its sound in Ἀρήτου. Leonidas of Tarentum meanwhile rates Aratus ‘second after Zeus’, acknowledging the hidden sphragis, which follows directly after the invocation of Zeus in line 1 of the Phaenomena. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Archive, The Native American, and Jefferson’s ConvulsionsJonathan Elmer (bio)1 Saxa loquunturTrauma theory proposes that there are inscriptions that befuddle any clean divide between present and past, records that have been neither selected nor destroyed by evolutionary veto but remain in some kind of limbo, “in abeyance,” as Jacques Lacan phrases it, “awaiting attention.” In a typical maneuver, Lacan emphasizes a double meaning in the French—the “reality” awaiting attention (...) is “en souffrance” [Lacan 56]. Lacan’s wordplay injects a note of pathos into what might otherwise seem a merely cognitive or epistemological question about how, or whether, we can adequately access the historical archive, whether of individuals or of cultures. At its most basic, the psychoanalytic concept of trauma insists on this ambiguous coupling between affect and event, feeling and knowing: trauma names a happening about which one never fully knows how to feel, or feels how to know. In trauma theory—as in its various avatars in current debates about canons, about historical memory and forgetting, about cultural identity as imperiled or reclaimed or repressed—this ambiguity about the relation between affect and event becomes codified as an entanglement between the ethical and the cognitive. In “Archive Fever,” Jacques Derrida notes that the term “archive” itself harbors this ambiguity: the archive is at once the beginning and the authority, it puts into play two “orders of order,” the “sequential” and the “jussive,” “the commencement and the commandment” [9]. The divine fiat of creation is an image of the perfect coincidence of these two orders of order, while historical consciousness, in the West at least, might be understood as the progressive elaboration of the dissociation of commencement and commandment. Such a dissociation is never, perhaps, complete, which is why the question of knowing the commencement, the order of sequence of past events, always seems shadowed by an encounter with commandment, authority, ethical obligation.Derrida emphasizes a drive toward unification in the archive, what he calls the act of “consignation,” or “gathering together signs”: “Consignation aims to coordinate a single corpus, in a system or a synchrony in which all the elements articulate the unity of an ideal configuration. In an archive, there should not be any absolute dissociation, any heterogeneity or secret which could separate... or partition, in an absolute manner” [10]. Because his primary topic in this essay is Freud, Derrida goes on to demonstrate how this practice and ideal of consignation deconstruct themselves in the psychoanalytic archive. On the one hand, Freud’s innovations “made possible,” or so Derrida contends, the notion of an archive that “cannot be reduced to memory: neither to memory as conscious reserve, nor to memory as rememoration, as act of recalling” [58]. On the other hand, and despite his development of this concept of an immemorial archive, however, Freud “was incessantly [End Page 5] tempted to redirect the original interest he had for the psychic archive toward archeology.” Derrida quotes an astonishing passage from the 1896 paper “The Aetiology of Hysteria,” in which Freud indulges in the fantasy that never leaves psychoanalysis, and that evinces the profound implication of this theory with other archival projects, here the imperialist dramas of ethnography. The fantasy is one in which “stones talk”:Imagine that an explorer arrives in a little-known region where his interest is aroused by an expanse of ruins, with remains of walls, fragments of columns, and tablets with half-effaced and unreadable inscriptions. He may content himself with inspecting what lies exposed to view, with questioning the inhabitants—perhaps semi-barbaric people—who live in the vicinity, about what tradition tells them of the history and meaning of these archaeological remains, and with noting down what they tell him—and he may then proceed on his journey. But he may act differently. He may have brought picks, shovels and spades with him, and he may set the inhabitants to work with these implements. Together with them he may start upon the ruins, clear away the rubbish, and, beginning from the visible remains, uncover what is buried. If his work is crowned with success, the discoveries are self-explanatory: the ruined walls are part of the ramparts of... (shrink)

The focus of this article is on a curious episode at the end of the first book of Tacitus’Annals. It is argued that Tacitus here is at his most metaphoric and allusive, allowing a senatorial debate on the possibly prophetic meaning of an inundation of the Tiber to become a debate about the overwhelming power of the river's namesake Tiberius. Parallels from Dio (and perhaps also from Livy) indicate that inundations of the Tiber by the end of the Republic had (...) become prophetic warnings of the rise of the dynasts undermining the stability of the Republic. In Tacitus, procedural anomalies and suggestive wordplay bring to the fore the religious and constitutional issues that in the Senate's handling of this Tiberineprodigiumreflect its submission to the ever more oppressive power of Tiberius. (shrink)

The irrelevance of ideology is perhaps one of the most strongly held views shared by the historians of the Late Republic. As indicated by Matthias Gelzer in 1912, in those final years of the Roman Republic, ‘political struggles were fought out by thenobilesat the head of their dependents’. In his opinion, this was nothing more than a power struggle, in which slogans or ideas were merely propaganda, without any real value. In 1931, analysing the political proposals of Cicero, Gelzer's disciple (...) Hermann Strasburger rejected the existence of political parties, as, in his opinion, terms such asoptimatesorpopulareswere merely propagandistic mottos and pure wordplay. As a result, it became widely believed that the civil war between Caesar and Pompey was nothing more than a struggle betweendignitates, that is, a confrontation for leadership between ambitious politicians who were not prepared to compromise. More recently, in 1994, Luigi Loreto considered the conflict between Caesar and Pompey to be aimed at seizing power, unlike ‘ideological’ wars, where the aim was to maintain or instate a specific type of social or political order. (shrink)

I argue that Meister Eckhart's distinctive use of language in his German sermons deliberately reflects his theological view. Instead of being straightforward statements of doctrine, Eckhart's sermons use paradox, wordplay, and imagery to engage their interpreters dialectically and bring them to the perspective Eckhart hopes to instill. This perspective centers on God's simultaneous distinction and indistinction from creatures, including the soul. Knowing God requires becoming aware of one's own contingency as a creature in time, which exists only because it (...) receives its being from God with every moment. For Eckhart, Christian practice does not mean to achieve eternal salvation or mystical union with the divine. Rather, it confesses and proclaims the soul's recognition of its ontological dependence on God. Through close readings of four sermons, I show how Eckhart's language reveals his ontological and practical views, which in turn determine how he speaks. His sermons present complex verbal images of God, the soul, and their relationship. (shrink)

This study investigates the idea of harmony as a protological and eschatological principle in three outstanding Patristic philosophers, well steeped in the Platonic tradition: Origen, Gregory Nyssen, and Evagrius. All of them attached an extraordinary importance to harmony, homonoia, and unity in the arkhē and, even more, in the telos. This ideal is opposed to the disagreement/dispersion of rational creatures’ acts of volition after their fall and before the eventual apokatastasis. These Christian Platonists are among the strongest supporters of the (...) final universal restoration. Their reflection on the unity-multiplicity dialectic, which parallels that between harmony and disorder/discord/dissonance, is informed by the Platonic tradition. In Gregory, the idea of harmony assumes musical connotations, especially in relation to the telos. In this connection, I examine the relationship between their notion of harmony in the arkhē and telos and Plotinus’ concept of harmony. Plotinus was well known to Gregory, the author of a Christianized version of Plato’s Phaedo in which apokatastasis is prominent. Origen, whose readings included many Middle-Platonic and Neo-Pythagorean texts, in Alexandria attended the classes of the “proto-Neoplatonist” Ammonius, who was also Plotinus’ teacher. A wide-ranging methodical investigation of the relation between Origen’s and Plotinus’ philosophical thoughts is still a notable desideratum. Finally, I concentrate on the concept of harmony in astronomy as a metaphor for intellectual harmony and apokatastasis in Patristic Platonism, especially in Evagrius’ Kephalaia Gnōstika. The noun apokatastasis was used in an astronomical sense, and employed in Stoicism for the conclusion of a cosmic cycle. Evagrius, who loved astronomical metaphors, focussed a kephalaion on a wordplay—which escaped Guillaumont and all other scholars—concerning the astronomical meaning of apokatastasis, thus embedding his theory of the eventual restoration in an allegorical framework that rests on a notion of astronomical harmony. A strong case is made in this connection that Evagrius was elaborating on Plato’s pivotal link between cosmological and intellectual harmony, and was aware that the Stoic theory of cosmological apokatastasis drew on Plato. (shrink)

The language specificity of modern media texts and the aspects of studying it in the courses ‘Language and style of modern mass media‘ and ‘Modern mediatext‘ are considered in the article. The language specificity of contemporary media texts is connected, on the one hand, with the subjectivization of the text, enforcement of personality, democratization and with the increase of proportion of a foreign word, intertexuality, intellectualization of the text on the other hand. Subjectivization of the text is connected with the (...) personality enforcement, is determined by the influence of social processes - freedom of speech declaration - and demonstrates itself in the actualization of the author, in a high level of evaluation, emotionality, abundance of metatextual means. Democratization in the modern mass media texts shows itself in the joint functioning of means of different styles: bookish, substandard, jargon. Intertextuality is opposed to the excessive subjectivization of the text and demonstrates itself in the increased usage of foreign words, it is realized with the help of precedent phenomena. Intellectualization shows itself in the active usage of the means of indirect communication by the journalists: tropes, wordplay. Unnecessarily liberal usage of language means for the expressive-evaluating and wordplay on purposes is often contiguous to speech aggression. Consequently studying modern media texts allows students to not only detect and characterize the main features of the modern mass media language and style, structural-semantic peculiarities of a modern mediatext, but also to give its socio-ethical evaluation. (shrink)