Cet article pose la question de savoir dans quelle mesure les émotions ont été un élément de construction du genre par les théologiens médiévaux. Il montre dans un premier temps que la sensibilité, bien que régulièrement associée au féminin, n’a pas constitué un élément important de distinction des sexes avant le xiiie siècle. Le motif de la sensibilité féminine a même pu être utilisé au service d’une lecture égalitaire de certains passages bibliques en plaçant le féminin dans l’humain. Dans un (...) second temps, nous étudions une émotion particulière, la verecundia, souvent associée au voile et, par-là, aux femmes. C’est l’occasion de montrer comment une “émotion” régulièrement appliquée aux hommes, a pu être construite comme spécifiquement féminine en ce qu’elle exprime la réserve et la soumission attendue de la femme qui accepte la médiation masculine que signifie le voile, tout en lui ouvrant un chemin vers le salut et même vers la gloire. La verecundia apparaît ainsi pour les femmes comme un chemin vers la gloire à travers la honte qui se définit en vertu. (shrink)

SOME SCHOLARS within the Aristotelian tradition, notably C. C. Raymond and K. Kristjánsson, have recently questioned the Stagirite’s denials that shame (aidōs) can be a moral virtue in the proper sense of the term and that a virtuous person needs a sense of shame in addition to other moral virtues. Aristotle famously claims that, although shame is the mean between bashfulness and shamelessness, shame is “more like a feeling than a state of character” and that “one (...) is ashamed of what is voluntary, but the virtuous person will never voluntarily do base things.” Raymond and Kristjánsson argue that Aristotle has overlooked two interrelated distinctions: first, the distinction between an episodic or occurrent feeling of shame and a durable emotional disposition of a sense of shame, and second, the distinction between retrospective shame (which follows upon base actions) and prospective shame (which inhibits base actions). Even if it be conceded that virtuous persons might not need to draw upon retrospective shame, according to Kristjánsson, they will still need proper dispositional shame or prospective shame as “a deterrent voice to warn them against potentially base future courses of action.” If not, Aristotle would be committed to a conception of a saintly or morally infallible virtuous person. For his part, Raymond contends that, if Aristotle admits that honor and social standing constitute external goods and that virtuous persons are not indifferent to what people think of them (to such a degree that avoiding disrepute can be the goal of action), “it seems that Aristotle should allow that aidōs can be a ‘prohairetic’ mean as well,” that is to say, a virtue, since “knowing when, how, and to what extent to care about the opinion of others will require practical wisdom.” -/- This article addresses these interpretations by exploring the thought of St. Thomas Aquinas,7 given that in his treatment of shame, especially in “De verecundia” (STh II-II, q. 144, aa. 1–4), he draws substantially on Aristotle’s ideas about shame in both the Nicomachean Ethics (2.7.1108a31–36; 4.9.1128b10–35) and the Rhetoric (2.6.1383b11–1385a15). I shall argue in section I that since, unlike Aristotle, Aquinas does not conceive of persons with acquired virtues as morally infallible, he does not preclude the experience of (both retrospective and prospective) shame in the virtuous person’s moral life. Indeed, in keeping with the Philosopher, Aquinas holds that shame is best understood as a passion of the soul (or an emotion), and yet he also claims, as I shall expound in section II, that shame’s concurrence is necessary for the virtue of temperance, for shame is an integral part of this cardinal virtue. Felt in an appropriate degree with respect to a truly disgraceful action (be it one already done or one yet to be done), shame is morally praiseworthy and, as such, can be called a virtue in the loosest sense of the term.8 Aquinas retains the idea, however, that shame is properly speaking not a moral virtue because it falls short of the perfect notion (ratio) of a virtue as a habit that operates from choice (habitus electivus) and as a habit that produces good actions (habitus operativus). Since, furthermore, the person who experiences shame naturally tends to shrink and to hide from others, to the extent that sometimes shame even “sends the person into despair,”9 in section III of this paper I shall extend Aquinas’s argument by suggesting that, for shame not only to be praiseworthy but also to produce a beneficial outcome in the person, it must be accompanied by the paired virtues of humility and magnanimity. In suggesting this, I go beyond what Aquinas [End Page 265] explicitly says, though the idea is latent in his biblical commentaries. (shrink)

In his discussion of decorum Cicero supposes that most people would agree to the general principle that in our speech, bodily deportment, and actions we should avoid giving offense to others. This is because we possess a sense of shame or verecundia. The particular details are very culture-specific: customs and conventions largely set the parameters of verecundia, and we do well to follow them. Cicero also admits that philosophical figures often flaunt established customs and conventions: he points (...) to Socrates, who is justified in doing so owing to his great and godlike virtue, and the Cynics, who are not justified in doing so at all (1.148). He then sets out a bold thesis: ‘Indeed the reasoning of the Cynics must be rejected absolutely; for it is inimical to a sense of shame (verecundia), without which nothing can be upright (rectum), nothing honourable (honestum)’. For the Cynics, verecundia is not natural; hence we are justified in flaunting customs and conventions. Cicero develops a counter-argument against the Cynics: the source of shame or verecundia is indeed natural. I explore his argument for this thesis (which appears at 1.126ff.) and assess his critique of the Cynics. (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)