This essay explores a modern American poem—its verse form, imagery, diction, and rhythm, and, in particular, its cultural echoes, resonances, and overtones. I examine the poem’s explicit invocation of Apelles and crow mythology, but I also show that the implicit context from which it arises, and the one that allows it to speak with the great- est fullness and power, is work that Shakespeare wrote or published between 1606 and 1609. This context allows us to see that, at the heart (...) of the poem, lies the Shakespearean and Platonic analogy between the creation of children and the creation of intellectual work. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:What Has Cartesianism To Do with Jansenism?Tad M. SchmaltzMy title is modeled on the famous query of the third-century theologian, Tertullian: “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” Tertullian’s question asks what pagan Greek learning has to do with the theology of the early Church. By comparison my question asks what philosophical Cartesianism has to do with theological Jansenism, and more specifically what these movements had to do with (...) each other in the France of Louis XIV. To anticipate, the answer is: not much and plenty. I say not much, in the sense that there are profound differences in the approaches and interests of the namesakes of these two movements: in the case of Cartesianism, the French critic of scholastic natural philosophy, René Descartes, and in the case of Jansenism, the Louvain critic of Jesuit theology, Cornelius Jansen (Jansenius). Yet I also say plenty, in the sense that there was in the second half of the seventeenth century a fairly widespread belief in France of an intimate link between the two movements that the work of Descartes and Jansen inspired. What we need here is a story that shows how despite the differences between these two thinkers, their French followers were commonly associated with each other.In order to tell such a story I need to consider some basic difficulties in pinning down the nature of the movements themselves. There are of course familiar problems with the appeal to generic “isms” in the history of ideas, but I also want to consider special concerns pertaining to the definition of French Jansenism and French Cartesianism. In the course of this consideration I suggest that since both movements are to some extent constructs that emerged from intellectual battles in late-seventeenth-century France, they must be understood in light of the political, theological, and philosophical goals of the polemicists involved in these battles.Perhaps the most obvious reason for the connection between the Jansenist and Cartesian movements is that one of the most prominent of the Jansenist theologians, the Port-Royalist Antoine Arnauld, was also an enthusiastic defender [End Page 37] of Descartes’s metaphysical system. But while Arnauld undoubtedly played an important role in the emergence of this link, I think that the full story of its emergence must include a consideration of the different role played by a somewhat neglected figure in the history of early modern Cartesianism, namely, the Lorraine Benedictine Robert Desgabets (1610–78). Desgabets was more deeply involved than Arnauld in the 1671 “Eucharist affair,” which was important for the polemical linkage of Jansenism to Cartesianism in France. Whereas Arnauld attempted to separate Jansenist theology from Cartesian philosophy, Desgabets tried to provide Cartesian foundations for a theology with strong Jansenist overtones. It was Desgabets more than Arnauld, then, who was concerned to apply Cartesian principles to issues of importance for the Jansenist theologian.What Has Descartes To Do with Jansen?A primary trigger for the bitter “Jansenist controversies” in France during the seventeenth century was the posthumous publication in 1640 of the Augustinus of Jansen, the late Bishop of Ypres in the Spanish Netherlands. This technical three-volume work attempts to draw from Augustine responses to Pelagian and semi-Pelagian views concerning the prelapsarian state of innocence, the fall from this state, and the grace required to overcome that fall. Jansen’s emphasis is on the pervasive corruption of original sin and on the impossibility of meritorious action that does not derive from God’s grace to the elect. The Jesuits in Louvain saw the work as a throwback to the theses of Michel du Bay (Baius) that Pope Paul V had condemned in 1567 due to pressure exerted by their order, and they made an unsuccessful attempt to stop the publication of the book. 1 After its publication this text drew the suspicion of Cardinal Richelieu, who (correctly) believed Jansen to be the author of Mars Gallicus, an anonymous pamphlet protesting Richelieu’s anti-Habsburg policies. Richelieu chose a theologian of Notre-Dame-de-Paris, Isaac Habert, to launch an attack against the Augustinus. In a series of sermons starting in 1642 Habert criticized Jansen’s assertion of the necessity of contrition... (shrink)

Li Zehou and Vera Schwarcz argue that key political events in twentieth century Chinese intellectual history, like the May Fourth Movement, separate one generation of intellectuals from the next.1 I have also frequently heard contemporary Mainland intellectuals speak of generational differences among themselves. In lectures, Liu Binyan often contrasts the idealism and suffering of his generation with the disillusionment of the younger group of intellectuals and writers that grew up during the Cultural Revolution. This notion of generation seems to distinguish (...) between an older group and a younger and unproven one. The relationship between these successive generations has taken a variety of forms, but one can also argue that it has two paradigms. On the one hand, there is a relationship based on the idea of continuity, on the idea that a pupil from the younger generation obediently carries on a tradition or school of thought his older master inherited or created. The best example of this master-disciple relationship is Confucius's relationship to his followers. This idea also has strong familial overtones, and can be seen in the stress Confucian texts give to the bond between father and son, and to the values that underlie this bond: the notions of xiao, or filial piety, and zhong, or loyalty. This idea of chuan or transmission from one generation to the next is a strong element in sinicized religions like Chan Buddhism. Transmission of an idea, or even a family name, is a value informing many aspects of life in late imperial society. Mary Rankin and Hilary Beattie's work on family lineages shows how local elites used all the financial, cultural, and political means available to them to preserve the elite status of their extended families over several hundred years.2 Education, provided by teachers in local village and lineage schools, was the key to transmitting and inculcating these ethical values of loyalty, obedience, filial piety, and ethical behavior. The values informing this intergenerational relationship obligated the teacher to act in a morally conscious way, but also gave him power over his pupils, who were taught to obediently follow him. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Overtones:A CollagePaul Youngquist (bio)Mom leans against the keyboard of the old upright piano in the den. She puckers her lips and gently fingers the valves. A couple of times a month, she frees her trumpet from the purple velveteen lining its case—out of love or frustration I can never tell. She stares hard at the bell, pointed somewhere near my feet. She inhales deeply, pressing the silver mouthpiece to (...) her crumpled lips. A silent moment passes—torn by a noise pitched past the sun, a shrieking flare sound. Another follows and another, bright glissandos blinking out somewhere below middle C. They shatter everything I know about her. Everything I thought I knew. What sound was that, what cry? What aspiration to be free? After those initial stabs, she falls into familiar melodies: "Bugler's Holiday" by Leroy Anderson, maybe, or "When the Saints Go Marching In." I'm unsettled for the rest of the day.Trumpeter Don Cherry's sound unsettled me too. I was much older when I first encountered it on Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come. It took me back to Mom's cries. I heard her sound in his: bright, high, and transient: less pitch than smudge, transmitting unknowable overtones. On "Lonely Woman," for instance. Cherry states the plaintive melody in hazy unison with Coleman, blurs the third note, wavers and plays his peculiar temper, untimely and free to move beyond the platitudes of harmony until, after Coleman's baffled cry, he parts company to play a sixth above (if such language matters, and it doesn't), descending in half steps to resolve (not happily) on a minor third, Cherry now pitched below. Their unison breaks apart to reconverge, and the brief bridge feels like a heaving between sobs. This isn't music. It's too raw for the repartee of bebop or the sociability of swing. But everybody can feel it, which explains the scandal of Coleman and company's extended appearance in late 1959 at the Five Spot in New York's East Village. Writing in the New York Times Magazine years later, Joseph Hooper likened it to the furor erupting after Stravinsky's Paris premier of "The Rite of Spring" in 1913. In an interview with Terry Gross, Cherry remembers everyone who was musically anyone being there—from Leonard Bernstein to Thelonious Monk—to witness the sacrilege. The implacable trickster Charles Mingus appeared one [End Page 133] night with Phineas Newborn, a keyboard virtuoso famous for his perfect pitch. Newborn sat and stared at his cufflinks. He never played a note. After the set, Mingus barreled onto the stage and, with his long arms and big hands, crashed all the keys. "That's where it is," he bellowed. "It's all there." Everywhere and nowhere. Cherry and Ornette decentered intonation. They distempered tradition's scales. Afflicted with perfect pitch, Newborn couldn't follow their cries and whispers. They flew free from the comforting staff. Still you feel them, hear their immeasurable sound.Don Cherry: "I've always been on the outside, and that's a good quality for the music to have, like the wind in your face."Cherry's mother Daisy gave him his first horn when he was fourteen. It breathed life into him, offering a way to express sounds his body harbored. Born in Oklahoma City in 1936 to "Negro-Choctaw Indian parents" (his words—his mother's mother was half native), Cherry heard gospel, blues, and Indian songs from the start. The family's move to the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles in 1940 only multiplied the sounds of diverse ethnicities mixed with the rumble of jazz from the Cherry Blossom, his father's club, where Don and his sister sometimes danced for dimes. His horn funneled all this sound—all the music he'd ever make—through a peculiarly powerful feeling: "that feeling to me, through as much music as I've learned, I still remember just that feeling when I first got that horn." What feeling exactly? "Infant happiness" (in-fant, not speaking). The feeling of life before language: "infant happiness, infant happiness, beautiful! That's what music is really... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Deception and Sacrifice in Aeneid 2.1–249Rebekah M. SmithIt is striking how often in Book 2 death seems to have sacrificial overtones. Not only does Laocoon die at an altar in the act of sacrificing, but even the simile introduced to illustrate his cries keeps within the same framework of reference... and before all this the motif of human sacrifice forms the ominous basis of Sinon’s lying tale.—E. L. Harrison (...) (1990)Sacrifice as a theme in the Aeneid takes many forms, one of which is human death cast as or described in language that suggests the ritual religious killing of a sacrificial victim. Harrison is perceptive in associating the death of Laocoon, the simile that describes his cries, and the motif of human sacrifice in Sinon’s story. 1 The lying tale with which Sinon deceives the Trojans in book 2 narrates the only actual sacrifice in the Aeneid wherein the intended victim is a human being, and Laocoon’s death at the altar while performing a sacrifice to Neptune is famously an ironic complement to Sinon’s alleged escape from death at a Greek altar.It is my purpose here to press farther in considering the two together, Sinon’s lying tale and Laocoon’s death. The many ironies and reversals of expectation in the passage have been extensively discussed, including trickery and sacrifice as dominant themes and Laocoon’s death as in a sense a completion of Sinon’s lying tale. But a closer look at precisely how the theme of sacrifice runs through the passage will show that Virgil shaped the Sinon-Laocoon episode to be a story of the systematic perversion of religious sacrifice—a perversion, furthermore, that turns at every stage on the perversion of human knowledge. Nowhere is the goal, execution, or outcome of ritual sacrifice what it ought to be, and while sacrifice is prompted by unholy human ends and turned into a violent portent by the gods, human awareness throughout the episode is both prominently at issue and helplessly deceived. I suggest [End Page 503] that in his version of the Sinon and Laocoon episode of book 2, Virgil deepened and complicated the themes of deception and sacrifice by methods that vary from literary modeling to simple contrast of events, entwining them at many levels from beginning to end in a progression. They all culminate in an articulation of the dark and utter hopelessness in the fall of Troy.Girard, Bandera, and HardieScholarship on the Sinon and Laocoon episode has generally dealt with Virgil’s use of his sources, the efficacy of Sinon’s deception, and the overall dramatic power and irony of the episode. 2 Sacrifice as a theme has been treated as one element among many. Linking the image of the twin serpents with the theme of deceit and destruction, Putnam called Laocoon the first symbolic sacrificial victim in the destruction of the city. Manuwald has drawn attention to the heightened elements of sacrifice in Sinon’s story, mainly the Trojan Horse figured as votum and the role of Calchas, arguing that these serve to strengthen the force of Sinon’s deception. Block’s thesis that Virgil forces a double consciousness on his reader includes comment on the ironic juxtaposition of the Greeks’ need for a parting sacrifice and Laocoon’s death. Hardie does likewise in identifying Lucretian echoes of the sacrifice of Iphigeneia. 3 [End Page 504]An important development has been the use of René Girard’s theory of “sacrificial crisis” in interpretation of the Aeneid as a whole and of specific episodes. Bandera (1981) identifies the Sinon and Laocoon episodes as being Girardian “sacrifice gone wrong,” thus (1) beginning an escalating series of violent deaths that leads to that of Turnus and (2) making the element of deceit in Virgil’s rendering part of a Girardian trickery inherent in the act of sacrifice. Because I argue specifically that the deception of human knowledge in Aeneid 2 is of a different kind, I must briefly address Bandera’s study and the theory he applies. My remarks are confined to Girard’s early work Violence and the Sacred ([1972] 1977), on which Bandera... (shrink)

Despite the ubiquity of bees in Dickinson’s work, most interpreters denigrate her nature poems. But following several recent scholars, I identify Nietzschean/Dionysian overtones in the bee poems and suggest the figure of bees/hive/queen illuminates as feminist key to her corpus. First, (a) the bee’s sting represents martyred death; (b) its gold, immortality; (c) its tongue, the “lesbian phallus”; (d) its wings, poetic power; (e) its buzz, poetic melody, and (f) its organism, a joyful Dionysian Susan (her sister-in-law and love interest) (...) to Emily’s flower. Second, the hive represents her individual poems (with slants/dashes as stingers, wings as hymn meter, honey as rhymes, variant words as exiled bees, and accompanying flowers their Darwinian coevolution with bees), constituting her writing persona as a multi-voiced self-swarm, as organized in the apiary of her letters and fascicles. And third, the queen represents her Western cultural and religious inheritance wherein bees are symbols of the soul, reincarnation, poetic-philosophical vocation, and a Nietzschean, trans-Dionysian naturalist ontology—symbolized by apiarian Artemis. (shrink)

Ian Crombie’s impressive volumes provide a comprehensive interpretation of Plato’s doctrines. Volume 2 deals with more technical philosophical topics, including the theory of knowledge, philosophy of nature, and the methodology of science and philosophy. Each volume is self-contained.

THE object of this note is to draw attention to a suggestion made by the late Professor F. M. Cornford, in the course of a paper read to the Oxford Philological Society some years ago.

I M M Gregory, R G Woods; Indoctrination, Journal of Philosophy of Education, Volume 4, Issue 1, 30 May 2006, Pages 77–105, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9752.

In his discussion of the tragic act in Poet. 14. 1453b15 ff. Aristotle separates the pity which we feel at mere suffering from pity roused by the way in which this suffering is or will be brought about. The revenge of an enemy is not in itself pitiable. We pity, if victim and agent are closely related to one another as members of the same family, but only if the action is of a certain kind. Four possible ways of presenting (...) the tragic act are therefore distinguished: attempted but not performed, with knowledge of the relevant facts ; performed with knowledge ; performed but in ignorance, recognition following later ; attempted in ignorance but not performed, since recognition occurs in time to prevent it. Of these four variations the first is censured on the ground that it is morally shocking without being tragic, since it lacks πάθος. The second is mentioned in b27 as the favourite of the older poets, but is here passed over without comment. The third is explicitly approved on the ground that it avoids moral shock and has the emotional κπληξις of the recognition. But for some reason which he does not state, Aristotle prefers the last, where recognition is in time to prevent the tragic suffering from actually taking place. (shrink)

I M M Gregory; The Right to Education, Journal of Philosophy of Education, Volume 7, Issue 1, 30 May 2006, Pages 85–102, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9752.197.

Galen in a celebrated passage remarks that there were three ‘choirs’, in early Greek medicine: the choirs of Cos, of Cnidus, and of Sicily. The word is vague and suggestive, and we do well to keep it so. If we look in the Hippocratic Corpus for schools of medical theory, with distinct sets of doctrine marked off clearly from the doctrines of rival schools, we shall be lucky indeed if we can find them, and, having found them, succeed in convincing (...) others of their existence. But we shall find, now and again, an individual voice proclaiming itself from among its impersonal surroundings with clarity and vigour: some treatises in the collection have their author's personality stamped on them as distinctly as on a work of art. (shrink)

Nihilism has been a most characteristic feature of the psychology and world-view of several generations of young people in capitalist society. A rejection of traditional religion, of the dominant ideology and morality; a disdain for all authorities; a demand for total emancipation of the spirit, going so far as denial of cultural values and established life-style - all are to a greater or lesser extent characteristic of the outlook of both the "lost generation" that emerged from World War I with (...) the single conviction that it had been cruelly misled and of the "beatniks" of the 1950s, the followers of the apostles of "moral and sexual rebellion." An obvious lack of positive ideas and value orientations impels them to mass-scale "retreat from society," to suicide, to terrorist actions, or to demonstrations of a mutinous nature. Nihilism in all its manifestations of protest and desperation has become a cause of concern to governments and a source of stupid hatred on the part of Philistines, and is under serious discussion by figures in all political parties. Quests for a way out of the cul-de-sac of the nihilist outlook are the inspiration for the work of many twentieth-century writers and philosophers. (shrink)

This article argues for the necessity of a social group ontology in Confucian ethics. The heart of Confucian ethics is self-cultivation begun in familial relations. Social group categories can disrupt family structures in ways that can only be ignored at a high cost to the well-being of biological family members who do not share the dominant group identities. To make this disruption clear, I will articulate the challenge queer lives pose for classical Confucian self-cultivation. This discussion will give rise to (...) an account of queer chosen kin and its compatibility with the existing Confucian role-relational ontology. The incorporation of social group identities and an account of the sociopolitical constitution of persons is necessary not only for the development of Confucian social and political philosophy, but also for illustrating the significant ways in which Confucianism can shape cross-cultural discussions of ethical self-cultivation. (shrink)