My ultimate purpose here is to examine, discuss, and interpret a difficult excerpt in Stobaeus’ 5th c. AD anthology, alleging to report—uniquely, it appears—a distinction Chrysippus drew between three different applications of the term stoixe›on or element (i.e., physical element).1 Stobaeus lists this passage as giving opinions specifically of Chrysippus “about the elements out of substance” (per‹ t«n §k t∞w oÈs€aw stoixe€vn), though in holding them he says Chrysippus was following Zeno, the leader of his sect. Hermann Diels (1879) identified (...) this selection as an excerpt (his fr. 21) from Arius Didymus’ late first century BC Epitome of Physical Doctrines.2 I print a translation below, with the text in an Appendix, as it is given in von Arnim (1903). The text is not without its problems, and I indicate in footnotes to the text which of the principal editors’ textual interventions I accept and follow in my translation. Whether this text presents a single, continuous excerpt from Arius Didymus, or instead some compilation of Stobaeus (or an earlier anthologist whose work Stobaeus employed) from dispersed passages of.. (shrink)
The Nicomachean Ethics announces itself as a treatise on the highest human good, the “end” (t°low) of human life—eÈdaiµon€a or happiness. In the last chapter of the work (X 9) Aristotle makes it clear that the study of the happy lives of contemplation and political leadership, the virtues, friendship, and pleasure that has by then been carried out in investigating that good—these are the leading themes of the Ethics that he mentions there (1179a33-35)— leaves the treatise’s objectives not yet completely (...) achieved. He began the work by saying (I 1- 2) that the study it contains is intended as a contribution to “political knowledge” (politikØ §pistƵh) or the political capacity or power (dÊnaµiw).1 Its work will not be complete, he now says, until a successful reader (or hearer) has been brought actually to possess that knowledge or power—political knowledge, that is, the fully accomplished capacity for expert political engagement in affairs of state. In effect, the reader of the Nicomachean Ethics needs now to learn, further, the subjects of study to which Aristotle’s own Politics is devoted. Before the aim announced at the beginning of the Ethics can be achieved—that is, before we can fully define and explain in the right sort of way the highest human good, or eÈdaiµon€a (I’ll say more in just a moment about what this right sort of way is)—we need, as he puts it in NE X 9 (1180a32 ff.), to become expert in the establishment of good laws (noµoyetikÆ) and good constitutions (polite›ai, cf. 1181b14, 19, 21). One might find this a surprising claim. As Aristotle himself is in no doubt, eÈdaiµon€a is a feature of the lives of individual persons. On his account it is an activity, or a unified set of ac-. (shrink)
The ancient Stoics notoriously argued, with thoroughness and force, that all ordinary “emotions” (passions, mental affections: in Greek, pãyh) are thoroughly bad states of mind, not to be indulged in by anyone, under any circumstances: anger, resentment, gloating; pity, sympathy, grief; delight, glee, pleasure; impassioned love (i.e. ¶rvw), agitated desires of any kind, fear; disappointment, regret, all sorts of sorrow; hatred, contempt, schadenfreude. Early on in the history of Stoicism, however, apparently in order to avoid the objection that human nature (...) itself demands and indeed justifies—under certain circumstances at any rate—emotional attachments to or aversions from, and reactions to, some persons, things, and happenings, they introduced a theory of what came to be called eÈpãyeiai, good and acceptable ways of feeling or being affected. For short I will render these in English by “good feelings.”1 They divided these into three generic kinds, which they dubbed “joy” (xarã), “wish” (boÊlhsiw) and “caution” (eÈlãbeia). They ranged these alongside, and set them in sharp contrast to, three of the four highest genera into which they divided the normal human emotions: “pleasure” (≤donÆ), i.e., being pleased about something,2 “appetitive desire” (§piyuµ€a), and “fear” (fÒbow), respectively. The Stoics maintained that, though ordinary, familiar human emotions such as these last-named ones were always bad, the three sorts of “good feeling,” and their more specific variations (since these three are only the basic genera into which lots of other good ways of feeling will fall), were not merely free from the grounds of criticism on which ordinary emotions were rejected, and so were perfectly acceptable. The fully perfected human being (the “wise person”) would indeed regularly be subject to them. (shrink)
The ancient Stoics notoriously argued, with thoroughness and force, that all ordinary “emotions” (passions, mental affections: in Greek, pãyh) are thoroughly bad states of mind, not to be indulged in by anyone, under any circumstances: anger, resentment, gloating; pity, sympathy, grief; delight, glee, pleasure; impassioned love (i.e. ¶rvw), agitated desires of any kind, fear; disappointment, regret, all sorts of sorrow; hatred, contempt, schadenfreude. Early on in the history of Stoicism, however, apparently in order to avoid the objection that human nature (...) itself demands and indeed justifies—under certain circumstances at any rate—emotional attachments to or aversions from, and reactions to, some persons, things, and happenings, they introduced a theory of what came to be called eÈpãyeiai, good and acceptable ways of feeling or being affected. For short I will render these in English by “good feelings.”1 They divided these into three generic kinds, which they dubbed “joy” (xarã), “wish” (boÊlhsiw) and “caution” (eÈlãbeia). They ranged these alongside, and set them in sharp contrast to, three of the four highest genera into which they divided the normal human emotions: “pleasure” (≤donÆ), i.e., being pleased about something,2 “appetitive desire” (§piyuµ€a), and “fear” (fÒbow), respectively. The Stoics maintained that, though ordinary, familiar human emotions such as these last-named ones were always bad, the three sorts of “good feeling,” and their more specific variations (since these three are only the basic genera into which lots of other good ways of feeling will fall), were not merely free from the grounds of criticism on which ordinary emotions were rejected, and so were perfectly acceptable. The fully perfected human being (the “wise person”) would indeed regularly be subject to them.3 Their theory of the perfect human life did not, then, they could claim, require any outrageously unnatural demand, presumably unrealizable in any case, for a life completely without all feelings of involvement in the sweep and flow of life.. (shrink)
This paper addresses central issues in the debate about inclusive language for God by responding to Andrew Dell’Olio, who offered biblical, theological, linguistic, and ethical reasons for a “supplemental” use of feminine language for God. Since he leaves unclear whether “supplemental” means “secondary to” or “fully equal to” the masculine language of the biblical tradition, it is difficult to determine whether he makes his case. While a secondary role for feminine language for God is legitimate, I argue that giving feminine (...) language a status equal to the Bible’s masculine language for God is not warranted by the standard biblical and theological criteria of the Christian tradition. (shrink)
This book brings together the ideas of a number of contemporary modernist and liberal Muslim thinkers, exposing an important intellectual current in Islamic thought which will be new to many Western readers. Responding to the challenges brought by colonialism and modernization, the contributors propose new conceptions and interpretations of Islam consonant with the age. Although their specific concerns and emphases vary, they all reconsider the relation between religion and politics and the incorporation of modern Western ideas.
