A timely collection of advanced, original material in the area of statistical methodology motivated by geometric problems, dedicated to the influential work of Kanti V. Mardia This volume celebrates Kanti V. Mardia's long and influential career in statistics. A common theme unifying much of Mardia’s work is the importance of geometry in statistics, and to highlight the areas emphasized in his research this book brings together 16 contributions from high-profile researchers in the field. Geometry Driven Statistics covers a wide range (...) of application areas including directional data, shape analysis, spatial data, climate science, fingerprints, image analysis, computer vision and bioinformatics. The book will appeal to statisticians and others with an interest in data motivated by geometric considerations. Summarizing the state of the art, examining some new developments and presenting a vision for the future, Geometry Driven Statistics will enable the reader to broaden knowledge of important research areas in statistics and gain a new appreciation of the work and influence of Kanti V. Mardia. (shrink)

Spanning the centuries, from the seventeenth to the twentieth, and ranging across cultures, from England to Mexico, this collection gathers together important statements on the function and feasibility of literary translation. The essays provide an overview of the historical evolution in thinking about translation and offer strong individual opinions by prominent contemporary theorists. Most of the twenty-one pieces appear in translation, some here in English for the first time and many difficult to find elsewhere. Selections include writings by Scheiermacher, Nietzsche, (...) Ortega, Benjamin, Pound, Jakobson, Paz, Riffaterre, Derrida, and others. A fine companion to The Craft of Translation, this volume will be a valuable resource for all those who translate, those who teach translation theory and practice, and those interested in questions of language philosophy and literary theory. (shrink)

The principle of selection necessarily follows if we accept that a poem is a verbal structure of a very complex kind involving the interaction of all kinds of elements—ideas, images, rhythms, rhetorical features, narrative, logical patterns, whatever. The possible relationships among all these elements seem infinite or at least, in Frye's phrase, unlimited. Hence, a definitive critique of any work seems, even in theory, impossible. It is hard to see how the human mind could consciously contemplate, much less articulate, all (...) aspects at once, even in short pieces; as the various aspects are enumerated, we begin to lose sight of the wood for the trees, to lose our grip on the integrated whole which we at least partially intuit at a given moment in time. And so many are the attitudes and interests which may be brought to bear upon a poem that the critique which once seemed definitive soon seems incomplete to the critic after a further reading, for every time we read a work of any complexity, we find something new; and even the less sensitive know that each new school of criticism, not to mention each latest shift in politics, society, or psychology, will throw at least some of our masterpieces into a new light. As for translation, the only way to avoid it would be wholesale quotation, and even that would be a partial translation in that it would alter the poet's total meaning by substituting a part for the whole. John C. Sherwood, professor of English at the University of Oregon, is the author of articles on Dryden, modern literature, and English composition. He is currently at work on an annotated bibliography of R. S. Crane. (shrink)

My title is taken from the frontispiece to Ogilby's translation of Aesop ; since every Renaissance poet believed the statement to be true, let me start with my own example. John Denham's only play, The Sophy, published in August 1642, is a tale about the perils of jealousy. The good prince Mirza, after a miraculous victory over the Turks, returns in glory to his father's court, but leaves it shortly thereafter. In his absense, Haly, the evil courtier, follows a (...) friend's advice to " work on [the king's] fears, till fear hath made him cruel"1 and poisons the king's mind with jealousy against his son. Mirza returns only to be brutally blinded and killed, and the emperor soon dies stricken with remorse. Now it happens that Parliament justified all its actions in the months preceding the civil war on the grounds of the "fears and jealousies" that the king had inspired. Charles was incensed by the slogan and claimed angrily that he, if anyone, had the most cause for fears and jealousies.2 Denham obviously decided that here was the all-consuming topic around which a predominantly royalist drama could be written. He followed what I believe was the standard practice - the method that Fulke Greville said Sidney used and that Congreve repeated at the end of the century when he declared of The Double Dealer that "I design'd the Moral first, and to that Moral I invented the Fable."3 He found a plot in Thomas Herbert's Travels into Diverse Parts of Asia that recorded some terrible cruelties and catastrophes caused by jealousy, and he added the point that the emperor's mind had been wrought upon by his counselor. There is no evidence that the play was ever acted, but the most casual reader would have said to himself, "Yes, history reminds us that states destroy themselves through fears and jealousies, and we should abate our own before it is too late." · 1. Sir John Denham, The Poetical Works, ed. Theodore Howard Banks, 2d ed. , p.245. The references to fear and jealousy are so ubiquitous in the play that they need not be listed here.· 2. On March 1, 1642, in the angriest of his replies to Parliament so far, Charles exclaimed, "You speake of Jealousies and Feares: Lay your hands to your hearts, and aske your selves whether I may not likewise be disturbed with Feares and Jealousies: And if so, I assure you this Message hath nothing lessened them" . Although phrases like "distempers and jealousies" had been used earlier, Clarendon on two occasions is quite specific that "fears and jealousies" were "the new words which served to justify all indispositions and to excuse all disorders" in January 1642 . Taken with other evidence, Clarendon's remarks strongly suggest that The Sophy was written after Coopers Hill, and during seven months preceding its publication in August 1642.· 3. William Congreve, The Complete Plays, ed. Herbert Davis , p. 119. And compare John Donne in Sermons, ed. Evelyn M. Simpson are George R. Potter , 9:274: "All wayes of teaching are Rule and Example: and though ordinarily the Rule be first placed, yet the Rule it selfe is made of Examples...for, Example in matter of Doctrine, is as Assimiliation in matter of Nourishment; The Example makes that that is proposed for our learning and farther instruction, like something which we knew before, as Assimilation makes that meat, which we have received and digested, like those parts which are in our bodies before."John M. Wallace, author of Destiny His Choice: The Loyalism of Andrew Marvell and articles on Milton, Dryden Denham, Traherne, and Arnold, is professor of English at the University of Chicago. (shrink)

Resumen: Este trabajo investiga las traducciones realizadas por Aphra Behn a partir de la clasificación tripartita que estableció John Dryden entre metáfrasis, paráfrasis e imitación. Behn cultiva la metáfrasis principalmente en sus traducciones de La Rochefoucauld, la paráfrasis en las versiones de Cowley o Tallemant, entre otros; mientras que aplica la imitación a las Fábulas de Esopo. Se constata que Behn rompe con la tradición de traducir principalmente a los autores clásicos, ensanchando los cauces de entrada de literatura (...) moderna en Inglaterra y ampliando las posibilidades de la traducción literaria. Analizando unas muestras, se infiere la manipulación del texto original que la autora realiza en ocasiones, en consonancia con su ideario creativo, generando un texto meta provisto de nuevas resonancias de género y políticas contextualizadas en su época. Asimismo, se deduce que la escritora profesional de la Restauración cultiva la traducción movida, entre otros motivos, por los gustos del naciente mercado literario en cuanto a las novedades del país galo y, por tanto, motivada por un afán comercial.: This paper examines the translations by Aphra Behn based on the tripartite classification that John Dryden established between metaphrase, paraphrase and imitation. Behn employs mainly metaphrase in her translations of La Rochefoucault; paraphrase in her versions of Cowley and Tallemant, among others; while applying the imitation to Aesop's Fables. It is found that Behn breaks with the tradition of translating principally classical authors, broadening channels for the entrance of modern literature into England and expanding the possibilities of literary translation. Analyzing the samples, the author's occasional manipulation of the original text is identified, consonant with her creative ideas and generating a metatext featuring new political and gender resonances contextualized in her era. It is also concluded that the professional writer of the Restoration employs translation spurred by the tastes of the burgeoning literary market, among other factors, shaped by recent developments in France and, as such, motivated by commercial interests. (shrink)

“A sentimental layman would feel, and ought to feel, horrified, on being admitted into [an expert art] critic's mind, to see how cold, how thin, how void of human significance, are the motives for favour or disfavour that there prevail.” Thus writes William James. The art-world is dominated by critics who sneer and sentimentality, resist evocation, and issue stale, dispassionate appraisals. Memorized standards are coolly deployed to scan works for the features that are currently in fashion, before an icy verdict (...) is delivered. Untutored art enthusiasts make aesthetic judgments in an entirely differently way. For them, appraisal is read off “the sounding board of the body.” They use their emotions. Thus, according to James, there are two ways to assess art: cold and hot. So who is right, the rhapsodical museum-goer or the effete professional critic? As a first pass, I side with the rhapsodies. I think dispassionate appraisal is parasitic on passionate appraisal. Cool reason can never be sufficient on its own to assess artistic merit. This is a corollary of “aesthetic sentimentalism”—a view was championed by Hume and other British moralists. Of course, aesthetic sentimentalism does not entail that critics are wrong when they depart from the bubbling masses. It entails merely that good critics must be slaves to their own passions. Hacks may deliver aesthetic judgments dispassionately, but more sensitive critics have been known to muster an occasional gasp or thrill. Perhaps the refined emotions of professional critics have more validity than the crude gushings of James ’s “sentimental layman.” True beauty may be restricted to those works that elicit goosebumps in skilled viewers. Hume flirts with this idea. He thinks John Milton is objectively better than John Ogilby. Why? Because John Dryden said so, and he should know. John D. can arbitrate between the merits of John M. (shrink)

It is easy to overlook the fact that the kind of personalist criticism Brower, Wimsatt, and other New Critics were reacting against was a method of interpretation bequeathed by the nineteenth century which most of us would now regard as naïve, simplistic, and sometimes absurd. With the exception of a few poems such as Browning's dramatic monologues, which provided the speaker with an explicit identity as unmistakable as that of a character in a play—"I am poor brother Lippo, by your (...) leave! / You need not clap your torches to my face"—lyric and didactic poems of the first person were invariably treated as personal statements. The voice, emotions, attitudes, and state of mind of the speaker were those of the poet, and even the most symbolic details were often read as literal aspects of the poet's self or environment. Many critical studies and anthologies remain today on library shelves testifying to the persistence of these critical habits of the late 1940s and 1950s. On the assumption that Rochester's love poems describe his actual sexual experiences, Vivian de Sola Pinto was able to write a much longer biography of the poet than would have been possible if personalist criticism had not been in vogue.1 David Nichol Smith could assert that Dryden's Religio Laici "was wholly spontaneous"—the familiar Romantic criterion - and show the poet arguing out "his problems for the peace of his own mind."2 If it became unfashionable to speak in that manner of these and numerous other poems, it was because the New Critics, along with the Chicago critics, had shown convincingly that a lyric poem can be dramatic, the imitation of a fictitious speaker responding to an imagined situation, and that a didactic poem can deal with public issues instead of private agonies. · 1. See Vivian de Sola Pinto, Rochester: Portrait of a Restoration Poet .· 2. David Nichol Smith, John Dryden , p. 61. Phillip Harth is Merritt Y. Hughes Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, and is the author of Swift and Anglican Rationalism and Contexts of Dryden's Thought. (shrink)

This paper will explore the notion of ‘poetic enthusiasm’ in early 18th-century verse. The representation of poetic enthusiasm—the claim to false inspiration, and the fanaticism that was perceived to accompany it—was frequently politicized in this period. Through a conflation of religious and literary discourses, poetic enthusiasm was seen to represent the sae kind of anarchy in the realm of literature that the religious enthusiasm associated with Dissent did in the context of the established church. This paper will establish first of (...) all the way in which Tory and Royalist authors such as John Oldham, John Dryden, and Alexander pope used the established satirical caricature of the religious enthusiast to attack their Whig contemporaries. It will go on to suggest, however, that the relationship between politics and enthusiasm is more complex than this equation between Toryism and anti-enthusiasm suggests. While the Tory attack on literary enthusiasm was premised on an elision of political and literary codes, writers such as Dryden and Pope were also trying to separate out an exclusively poetic meaning for the term. Enthusiasm remained and unstable term because although writers recognized that its religious and political applications were different from its literary sense, they could not easily keep the two apart. (shrink)

Paul Davis explores the personal and cultural significances of translating as a distinctive mode of imaginative conduct for the five principal poet-translators of what was the golden age of the art in England: John Denham, Henry Vaughan, Abraham Cowley, John Dryden, and Alexander Pope.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Ideas 61.3 (2000) 397-413 [Access article in PDF] Betwixt Two Ages Cast: Milton, Johnson, and the English Renaissance Jack Lynch To judge by the most visible institutional mechanisms of literary periodization --the anthology, the history of literature, and the survey course--John Milton has come unstuck in time. The Norton Anthology of English Literature prints its excerpts from Paradise Lost under the rubric "The (...) Early Seventeenth Century (1603-1660)" along with Jonson and Bacon, not under "The Restoration and Eighteenth Century (1660-1785)" alongside Dryden and Bunyan. 1 Milton gets a chapter to himself in volume five of the Oxford History of English Literature, English Literature in the Early Seventeenth Century 1600-1660, not in volume six, English Literature of the Late Seventeenth Century. 2 And Stanford Uni-versity's two-part survey of English masterpieces puts Milton in English 10 ("Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton and their Contemporaries") rather than English 11 ("From the Enlightenment to the Modern Period"). But his most important work appeared in 1667, the same year as Dryden's Annus Mirabilis and Sprat's History of the Royal Society, works now invariably consigned to the latter of the two periods. Milton is almost univerally accorded the title of the last great writer of the English Renaissance, while his contemporaries stand at the beginning of what we clumsily call the "long eighteenth century." 3The situation is not new; it began neither with the Norton Anthology nor the Oxford History. As long ago as 1853 Hippolyte Taine placed Milton in book II [End Page 397] of his History of English Literature, "The Renaissance," rather than in book III, "The Classic Age." 4 But Taine was not the originator of this habit; he was only an inheritor of older paradigms. In fact a search for the causes of this treatment of the seventeenth century would take us back to the seventeenth century itself, only a few years after the publication of Paradise Lost, and into the eighteenth, when Milton's epic took its central place in the English canon.To remark upon this peculiar violation of strict chronology in English literary history is not necessarily to quarrel with it; it may well be that specialists in the English Renaissance have more interesting things to say about it than do those in the eighteenth century. But Milton's treatment at the hands of literary historians deserves attention, for it takes us straight to the heart of questions of literary periodization. Because eras make sense only in relation to one another, periodization is never entirely disinterested. Periods are imposed in retrospect in an attempt to extract the most useful or satisfying narrative out of the events of the past, and it is therefore inevitable that they should serve the cultural needs of the present.Some of the most enduring acts of periodization come out of cultural movements which divide themselves from their immediate predecessors, dividing us from them, now from then. Thomas Vogler observes that "the perennial goal of historical thought can be seen to be a mode of self-definition in the form of a narrative in which a 'modernity' defines itself over against a past perceived as essentially different." 5 As Peter Bürger points out, periodization inevitably, if sometimes indirectly, results in "the construction of the present." 6 This invocation or creation of an ever-new sense of now (along with its resulting creation of a series of thens) amounts to a declaration of modernity.Perhaps the most important such declaration of modernity came when the Florentine humanists of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries traded the classical and Christian models of six ages or four monarchies for a new three-term model, one with three great ages: ancient, middle, and modern. 7 Francesco Petrarca is a central figure in this transformation: for him, defining modernity meant first discovering or inventing a post-classical Dark Age against which to measure the brightness of modern enlightenment.Petrarch never gave a definitive account of a modern world, though by allying himself... (shrink)

Etymologies are often entertaining, but it is not always obvious what they mean. Take the case of Old Frankish *sal, meaning a single-roomed dwelling. The word was taken over by speakers of Vulgar Latin as sala, and by 1100 CE it had become a word of Anglo-Norman French, since in The Song of Roland it crops up as sale, meaning the living area of a castle. Some time later, it wandered into Italian. Renaissance architects wanted to make a new word (...) for the increasingly grandiose spaces they were designing, so they added an augmentative suffix, producing salone. In the seventeenth century, French translations of Italian works on architecture reproduced the new term, only dropping the final e so as to keep the masculine gender of the Italian. French salon came into English in the early eighteenth century, initially as a word for a large and lofty room; but as French speakers applied it more and more to social functions occurring in such spaces, English speakers did so too. Then came a fork: a phonological adaptation produced saloon, which drifted off as a fully naturalized word of English toward hotels, carriages, bars, and cars; but salon persisted nonetheless. By retaining the stress pattern and marginally nasal final vowel of its source language, the doublet has remained in use as a xenism—a word of English understood to be not English, but understood in English all the same.How many such words are there? Hundreds, maybe thousands. Coupé, du jour, fuselage, pizza, paparazzi, sauerkraut, Zeitgeist—all signal their foreignness either by nonstandard pronunciation of written consonants (s, g, j, z), the presence of foreign diacritics, or irregular tonic stress. These are the kinds of loanwords that Scholar calls “émigrés,” but he gives us not thousands or hundreds or even a dozen of them: his chapters deal only with four: à la mode, ennui, naïveté, and caprice. The histories of these words do not really teach us any more about the cultural, social, and political relations between England and France than do saloon and salon, which is not much at all, or any other set of loanwords that retain phonetic or orthographic signs of foreignness. Scholar nonetheless does his level best to put his favored four at the heart of early modern English culture. Lengthy accounts of a play by Dryden, a famous work of Schiller's, an essay by Raymond Williams, Caribbean notions of creolization, and a John le Carré novel, learned though they all may be, do not really make the argument more persuasive, or even clear. By the end of this beautifully produced and floridly written book, the reader (or at least this reader) is not quite sure what it was really about. The very title of Émigrés repurposes a xenism which in regular usage is associated with high social status (we never talk of émigré workers, for example), thus exhibiting what I suppose the whole field ought to demonstrate: the ways in which new, hard, or nonnative words are always used to establish pecking orders between speakers, between their interlocutors and between their worlds. In Bourdieusian terms: not to make distinctions, but to create distinction. (shrink)

Practical reasoning is a process of reasoning that concludes in an intention. One example is reasoning from intending an end to intending what you believe is a necessary means: 'I will leave the next buoy to port; in order to do that I must tack; so I'll tack', where the first and third sentences express intentions and the second sentence a belief. This sort of practical reasoning is supported by a valid logical derivation, and therefore seems uncontrovertible. A more contentious (...) example is normative practical reasoning of the form 'I ought to φ, so I'll φ', where 'I ought to φ' expresses a normative belief and 'I'll φ' an intention. This has at least some characteristics of reasoning, but there are also grounds for doubting that it is genuine reasoning. One objection is that it seems inappropriate to derive an intention to φ from a belief that you ought to φ, rather than a belief that you ought to intend to φ. Another is that you may not be able to go through this putative process of reasoning, and this inability might disqualify it from being reasoning. A third objection is that it violates the Humean doctrine that reason alone cannot motivate any action of the will. This paper investigates these objections. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:"MURTHER, BY A SPECIOUS NAME": ABSALOMAND ACHITOPHEVS POETICS OF SACRIFICIAL SURROGACY Gary Ernst Roger's State University d;,uring the late 1670's and early '80s, English political satirists 'participated in the endeavors of the rival factions, Dissenter or Whig and Royalist or Tory, to effect judicial violence. While juries condemned and the hangman executed Catholics as traitors during the Popish Plot persecution, John Oldham suggests in the "Prologue' to his (...) Satires upon the Jesuits that he writes to stoke the mass hatred fueling the slayings (2: 19-22). Such animosity powered this initial Dissenter effort to exclude Charles II's Catholic brother, James Stuart, Duke ofYork, from the throne, and left more than two hundred dead.' And Dryden's vituperative response to the striking of a medal to celebrate the grand jury's dismissal of high treason charges against Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury, The Medall (pointedly subtitledA Satire againstSedition) seems to have a clear purpose of inciting Royalists to redouble their efforts to dispatch the opposition leadertothe gallows.2 Judicial slayings ofthis kind are perhaps not surprising in these years ofcrisis and fear. Dissenters like Oldham believed that English Catholics plotted to assassinate Charles, put James on the throne, martyr Protestants with the help of foreign Catholic armies, and destroy both the Protestantfaith and English culture itself; Royalists, on the other hand, saw as ever-looming Dissenter insurrection and another catastrophic civil war to take away their property, power, and perhaps the ' For studies ofthe Plot in this political context, see Miller 169-82; Jones 197-217; Greaves 5-32, and Kenyon's complete volume. 2 Harth studies The Medall as an example of Tory propaganda against the Whigs and supportive of Royal efforts to deliver the earl to the gallows (161-9). 62Gary Ernst life ofthe king.3 Duringthe bloodshed ushering in the two party system, the fatal goals ofsatirists seem quite realistic—and indeed may have been so. Thejudicial persecution ofCatholics consumed victims until the fervorthat Oldham labors to feed burnt out; and, in November 1682, eight months after The Medall found its first audience, Shaftesbury, accused by the crown of new treasons, went into hiding soon to flee England in mortal terror of successful Royalist prosecution. The greatest political satire of this turbulent period, Absalom and Achitophel, responds directly to the recent efforts of Charles's beloved, eldest natural son, the Protestant James Scott, Duke of Monmouth—now "Fir'd with near possession of a Crown " (684)—to displace York in the line of succession. The satire revolves around a depiction ofMonmouth's "War in Masquerade," his recenttour through the west ofEngland to gauge and gain support (682-725). Despite the factthatthe satire clearly posits the threat of national catastrophe, it hardly seems at first as intent upon the death ofthis target as either The Medall or Oldham's Satires seem oftheirs. But, to be sure, it is, although Dryden—committed firstly to York and secondly to king4—carefully conceals both his methods and his intentions against Charles's son. For the purpose ofleading his audience to imitate his attack and carry it from the printed page into the world of action and the courts, he conceives apoetics ofsacrifice that screens his hostilities toward Monmouth from the eyes ofthe very persons he undertakes to mobilized. By appropriating for his satire the cultural phenomenon defined by René Girard as the "scapegoat" or "sacrificial mechanism,"5 Dryden arouses and 3 According to Kenyon, in late 1678, the Commons' inflammatory speeches and addresses to the king gave the impression in the House of Lords that the members of the Commons "seemed intent on fighting the Civil Wars all over again" (129) 4 For a fuller discussion ofDryden's commitmentto York, see McFadden 91, 111 -202; Winn 243-75, and Erskine-Hill 22-5. Daly argues that Mac Flecknoe, written some three years before the beginning ofthe Exclusion Crisis of 1679-81, is an oblique but sustained attack upon Monmouth, a result ofthe laureate's concerns about the king's bestowals ofpower upon Monmouth and the possibility ofthe bastard's eventual succession (655-76). For another discussion that focuses upon Dryden's targeting ofMonmouth m Absalom and Achitophel... (shrink)

In this 2nd edition, John Gray adds an extensive postscript which defends the interpretation of Mill set out in the first edition, but develops radical criticisms of the substance of Millian and other liberalism.

John Austin's classic work that has had a profound influence on the study of English and American law presents Austin's distinction between "positive law" (i.e.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Eighteenth-Century Hermeneutics: Philosophy of Interpretation in England from Locke to BurkePaul J. KorshinEighteenth-Century Hermeneutics: Philosophy of Interpretation in England from Locke to Burke, by Joel Weinsheimer; xiii & 275 pp. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993, $30.00.Hermeneutics has until the present study had little application to eighteenth-century England. The omission is curious for, although there were few advances in biblical scholarship during the Restoration and eighteenth century, modern (...) literary criticism begins in this century with Dryden and Johnson, modern aesthetics with Shaftesbury and the Scottish school of taste, and modern theories of art with Reynolds and writers on the picturesque. Joel Weinsheimer’s treatment of this topic, then, instantly possesses originality, not only from a lack of serious competition but because of its approach to [End Page 365] hermeneutics. He “does not offer a historical narrative” of what happened in hermeneutics in eighteenth-century England (p. xi). Rather, Weinsheimer prefers to see hermeneutics as a series of snapshots of how various writers, of whom only a few are conventional exegetes, deal with matters of interpreting texts. In all, the book treats eight major figures (Swift, Locke, Toland, Bolingbroke, Hume, Reid, Blackstone, and Burke), devoting a chapter to each.The method in each one is approximately the same: Weinsheimer produces a reading not of a single work alone but of all, or almost all that an author writes about interpretation. In the case of Swift, for instance, his principal contribution on exegesis, A Tale of a Tub, is a satire on styles of exegesis Swift considered ridiculous. This chapter adds little to what we know of Swift but, in relation to Weinsheimer’s analysis of Sir William Blackstone, we can see that there is a legal background to parts of the debate among the three brothers on the meaning of Scripture. Locke (pp. 23–45) also dealt with the Bible extensively, but his tendency to prefer the doctrine of “sola scriptura” limits what an author can say about his hermeneutics. John Toland (pp. 46–71), in his Christianity Not Mysterious, proposes radical notions of biblical exegesis, and Weinsheimer gives us a lucid reading of the first English skeptical exegete. All the other figures he studies, however, had little interest in traditional literary exegesis. Weinsheimer sees Bolingbroke (pp. 72–102) as a philosopher of history who tried to generate a theory of decoding the past, but he does not clearly distinguish Bolingbroke’s rules for writing history. Hume (pp. 103–34) wrote extensively on exegetical topics without actually being an exegete; although this is one of Weinsheimer’s more opaque chapters, it does succeed in showing the diversity of Hume and his inability to reason conclusively on matters of interpretation. Hume basically did not think that there is any problem in understanding others, so his theories of exegesis are not coherent. So, too, Thomas Reid (pp. 135–65) considered language, properly used, as lacking in opacity; hence elaborate theories of interpretation have little use for him.However, with Blackstone and Edmund Burke, Weinsheimer contributes his two most interesting chapters. The law, as Blackstone conceived of it, is extremely difficult to understand, so his Commentaries on the Laws of England is an attempt to read legal texts “in the context of general literacy” (p. 168); Bentham would later imitate him. Burke, Weinsheimer argues, started as an aesthetician and ended applying principles of good and bad taste to political behavior, always one of the weaknesses of reactionary politics.In a brief epilogue (pp. 226–33), Weinsheimer speculates on the effort of eighteenth-century hermeneutics to understand historical reason, but he does not comment on the failure of the period to produce a single important hermeneuticist. His own choice to avoid major exegetes such as Samuel Johnson and Joshua Reynolds abridges his results dramatically, but a study based on scholarly snapshots always courts this risk. Hermeneutics is a [End Page 366] recondite concept, yet Weinsheimer renders his topic more difficult than it need be by frequent shifts in its definition and a complex, often unclear, style. Eighteenth-Century Hermeneutics provides a start, if not a definitive treatment, for later students of exegesis in the English Enlightenment.Paul... (shrink)

John N Andrews; General Thinking Skills: are there such things?, Journal of Philosophy of Education, Volume 24, Issue 1, 30 May 2006, Pages 71–79, https://doi.o.

John White's study is the most substantial work on what the aims of education should be since Whitehead's Aims of Education of 1929. It draws on material not only from schools and colleges, but also from the broader educative or miseducative nature of the 'ethos' of society and some of its major institutions. Sifting the different views about aims which are now prevalent and circulating in the world of education, he integrates the more defensible of them into an articulated (...) set of positive recommendations. The study takes a broadly philosophical and non-technical stand; it is written to help practitioners orient themselves in what is often bewildering territory, at a time when the question of what the aims of education ought to be has acquired a new urgency for politicians and educational administrators, as well as for those directly involved in educational institutions, head teachers and their staff. (shrink)

John Wilson; Relativism and Teaching, Journal of Philosophy of Education, Volume 20, Issue 1, 30 May 2006, Pages 89–96, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9752.1986.

John Laird was a Scottish philosopher who specialised in metaphysics and moral philosophy. In this early work, which was originally published in 1920, Laird set out to analyse some of the more perplexing problems of philosophical realism. The text includes a brief survey of philosophical realism at the beginning and critical notes throughout. This book will be of value to anyone with an interest in the works of Laird and the history of philosophy.

Considéré en France comme un pédagogue "laxiste" voire "gauchiste", Dewey est présenté par certains philosophes nord-américains, Richard Rorty en particulier, comme un postmoderniste. C'est oublier que Dewey mit ses théories philosophiques à l'épreuve de l'école. Sa pédagogie reste aujourd'hui la théorie de l'éducation la plus actuelle.

While dominant management thinking is steered by profit maximisation, this paper proposes that sustained organisational growth can best be stimulated by attention to the common good and the capacity of corporate leaders to create commitment to the common good. The leadership thinking of Kautilya and Ashoka embodies this principle. Both offer a common good approach, emphasising the leader's moral and legal responsibility for people's welfare, the robust interaction between the business community and the state, and the importance of moral training (...) of leaders in identifying and promoting the common good. We argue that the complex process of re‐orientating corporate priorities towards the common good requires alertness and concerted effort if both business and society are to truly benefit. As Ashoka said: ‘A good deed is a difficult thing’. (shrink)

John Barton is convinced that in many areas of ethical enquiry the Old Testament has much to teach us, and he argues his case in this new book, which developed out of lectures given both in Canada and in Oxford. During it he looks again at the Ten Commandments; the narrative about David and his children; the ethical issues of ecology, sexual morality and property; human morality as the express command of God; and the motivation for moral conduct. By (...) the end of the book it is clear that although the Old Testament comes to us from a remote, alien and apparently unsophisticated context, the powerful minds who worked on its books still have things to say which remain evocative and suggestive for our own moral enquiries. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:John Allman PAUL DE MAN, DECONSTRUCTION, AND DISCIPLESHIP God may be dead, but his vocabulary lives on, oddly enough, in the militandy secular pages of recent literary theory. Just when we thought it was safe to plunge the depths of postmodernism without the muddying mystifications of worship, religious language seems to have resurrected itself and is walking once again on the troubled waters of literary criticism. In an (...) essay on "The Institutional Control of Interpretation," forexample, Frank Kermode suggests that the Church offers us the best model for understanding the "exegetical activities" ofliterary critics everywhere: "self-perpetuating, hierarchical, authoritative, much concerned with questions of canon, and wont, as we are, to distinguish sharply between initiate and uninitiate readings, the Church is a model we would do well to consider as we attempt to understand our own practice."1 We can find traces of sacred vocabulary in the description not only of the Church of Criticism in general, but also of particular sects within this institution, even those determined to undermine the notion that anything is sacred. In fact, religious language seems most abundant in critical assessments ofdeconstruction, by all appearances the most iconoclastic of recent modes of interpretation. Gerald Graff, for example, argues that the deconstructive project transforms literature into "a vehicle for a nihilistic metaphysics, an anti-didactic form of preaching." Literature becomes "once again the great oracle of truth, but now the truth is that there is no truth. In a curiously inverted restatement of the religion of literature, the literary work is made the sole source of truth only in the sense that it alone refuses to succumb to the delusion that the truth can be spoken."2 Focusing on the style rather than the Philosophy and Literature, © 1990, 14: 324-339 John Allman325 dogma of deconstruction, Mark Felperin echoes a number of theorists (both radical and conservative) when he comments that de Man, Derrida, and their brethren, much like "high priests ofa new mystery cult," are guilty of "a deliberate obscurantism designed to exclude all but an elite—only those who already know will understand and be saved."3 And John Ellis suggests that "deconstructive logic" is simply a crude version of "a standard formula in many branches of religious mysticism."4 Clearly, Ellis, Graff, and others so stigmatize deconstruction not by way of providing neutral descriptions of an interpretive approach, but rather as part of a polemical strategy intended to expose flaws in deconstruction—its hypocrisy, its elitism, its unoriginality. Despite this appropriation of religious language in the rhetoric denouncing deconstruction, it seems to me to be both possible and useful to examine how religious vocabulary might offer a fair as well as illuminating means of describing rather than proscribing the critical phenomenon known as deconstruction. In particular, I would like to look at the ways in which the relation between the originators ofdeconstruction and their successors resembles that between master and disciple. To those sympathetic to deconstruction, such an approach may seem inappropriate, if not hostile; deconstructionists, accustomed to charges that they are presenting a metaphysics of absence, a religion of antirepresentationalism, have consistentiy denied that their practices are in any way religious. What I would like to suggest, however, is that deconstruction, like the texts it reads, is governed by the very forces it resists. By studying the relation between one "exemplary" deconstructive critic— Paul de Man—and one of his influencial students—Barbara Johnson—I hope to illustrate how the survival of deconstruction depends paradoxically on its ability to both resist and restore the powers that shape the relation between master and disciple. Particularly useful in the context ofmy argument are the observations of two sociologists of religion, Joachim Wach and Max Weber, whose sociological perspective permits them to comment on the dynamics of the master-disciple relationship without referring to any particular set of beliefs or teachings. Wach's essay "Master and Disciple" is especially helpful, for he begins his discussion of this dynamic by contrasting the relation between master and disciple with that between teacher and student. For Wach, the essential difference between master and teacher is that the teacher "gives a definite subject matter" while the master "provides only... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:From Sin to Amazing Grace: Discovering the Queer Christ by Patrick S. ChengJohn J. AndersonFrom Sin to Amazing Grace: Discovering the Queer Christ PATRICK S. CHENG New York: Seabury Books, 2012. 192 pp. $24.00The Christian doctrines of sin and grace are often avoided by LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) Christians today because of the ways that community has been harmed by the label “sinner.” Yet, Patrick Cheng (...) argues, these doctrines remain important to discuss. What is needed is not an avoidance of [End Page 241] these doctrines but rather a reframing of them. Writing from his perspective as a gay Asian American, Cheng offers new ways to understand sin and grace within the framework of a queer understanding of Christ.The book is organized into two parts. In part 1, Cheng argues that theologies of sin and grace are problematic because they have been defined in the West by a “crime-based” model. In this view, he argues, sin is a crime against God requiring punishment, and grace is acquittal and rehabilitation from that crime. Cheng outlines the development of this model from Augustine to John Calvin and argues that such a model is “inadequate and maybe even dangerous for LGBT people” (36). He rejects the crime-based model in favor of what he calls a “Christ-centered” model. In this view, sin is “immaturity” and grace is theosis or “becoming more like God” (54).In part 2, the fruitfulness of Cheng’s Christ-centered approach becomes apparent as he outlines how LGBT persons can interpret sin and grace in light of the Queer Christ. Cheng presents seven different models for understanding Christ offered by various queer theologians. Sin and grace are then understood in light of each particular model. For example, one Christ model that Cheng offers is the “Out Christ.” Here, the person of Jesus Christ is understood as God’s “coming out” to humanity; God reveals Godself most fully through Christ. Through this lens, sin is the “closet” and grace becomes the “courage” to come out. Thus, coming out of the closet is understood as part of theosis: by sharing one’s most authentic self with others, one becomes more like the God who desires authenticity and openness.One of the strengths of Cheng’s work is his analysis of the history of the doctrines of sin and grace and how they have had an impact on the LGBT community. Of particular note is his argument that the crime-based model is rooted in “a deep-seated fear of collective punishment” by God and that same-sex and gender variant acts have often been considered the cause of such punishment (40). Nonetheless, Cheng’s engagement of various theologians is often not deep enough. His chapters read at times like short summaries of one theologian after another. To be sure, this tendency demonstrates Cheng’s encyclopedic knowledge of the field, but it also does not permit enough critical depth to satisfy some scholars. This is perhaps due to the fact that he intends the book to be accessible to a lay audience—which it is. Each chapter ends with discussion questions that make it a good fit for undergraduate courses and church education classes. Furthermore, Cheng’s definitions of sin and grace tend to be presented as polar opposites. For example, in one Christ model, he defines sin as shame and grace as pride. Yet recent work in queer theory has criticized this dichotomy, revealing the limits of discourse about pride and the creative potential of shame. For many LGBT Christians, of course, it can be powerful to think of shame itself as a sin rather than feeling shame for being [End Page 242] called sinner, but Cheng’s discussion of this could be more nuanced. All in all, however, Cheng succeeds in providing a fresh vocabulary for discussing sin and grace, and his work will help a wide audience of Christians find new value in these classic doctrines.John J. AndersonMerrimack CollegeCopyright © 2014 Society of Christian Ethics... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:In Memoriam:John W. Yolton 1921-2005G.A.J. RogersJohn Yolton died a few days short of his eighty-fourth birthday. He was one of the most distinguished historians of philosophy of his generation. Early in his studies he had found Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding a challenging book that raised as many puzzles as it answered and it was his engagement with that work that dominated his intellectual enquires from his MA (...) studies until his latest book, published last year, The Two Intellectual Worlds of John Locke. Man, Person, and Spirits in the "Essay." It was his fifteenth authored book. His first book was his Oxford D. Phil. Thesis, John Locke and the Way of Ideas, published nearly fifty years ago in 1956. If Locke and Ideas were to dominate his writings, they were not exclusive of other interests. His second book was The Philosophy of A.S. Eddington. Others, not Locke-centered, were to follow. In later years he has focussed especially on the problem for all readers of Locke and other early modern philosophers including Descartes, Berkeley and Hume, as to the nature of their commitment to ideas. Did they really hold that ideas are objects that intervene between the perceiving mind and the outside world, or is the standard reification of ideas simply a mistaken reading of their argument? Yolton, since at least the early 1980s, has argued that to reify ideas in the standard way is based on a false reading of the texts. His reading has not always been accepted by historians of philosophy but there are signs that that might be changing and some books and articles published in the last five years or so reveal distinct signs of a Yolton influence.John Yolton was not only a prolific writer he was also a highly regarded editor, not only of Locke texts but also of important collections of papers such as John Locke: Problems and Perspectives (1969) and The Blackwell Companion to the Enlightenment (1992) to which he contributed [End Page 419] a prodigious number of entries. But perhaps as important as his writing was Yolton's teaching. Nobody who sat in on one of his classes could not but be impressed with the way in which he was able to hold a class's attention to a text of Descartes, Locke or Hume and engage first year or graduate students in a scrutiny of the text, perhaps only a paragraph or even a sentence long, teasing out its ambiguities and its place in an argument, to the obvious enlightenment of students who until then had found early modern philosophical prose dull and uncaptivating. It is no surprise to find that he supervised a large number of scholars of the early modern period who have gone on to make important contributions to the history of philosophy and intellectual history.John Yolton was always enormously generous with his time. His graduate students became extensions of the Yolton family. So also did younger scholars. Any book or paper sent him was always to receive careful attention and detailed comment, always fair but never patronising. He was also very active as a member of many editorial boards, including the Journal of the History of Ideas and the Clarendon Locke Board. John was appointed to the Board of Consulting Editors of the JHI in 1977. At the beginning of 1987 he was elected to the Board of Editors and he was still a member of that Board at the time of his death. During his membership on both boards he provided an enormous amount of editorial help, evaluating scores of submitted papers. He was especially active during the years that the Journal's editorial office was located at Rutgers University. In 1991 John was elected vice president of the Board of Directors, the governing body of the JHI. He served as vice president until the summer of 1998. He was chairman of the Clarendon Locke Board for nine years as well as, at the same time, being its general editor.John Yolton and his wife, Jean, a Locke scholar in her own right, were regular participants at conferences, but in recent years their travelling... (shrink)

The paper describes two practical exercises (and their learning outcomes) requiring students to consider certain concrete decisions made by managers in business and professional life. The first exercise requires students to consider that competitive economic exchange inevitably puts managers in situations where they cannot accurately predict the outcomes of their decisions, and often results in harm to innocent people. In this practical exercise, seven discussion situations are described and students are asked to make decisions that take into account the individuals (...) affected by these managerial decisions. Students are asked to consider various ethical theories and devise creative solutions so as to avoid unnecessary harm. The second exercise places students in roles that represent shareholders and stakeholders and asks them to consider the relocation of a manufacturing company to their community. (shrink)

ABSTRACTThe historical process underlying Darwin’s Origin of Species did not play a significant role in the early editions of the book, in spite of the particular inductivist scientific methodology it espoused. Darwin’s masterpiece did not adequately provide his sources or the historical perspective many contemporary critics expected. Later editions yielded the ‘Historical Sketch’ lacking in the earlier editions, but only under critical pressure. Notwithstanding the sources he provided, Darwin presented the Origin as an ‘abstract’ in order to avoid giving sources; (...) a compromise he acknowledged and undertook to set right in later editions, yet failed to provide throughout the six editions under his supervision. Darwin’s reluctance to publish the historical context of his theory and his sources, particularly sources which were also ‘precursors’, may be attributed as much to the matter of intellectual ownership as science, or even good literary practice. Of special concern to Darwin were issues of priority or originality over ‘descent with modification’ and especially over Natural Selection. Many later historians have argued that Darwin was unaware of the work of his precursors on Natural Selection. Darwin’s theory was an example of independent discovery, albeit along with such obscure precursors as Matthew or Wells, who were unknown to Darwin until after the publication of the Origin. Both Matthew and Wells had a medical education, like James Hutton or Erasmus Darwin earlier in the eighteenth century, or even Charles Darwin. Evolutionary theory, at least in Britain was a product largely of the medical evolutionists rather than the natural historians which ‘history’ has chosen to select for the focus of attention; and among the medical evolutionists the figure of John Hunter stands out as theorist, experimentalist and teacher: the medical evolutionists were predominantly the product of Hunter’s legacy or of the medical profession and particularly the Scottish Universities. Much recent Darwin scholarship has focused on the private Notebooks, to establish Darwin’s discovery of Natural Selection around 1837–1838 and demonstrate Darwin’s ignorance of his precursors; requiring an explicit acknowledgement by Darwin as the legitimate substantiation of any claim to prior influence. The precursors have been categorized as uniformly obscure or irrelevant to the science of evolution which may be defined exclusively as ‘Darwinian’. The inclination to acknowledge influences, however was not something Darwin was gratuitously given to doing, especially on matters of priority. The Notebooks are not Darwin’s private thoughts; from an early stage he considered them incipient public documents and later sought to protect them as proof of his originality. William C. Wells was not an obscure thinker, but a celebrated scientist whom Herschel, Darwin’s guide to scientific methodology, had recommended as providing a model of scientific method. Darwin discovered Wells through Herschel, and quickly acquired a copy of Wells’ recommended work, no later than 1831, and held it thereafter in his library at Down House. This book, the 1818 edition of Wells’ Two Essays contains a third essay, Wells’ account of Natural Selection. Later, in the Descent of Man Darwin acknowledged his separate discovery of the correlation of colour and disease immunity in man, also earlier recounted by Wells. (shrink)