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The apostle Paul was a Jew. He was born, lived, undertook his apostolic work, and died within the milieu of ancient Judaism. And yet, many readers have found, and continue to find, Paul's thought so radical, so Christian, even so anti-Jewish – despite the fact that it, too, is Jewish through and through. This paradox, and the question how we are to explain it, are the foci of Matthew Novenson's groundbreaking book. The solution, says the author, lies in Paul's particular understanding of time. This too is altogether Jewish, with the twist that Paul sees the end of history as present, not future. In the wake of Christ's resurrection, Jews are perfected in righteousness and – like the angels – enabled to live forever, in fulfilment of God's ancient promises to the patriarchs. What is more, gentiles are included in the same pneumatic existence promised to the Jews. This peculiar combination of ethnicity and eschatology yields something that looks not quite like Judaism or Christianity as we are used to thinking of them.
Chapter 6 investigates the ritual phenomenon of (self-)display. Any instance of ritual language use implies a sense of displaying: the participants of a ritual tend to display their awareness of the rights and obligations and related conventions holding for the context which necessitates the given ritual. In certain ritual scenarios, especially if a ritual is competitive, display transforms into self-display, i.e., through following – and often excessively over-doing – the pragmatic conventions of the ritual one may as much display one’s awareness of these conventions. Chapter 6 considers how different degrees of self-displaying behaviour can be distinguished from one another. As a case study, I investigate a corpus of historical Chinese letters written by an epistolary expert Gong Weizhai to various recipients, including both ‘ordinary’ recipients such as patrons, family members, lovers, and so on, and fellow epistolary expert friends representing ‘professional’ recipients. With this latter audience, Gong engaged in a playful self-displaying competition as to who can be ‘more’ intricately deferential and humorous to the other.
This chapter has a simple argument: Pliny’s Epistles is a work of many intertextual parts. Neither beholden to Cicero’s Epistles, its professed generic forebear, nor privileging ‘poetic memory’ over prose, it integrates a broad range of predecessors, old and new, verse and prose. In a larger study of Plinian intertextuality Whitton has argued that Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria is its unsuspected protagonist, with Tacitus’ Dialogus tightly caught up in the same weave. Rather than rehearsing those claims, he uses this short contribution to pick out some other ingredients to his mix. Three short passages (from Ep. 4.3, 5.16 and 7.1) include a long-forgotten reworking of Cicero’s Orator and hitherto unremarked imitations of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura, Valerius Maximus’ Facta et Dicta Memorabilia and Tacitus’ Agricola. In examining these liaisons, the chapter exemplifies some modes and norms of Plinian imitatio and demonstrates that these works and authors all have a role in his pages (so, incidentally, adding to their reception histories). More broadly – if very selectively – it argues that Pliny’s generic self-positioning is a literary act of high ambition: for all its professed simplicity, the Epistles integrates a wide range of exemplary texts into its blend. We just need to start plumbing its depths.
This chapter demonstrates several ways in which scribes and the scriptorium were central to life in Hildegard of Bingen’s community, perhaps even before the women departed from the Disibodenberg. Under the probable supervision of Hildegard’s provost the monk Volmar, nuns in Hildegard’s scriptorium were responsible for the copying, and hence the preservation of Hildegard’s writings, from the letter collections of the earlier attested periods of scribal activity to the feverish activity of the final decade or so of Hildegard’s life, to the compilation and preparation of the Riesencodex, Wiesbaden, Hochschul- und Landesbibliothek RheinMein, MS 2, which forms a kind of critical edition of her writings. Many scribal hands were involved in the work, suggesting that copying was an important part of monastic discipline on the Rupertsberg. This essay introduces the major features of the house style and some of the problems of studying scribal practices, focusing on the habits of one scribe who worked on two copies of Scivias. A complete list of the manuscripts of Hildegard’s trilogy surviving in Rupertsberg copies is provided as well.
Over the course of his career Horace shows a variety of ways of referring to the way that readers are reacting to his work. In the Satires and Epistles he regularly makes references to his reception, but in the Epodes and Odes—following archaic and classical Greek precedent—he never does. The chapter argues that the main reason for these choices is that Horace was simultaneously keen to be famous and appalled at the idea of his poetry being vulgarised by a mass audience.
This chapter introduces introduce the critical issues in the study of Paul and his letters, including the problems to be solved in historical reconstructions of his ministry, the standard approaches to determining the authorship of the letters, his place within the Judaism of his time, and the so-called “New Perspective” on Paul.
Epistles 1.20 is an unorthodox plea for length in court speeches. It is also one of the two salient peaks of ‘Quintilian in Brief’, a whole letter modelled, selectively and unpredictably, on Quintilian’s chapter on style (Institutio 12.10). This chapter reads it in detail, for argument and for intertexture, and shows that it is an imitative tableau of unusual complexity, focused on Institutio 12.10 but ranging widely across Quintilian’s work and looking through ‘windows’ to Cicero’s Brutus and Orator. The letter – addressed to Tacitus – also engages obliquely but closely with his Dialogus de oratoribus; Pliny’s anonymous interlocutor, I suggest, is a version of Tacitus’ Aper. A postscript on Epistles 1.21 reads this short note about buying slaves as a wry miniaturisation of Institutio 11, and sharp intertextual annotation of Epistles 1.20 and its virtuosic imitatio.
Chapter 3 begins an inductive argument for establishing Quintilian’s presence in the Epistles and establishes a method for reading it. It considers ten brief liaisons in which Pliny culls an epigram, metaphor or other distinctive detail from the Institutio. I argue that these similarities show imitation, not accident, and situate them within an imitative culture where declaimers, poets and prose writers routinely borrowed and improved on each others’ sententiae. These encounters are routinely self-conscious, but not necessarily (I argue) systematic or invested in allusively taking position against Quintilian: their function is also, and importantly, aesthetic. Lexical signatures play a part, but a much more discreet one than usually supposed – suggesting that we might all do well to spend less time with concordances and word searches and more time reading for the idea.
This chapter reads the cycle of letters to Quadratus and Fuscus of which Epistles 7.9 (Chapter 8) forms the keystone. Epistles 6.11 introduces these two young men as the bright future of Roman oratory, with a fanfare constructed from Quintilian (Institutio 10) and Tacitus’ Aper (Dialogus). Epistles 6.29 is the partner to Epistles 7.9, matching but varying its imitation of Quintilian and Cicero, as Pliny continues playing praeceptor in surprising and arch ways. Epistles 9.36 and 9.40, describing his villa routine to Fuscus, constitute the twin sphragis of the collection. These deceptively simple letters take us to the core of Pliny’s self-styling as man and author, perofmed with pregnant imitations which confirm Quintilian’s very special, and very personal, role in the Epistles.
This short chapter first reviews the argument of the book, then goes back to beginnings. The Institutio opens with strong generic positioning, situating Quintilian’s project against Cicero’s Orator and Sallust’s Jugurtha. Pliny’s cover note (Epistles 1.1) operates more discreetly, but reveals itself, through precise reworking of Quintilian’s cover note to Trypho, as an infrared invitation to read this collection of letters as ‘Quintilian in Brief’. Further traces of Quintilian’s first and last prefaces (Institutio 1.pr. and 12.pr.) in Epistles 1.2 and 9.1-2 offer final, open-ended confirmation that the Insitutio is hard-wired into the Epistles from start to end: Latin prose imitation, in Pliny’s hands, is a very fine art.
Lupercus is addressed twice in Pliny’s collection, receiving two very different pieces of Quintilianic imitation. Epistles 9.26 is a partner-letter to Epistles 1.20 (subject of Chapter 6), arguing for audacity in oratory. It opens with another window imitation (Institutio 2 and De oratore), and proceeds – I suggest – to some especially free imitatio of Institutio 12.10, completing in quite different fashion the work begun in Epistles 1.20. Epistles 2.5 is a partner to Epistles 7.9 (subject of Chapter 8), and behaves differently again. A relatively short letter, it features dense, eclectic and wide-ranging imitation of the Institutio. More than that: with two more window imitations (Cicero and Seneca the Elder), I argue, the letter miniaturises Quintilian’s first book and styles itself as a belated proem to Pliny’s collection.
Chapter 1 serves as a prelude, exemplifying argument and method with two brief tableaux. Epistles 1.6 is Pliny’s first letter to Tacitus, and his first self-portrait as leisured man of study, writing in the woods of his Umbrian estate. Epistles 9.36 is a late, intimate account of Pliny’s daily routine at the same villa. Each letter engages closely with Institutio 10.3, Quintilian’s chapter on how to write. Quintilian rejects dictation, recommends solitude and dismisses claims that the countryside is the best place for composition. With a ‘divided imitation’, Pliny offers an intricate and subtle reply on all three points, so inscribing the Institutio into two cardinal letters which cut to the heart of the Epistles as autobiography and as minutely crafted text.
Chapter 10 pursues Pliny’s project of Quintilianic ethopoeia further, showing how – against all expectations – the most intimate passages of the Institutio are integrated into his collection. We begin with Quintilian’s two ‘inner prefaces’, on his imperial appointment (Institutio 4.pr.) and the deaths of his wife and sons (Institutio 6.pr.): Pliny reworks the first in Epistles 2.9 (senatorial electioneering) and 8.4 (Rufus’ epic Dacian war), the second in Epistles 5.16 (laments for Minicia Marcella) – two remarkable transformations which also raise macrostructural questions about Pliny’s grand designs. The rest of the chapter is devoted to another touching moment, Quintilian’s closing reflections on the orator’s retirement (Institutio 12.11). A divided imitation across Epistles 3.1 and 9.3 – by way of an excursus on Pliny the Elder in Epistles 3.5 – takes us deep into the textualisation of life, death and posterity.
This last long chapter sharpens the profile of ‘Quintilian in Brief’, and widens the gaze, through syncrisis. I first compare Quintilian’s place in Epistles 1–9 with that in ‘Epistles 10’ (non-existent) and the Panegyricus (limited), and draw some inferences about the different nature, composition and audience of Pliny’s three works. The chapter then devotes itself to Pliny’s contemporary Tacitus. I consider briefly how the Annals imitates the Epistles (and note that Juvenal does too). The focus here, though, is on his Dialogus, both as another punctilious response to the Institutio and as an important ingredient of Pliny’s collection. I propose that the Dialogus antedates the Epistles; show that Pliny imitates it frequently, complicatedly and wittily; and argue that the whole Tacitus cycle is bound into a specifically Quintilianic project. The chapter includes close readings of the Dialogus, Annals 4.32, 4.61 and 15.67 and Epistles 3.20, 4.11, 4.25, 6.21, 7.20, 9.2, 9.10, 9.23 and 9.27; it ends where Chapter 1 began, in Epistles 1.6.
Epistles 7.9 is an acme of ‘Quintilian in Brief’. Advising young Fuscus how to study during his summer vacation, Pliny rewrites Quintilian’s advice on written exercises (Institutio 10.5), offering a firm riposte to his views on poetry in a virtuosic leçon par l’exemple of textual imitatio. Besides drawing eclectically on Institutio 10 and 11, the letter reaches through windows to Cicero’s De oratore and Pro Archia, pursues Quintilian’s imitations of Seneca the Elder and – in a paroxysm of self-referentiality – appropriates Tacitus’ Dialogus to describe Pliny’s own prose style. An excursus on Epistles 4.14 shows that Quintilian is inscribed into Pliny’s ‘poetry’ letters from the beginning – and that Catullus is far more present in these pages than has been supposed.
This chapter complements and complicates the findings of Chapter 3 with a focus on the dialectic inherent in imitatio. I establish some first principles with Epistles 9.19 (replying to Tacitus’ Agricola) and Epistles 3.7 (a dense nexus involving Herodotus, Sallust and Silius Italicus among others), then consider four Quintilianic liaisons: Epistles 6.2 (on excess in court speeches), 3.3 (on home schooling), 7.17 (on the psychological effect of having an audience) and 2.19 (on performance in oratory).
Chapter 5 addresses four more substantial liaisons, all involving ‘window imitation’. Epistles 5.8 (on writing history) works closely with Institutio 10.1, and reaches through it to Thucydides’ preface. Epistles 3.13 (on the style of the Panegyricus) combines Quintilian’s attack on ‘naturalists’ (Institutio 2.11–12) with his remarks on style (Institutio 8.3) and his own point of reference in Cicero’s De oratore. Epistles 4.7 attacks Regulus as immoral orator with help from Institutio 12.5 and its model passage in De oratore. Finally and most curiously, Epistles 2.14 (attacking degenerate advocates and audiences) combines Quintilian on ‘sing-song’ performance (Institutio 11.3) with other passages from the Institutio and Cicero’s Orator in an abstruse display of wit.
This chapter introduces our two protagonists, their works, and ancient imitatio. It first brings together Quintilian and Pliny as individuals: their lives, careers and personal acquaintance. Pliny twice names Quintilian as his former teacher, but elsewhere implicates him in criticisms of Domitian, in a fine blend of professed allegiance and implicit distancing. Comparison of their views, outlooks and modes of writing suggests similarly nuanced dialectic. I next introduce the Institutio oratoria and suggest that it was more widely read in Pliny’s day than usually supposed. ‘A tale of two Plinies’ takes position in the critical war over the Epistles between ‘intertextualists’ and ‘epistoliteralists’ and shows that the Epistles is far more imitative than either side have supposed, encompassing a wide range of verse (including Callimachus, Terence and Lucretius) and prose (including Herodotus, Sallust and Valerius Maximus). The final section (‘Imitatio on and off the page’) discusses Pasquali, allusion and my preferred term, ‘imitation’; I then situate intertextuality in the broader cultural phenomenon of imitatio, and argue (with a reading of Epistles 1.2) that ancient stylistic and textual imitation was inherently personal and ethical – above all for Pliny.
Imitation was central to Roman culture, and a staple of Latin poetry. But it was also fundamental to prose. This book brings together two monuments of the High Empire, Quintilian's Institutio oratoria ('Training of the orator') and Pliny's Epistles, to reveal a spectacular project of textual and ethical imitation. As a young man Pliny had studied with Quintilian. In the Epistles he meticulously transforms and subsumes his teacher's masterpiece, together with poetry and prose ranging from Homer to Tacitus' Dialogus de oratoribus. In teasing apart Pliny's rich intertextual weave, this book reinterprets Quintilian through the eyes of one of his sharpest readers, radically reassesses the Epistles as a work of minute textual artistry, and makes a major intervention in scholarly debates on intertextuality, imitation and rhetorical culture at Rome. The result is a landmark study with far-reaching implications for how we read Latin literature.
Spinoza's use of Jewish and Christian polemical literature was two-directional, namely he used Christian arguments against Judaism in order to undermine the religion in which he was born. However, he also relied upon well-known Jewish arguments against Christianity in order to criticize the religion to which he refused to convert. It is quite reasonable to assume that polemical literature in its different languages was easily accessible to Spinoza in Amsterdam, and there is no prima facie reason to think that he was unable to use it. For Spinoza in the Theological-Political Treatise, both the observance of the commandments and the chosenness of Israel came to an end with the destruction of the Jewish state. In Epistle 78, Spinoza referred to the story in the New Testament that Jesus was tortured, died, was buried, and rose from the dead, which he accepted in total except the resurrection.
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