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In this essay, I investigate the status of the pathē (plural of pathos) in Epicurean psychology. It will emerge that Epicurus had a very narrow view of the significance of this term, in comparison with its use among his contemporaries (and some of his followers). What is more, this restriction has important consequences for Epicurus' understanding both of the emotions and of the goal of life in general.
In popular as well as philosophical literature of the late fifth century onward, pathos is the normal Greek word for ‘emotion’. The term nevertheless retained a wide range of connotations, and if it came to refer specifically to emotion only in ‘the 420s and probably later’ (Harris 2001: 84), it was not limited to this meaning either in everyday or scientific usage. For example, the word often bears the sense of an accident or misfortune, as well as the neutral significance of a condition or state of affairs. In philosophical language, pathos may signify a secondary quality as opposed to the essence of a thing (cf. Aristotle, Met. 5.21, 1022b15–21;Urmson 1990: 126–7). Even in the domain of psychology, pathos might well include sensations such as pleasure and pain, and also desires or appetites, which we do not necessarily classify as emotions in the strict sense of the term – nor did Aristotle.
In dealing with the situation at Corinth, Paul was faced not only with the immediate problems in the congregation, such as the abuse of tongues, but with the greater problem of how to bring a young, formerly pagan people to maturity in Christ. For Paul, the issue was not simply how to change their present behavior, but how to bring the congregation to a deeper understanding of how to live out the implications of their new life in Christ. Thus, for the interpreter the issue relates not only to the content of Paul's instructions, but also to how he viewed his instructions as intimately linked to their new existence.
In 1 Cor. 12 Paul is most probably dealing with the misuse of spiritual gifts, particularly tongues. He tailors his answer toward the specific situation – he downplays the importance of glossolalia and builds up his own authority. But at the same time he sets the specific situation within the context of the Corinthians' eschatological existence as the body of Christ. The Corinthians' unity in Christ is the basis for dealing with their specific problem regarding spiritual gifts.
In this way, Paul deals with the problem on two different levels. On one level, he addresses the specific problem of the abuse of spiritual gifts.
At first glance, Paul's words to the Corinthians about their being the body of Christ in 1 Cor. 12 seem simple and straightforward. He compares them with a human body so that they may be encouraged to work together, each member contributing to the good of the whole according to his or her special gift. However, the passage raises several critical questions which point to its deeper implications. Does Paul mean that the community is only “like” a body or is he saying that they are in some sense a real body? What is the significance of being specifically the body of Christ? Is the primary purpose of the passage to instruct on the correct use of spiritual gifts or is Paul also making a statement about the identity of the Christian community? The goal of this work is to present fresh answers to these questions by examining more closely the evidence from others who also spoke about the importance of being a body, specifically the Stoics, and how their conception of bodily unity was critical for social ethics. In doing so, I hope to shed new light on both the content and the purpose of Paul's description of the body of Christ in 1 Cor. 12 and also as it relates to the rest of his instructions in 1 Cor. 13 and 14.
Republic 7, it appears, is the christening ceremony for dialectic. For here, we might say, is the moment when Plato appropriates the expression ‘dialektikē’ as a term of art, to mark out the pinnacle of his own philosophical method. Indeed, it all seems deliberate, even emphatically technical:
‘So, then, do you call “dialectician” the person who grasps the account of the being of each thing? Surely you will not say that someone who has no account, to the extent that he is unable to give that account to himself and to another, has understanding of it?’
‘How could I say so?’ he said.
‘So likewise for the good: someone who cannot distinguish the idea of the good in account by marking it off from everything else, and who cannot get through all the tests of what he thinks as if through a battle, nor is eager to test it according to the way things are, rather than according to opinion, and who cannot progress through all these things without his account collapsing – such a person you will surely say, knows neither the good itself, nor any other good.’
(534b3–c5)
‘So you would legislate, would you, that they should most of all receive that education through which they would be able to ask and answer questions in the most knowledgeable way?’
‘Yes, I would so legislate – and you with me, too.’
‘So do you suppose,’ I said, ‘that dialectic lies at the top for us, like a copingstone on our studies, and that there is no other subject that should rightly be put higher than it, but that it provides now the end to our inquiries into education?’ (534d8–535a1)
It is a familiar pattern in Plato's definitional dialogues that the individual definitions are proposed and examined in an ascending order of quality, seeming for that reason to move towards the correct, Socratic definition. Whatever gulf may remain between the last non-Socratic definition in the sequence and the usually elusive one that Socrates himself would approve, the progression offers an optimistic perspective on the value of dialectic.
In Plato's Symposium, the series of speeches about Love that culminate in Socrates' own seem to me to be contrived by the author to run in a similarly ascending order. This is not the occasion to argue such a claim systematically with regard to all the early speeches, but I shall later take the opportunity to support it with examples. And in more direct support, it is worth pointing out that in Socrates' climactic speech it is only the two immediately preceding speeches whose content is picked out for critical discussion in the light of insights supplied by his erotic counsellor Diotima. Although Socrates deplores all the preceding speakers for not caring sufficiently about truth (198d3–e4), he does not go so far as to accuse any of their speeches of being altogether devoid of it, and it seems clear enough that the final two, those of Aristophanes and Agathon, from his point of view do have the merit either of being nearer to the truth, or at any rate of discerning and addressing some of the right issues.
I will look first at general uses of the body metaphor, or in some cases, the body analogy. As several scholars have noted, the body was a common topos in antiquity in political speeches arguing for unity in the form of homonoia, or “concord” speeches. Martin contends that these speeches were so common that they were practically a genre unto themselves. Some famous examples of these speeches include Antiphon's Περὶ ὁμονοίαςς and Isocrates' Panegyricus.
The homonoia speeches often had predictable patterns and examples, and rhetoricians employed common topoi such as the body or the household to argue for political unity. According to this use, the group, which was not limited to formal political associations, was like a body in that it was composed of various parts which needed to cooperate in order to survive, or for the “common good.”
But the metaphor was not limited to homonoia speeches. Its significance varied according to its use by orators of different philosophical backgrounds. Even in the context of the homonoia speeches, there was a multiplicity of uses. It will be helpful to begin the present study by delving deeper into the different ways in which the orators applied it.
Basic structure
The image was often used to make a simple and direct statement. The following passage is from Cicero, using an example from rhetoric: “In an enumeration we have, as it were, parts, as (ut) for example a body has head, shoulders, hands, sides, legs, feet and so forth.”
A visit by Protagoras to Athens is the dramatic occasion for the conversations depicted in the Protagoras. Protagoras is a celebrity, staying as a guest at the house of Callias, where a large company has gathered. Among the more notable characters present are Critias and Alcibiades, the sophists Prodicus and Hippias, and the two sons of Pericles, Paralus and Xanthippus (314e3–316a5). Socrates is induced to join the gathering by Hippocrates, a young man so eager to meet Protagoras that he has roused Socrates from bed before dawn in the hope of persuading him to use his entrée to secure an audience. Once inside, speaking on behalf of the younger man, Socrates asks Protagoras what Hippocrates could expect to learn should he become his student (318a). The answer – though it is put in various ways – is virtue. And the first sustained discussion is set in train by the doubts Socrates expresses about whether virtue is the kind of thing that can be taught (319a9–320c2).
The so-called great speech is Protagoras' response (320c2–328d2). When it is over, Socrates declares himself convinced that virtue can be taught. He is, however, still troubled by one small question (329b6–d2). This question is the occasion for a new sequence of arguments that occupies the rest of the dialogue apart from a procedural dispute (334c9–338e7) and a substantial digression in which the interpretation of a poem of Simonides is discussed (338e8–349a7).
The previous chapters have described the Stoic bodily unity of humanity and the way in which this formed the basis for their social ethics. This chapter will demonstrate that in 1 Cor. 12 Paul similarly establishes the identity of the community according to the bodily unity of the community. However, it will also be important to notice the divergence from Stoicism, especially the ultimate source of bodily unity – Christ – and the community's relationship to the eschatological age. Since the coming of Christ has resulted in a new age, Paul is not concerned with the Stoics' universal humanity, but a “new” humanity composed of those who have been transformed through Christ.
As a result, 1 Cor. 12 is primarily a statement of the Corinthians' identity as Christ's body. This identity provides the “principle” on which Paul will base his “precepts” in ch. 14, as similarly seen in the way bodily oneness forms the foundation for Stoic social ethics.
Structure of 1 Corinthians 12
The following proposed structure highlights the relationship between Christ and the Corinthians as his body.
Introduction (12:1–3) – spiritual existence as being under the Lordship of Christ
A (12:4–11) – the Corinthians as recipients of diverse manifestations of the Spirit, to be used for what is advantageous
B (12:12–26) – Christ/the church as characterized by unity and diversity, just like a human body
A′ (12:27–30) – the Corinthians as diverse members of the body of Christ, appointed by God in the ekklesia
Paul begins in 12:1–3 by making the crucial point that “spiritual existence” is related to Christ's Lordship.
It is hard to overestimate the importance of the work of Augustine of Hippo, both in his own period and in the subsequent history of Western philosophy. Until the thirteenth century, when he may have had a competitor in Thomas Aquinas, he was the most important philosopher of the medieval period. Many of his views, including his theory of the just war, his account of time and eternity, his understanding of the will, his attempted resolution of the problem of evil, and his approach to the relation of faith and reason, have continued to be influential up to the present time. In this 2001 volume of specially-commissioned essays, sixteen scholars provide a wide-ranging and stimulating contribution to our understanding of Augustine, covering all the major areas of his philosophy and theology.
The Western tradition of philosophy began in Greece with a cluster of thinkers often called the Presocratics, whose influence has been incalculable. They include the early Ionian cosmologists, Pythagoras, Heraclitus, the Eleatics (Parmenides, Melissus, and Zeno), Empedocles, Anaxagoras, the atomists and the sophists. All these thinkers are discussed in this 1999 volume both as individuals and collectively in chapters on rational theology, epistemology, psychology, rhetoric and relativism, justice, and poetics. A chapter on causality extends the focus to include historians and medical writers.