Cardinal Virtues Research Articles

The Rectitude of Inclination

THE RECTITUDE OF INCLINATION NICHOLAS INGHAM, 0.P. Provincial Archives Providence, Rhode Island 0 F THE MOST plausible mainline treatments of the relation of inclination to action and of their combination to moral estimation-Kantian, Classical Utilitarian, and Aristotelian-Thomist--only the third, remarkably enough, provides for the possibility of intrinsic rectitude as regards inclination . For Kant, of course, inclination is not only indifferent to morality but censurable as a criterion for action; indeed, any act done from inclination is, for Kant, pre-moral at best and immoral at worst. Classical Utilitarianism would appear to hold that the desire for pleasure, since it is correct by nature, must also be indefectibly and intrinsically correct. But this is not so, since in any choice situation an inclination toward a given pleasure , right by nature, may be counterbalanced by competing claims, whether these claims themselves arise from other inclinations within the one moral subject or from distinct subjects with differing claims. Hence, Classical Utilitarianism must accept a doctrine of extrinsic correctness as regards the evaluation of any inclination unless the version in question can establish a universally valid overriding principle of right-in which case it is Utilitarianism no longer but some form of deontological ethics. Only in the moral thought of Aristotle and Aquinas do we actually find a plausible case for the rectitude of inclination. And it is therefore surprising that so little attention has been paid this and that so many doctrinal Aristotelian-Thomists seem unaware of it. For many scholars, otherwise well acquainted with the basic philosophical views defended by St. Thomas Aquinas in his 417 418 NICHOLAS INGHAM, O.P. Aristotelian commentaries, remain surprisingly unfamiliar with one of the most interesting parts of his metaphysics of morals: right appetite, inclination, or emotion as an integral part of moral science, moral activity, and reflexive knowledge of the morality of conduct and of disposition.' I should like to set out what seem to me to be the general Aristotelian-Thomist views, as expressed in the commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, and to develop from them a full account of intrinsic, extrinsic, stable, and per se rectitude as regards inclination or appetite. The first step in this development requires us to consider whether a moral science is possible and, if so, of what kind it must be. I Initially both St. Thomas and Aristotle appear to neglect altogether the problem whether there can be moral science as such. In listing the five intellectual virtues (understanding, science, wisdom, prudence, and art) neither mentions a science of right action. Would such a discipline be theoretical? Ordinarily the theoretical sciences in Aristotle and Aquinas perfect only theoretical powers. Does right action fall only under prudence? Prudence ordinarily is taken to be a practical virtue, not one specifically pertaining to the sciences. Three solutions to the difficulty offer themselves at once: first, moral science belongs essentially among ·the theoretical disciplines , even where allowance is made for the inclusion of practical elements in some methodologically defensible way; second, it is science but only in a highly derivative and improper sense and, in fact, is more correctly treated as providing something like a schema for the exercise of the cardinal virtues, especially prudence; third, it is thoroughly scientific in the strict and unqualified sense of the term, yet essentially not a theoretical but a practical discipline. 1 It is surprising how little serious attention seems to have been paid to Aristotle's remark in Ethics VII, 3, 1147a26-28, that, while the immediate conclusion of theoretical reasoning is affirmation, the immediate result of practical reasoning is action. THE RECTITUDE OF INCLINATION 419 The first solution, as one might easily imagine, has been championed by many of the most illustrious commentators. John of St. Thomas appears to hold that moral science is, as such, purely theoretical, even though it has practical application in prudential application.2 Maritain seems to believe that it is the theoretical treatment of a subject matter intrinsically practical in nature.3 Lottin holds that it is speculatively practical-a mixture 2 "Scientia moralis potest dupliciter considerari; uno modo, ut etiam includit prudentiam , alio modo, ut earn excludit et solum versatur circa cognitionem virtutum...

Framing a "Life in the Iron Mills"

Framing a "Life in the Iron Mills" Richard A. Hood Richard A. Hood Denison University Notes 1. John Conron describes the story this way, seeing its tiers as reflective of its landscape, in "Assailant Landscapes and the Man of Feeling," JACult, 3 (1980), 487-500. Sharon Harris extends this three-level description to reflect a division in class distinction, in "Rebecca Harding Davis: From Romanticism to Realism," ALR, 21 (1989), 4. 2. Harris, p. 6. 3. Rebecca Harding Davis, "Life in the Iron Mills," in "Life in the Iron Mills" and Other Stories, ed. Tillie Olsen (New York: The Feminist Press, 1972), p. 11. Hereafter cited parenthetically. 4. Coppelia Kahn, "Lost and Found," Ms., 2 (April 1974), 34. 5. Emily Dickinson, "Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?" (#365), in Complete Poems, ed. Thomas H. Johnson (Boston: Little, Brown, 1960). 6. Note the implication that the reader will recognize "self-restraint" as a cardinal virtue. This is one of the relatively newly encoded virtues of the factory system. It would be interesting to explore the religious themes of the story and their connection to recently inscribed "virtues" of the nineteenth century. Mark Seltzer explores the connection between a growing culturalist "aestheticization of the natural body" (p. 459) and Davis's "uncanny hesitations about bodies and identities" (p. 466) in "The Still Life," ALH, 3 (Fall 1991), 455-86: "Davis's account . . . registers . . . the discipline of organized bodily movement that spread throughout the social body from the late eighteenth century on, disciplines centered in but not restricted to the army and the prison, the school and the factory" (p. 465). For an historical account of a new, religiously sanctioned conception of virtue as "self-discipline" growing up with the factory system, see Paul E. Johnson, A Shopkeeper's Millennium: Society and Revivals in Rochester, New York, 1815-1837 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1978). The new virtues "served the needs not of 'society' but of entrepreneurs who employed wage labor" (p. 137). 7. William Shurr, "Life in the Iron-Mills: A Nineteenth-Century Conversion Narrative," ATQ, 5 (1991), 245-57. 8. Shurr, pp. 256, 251. 9. Seltzer, p. 467. 10. Seltzer, p. 468. 11. Herman Melville, Moby-Dick, in Redburn, White-Jacket, Moby-Dick, ed. G. Thomas Tanselle (New York: Library of America, 1985), p. 1408. 12. Tillie Olsen, Silences (New York: Delta/Seymour Lawrence, 1978), p. 51. 13. Charlotte Goodman, "Portraits of the Artiste Manqué by Three Women Novelists," Frontiers, 5, no. 3 (Fall 1980), 57-59. 14. Jean Pfaelzer, "Rebecca Harding Davis: Domesticity, Social Order, and the Industrial Novel," International Journal of Women's Studies, 4 (May-June 1981), 237. 15. Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin, in Three Novels, ed. Kathryn Kish Sklar (New York: Library of America, 1982), p. 68. 16. Seltzer, p. 466. Copyright © 1995 Northeastern University

Les inscriptions des fonts baptismaux d'Hildesheim, Baptême et quaternité

The baptismal font of Hildesheim cathedral is an extraordinary work by its artistic quality, the opulence of the iconographie programm and the profusion of inscriptions that inform us about the intentions of the author, his theologic, patristic, and literary culture. This elaborated programm associates the rivers of paradise with the cardinal virtues, major prophets and Gospel-writers ; the four great scenes of the bowl — donation, figures of the baptism — are in relation with the four great scenes of the lid that show the four kinds of baptism — water, martyrdom, penance, and good works. This iconography and this epigraphic commentary allow to understand better how the Church lived the sacrament of baptism during the XIIIth century.

Victorian Portias: Shakespeare's Borderline Heroine

Victorian Portias: Shakespeare's Borderline Heroine

Josephus' Portrait of Gideon

Whereas the Bible, Pseudo-Philo's Biblical Antiquities, and the rabbinic tradition are ambiguous in their attitude toward Gideon, Josephus, like the NT, has a very high opinion of him, regarding him as a model of every virtue. In particular, he elevates his genealogy and exaggerates his possesion of the cardinal virtues. In order to protect the Jews from the charge of intolerance toward other religions, Josephus omits the incident in which Gideon pulled down the altar of Baal which his father had built and destroyed the Asherah tree which wad worshipped beside it. Likewise, in order to defend the Jews from the charge of inhumanity, Josephus omits the incident in which Gideon kills the two captured kings of the Midianites. Furthemore, Josephus omits the episode, which would cast doubt on his piety, in which Gideon made an ephod, which the Israelites later worshipped, out of the earrings contributed by the Israelites

Songs of the "Kisang"

Early in the Chosun or Yi dynasty, which governed Korea from 1392 until the Japanese annexation in 1910, the emperors incorporated a group of skilled women, called kisang, into a political institution used by the palace to control members of the elite and of the state bureaucracy. The political sex-life of the kisang engendered dependency and loyalty among the scholar-bureaucrats and initiated a system of remuneration which helped perpetuate the dominance of the ruling class. Over the centuries, political positions were often expressed through one's attitude towards these courtesans. The usurper-king Yunsangun (1491-1506) provides the most notorious example of support. He fortified his rule by increasing the number of kisang to over ten thousand in the capital alone. His abuse of sexual power extended his control over the army and nearly bankrupted the state treasury. Periodically, meretricious and hypocritical moral campaigns were launched against the kisang and the allocations necessary to support them. Nevertheless, both the institution and the dynasty survived into the early twentieth century. During the five hundred years of Chosun rule, ideologues supported the hierarchy and ethical system of Confucianism. This system was based upon a conception of the family and the clan which valued wives only in their roles as bearers of sons. The son was the point on the time line upon which present, past, and future time depended. Virtuous women, however, were very isolated. The higher their social rank, the greater their seclusion. The faculties and skills of Korean women were arrested, limited as they were to physical labor, sewing, dancing, and practical household tasks. Women stayed home and were forbidden direct contact with any male who was not a family member. If her spouse was not at home, the lady of the house had to address visiting males indirectly and in the third person. Female dissatisfaction was unthinkable; insubordination impossible. Social structures intensified this female isolation since they mandated that wives resign themselves to their husbands' secondary wives and mistresses. Jealousy was grounds for divorce. The cardinal virtue of selflessness made the concept of individual female self-identity impossible. No life existed for her outside the family or clan. The kisang, however, played an almost antithetical role to that officially prescribed for women. A kisang was inducted from the lower classes between the ages of eight and ten. Purchased from her family and schooled in a career which disqualified her from marriage and raising a family, she was, in compensation, allowed a certain amount of economic and social independence denied respectable women. A kisang might find herself allocated to the royal palace or elsewhere in the capital; perhaps she was assigned to the provinces or to the border-guard military posts of the kingdom. But with her special freedoms came other forms of dependence and difficulty, such as forced relocation. Thus Imniwol laments: Here in exile, behind ocean walls, only a dream is allowed to exist. My request is that this passage of dream will not have left any traces. Kungnyo expresses her frustration at this forced acquiescence: Who caught you, fish, to free you into my garden pond? Which clear northern sea did you leave for these small waters? Once here, with no way to flee, you and I are the same. Upon their forced retirement, the kisang were sent to the outlands as a sexual benefaction for the troops. Although not officially codified into statute, this displacement supported them into their old age. A kisang was in some ways a social outcast; yet, unlike the respectable women of her time, she was educated and articulate. She was not prohibited from looking at or addressing men directly. Trained in eloquence, she might even discuss politics. …

“Without the form of justice”: Plainness and the Performance of Love in King Lear

USTICE, THOMAS ELYOT WROTE, a wille perpetuall and constaunt, whiche gyueth to euery man his right. In that it is named constaunt, it importeth fortitude: in discernynge what is right or wronge, prudence is required: And to proporcion the sentence or iugement, in an equalitie, it belongeth to temperaunce.' This is a handy definition, disposing of a difficult concept neatly in terms of the traditional scheme of the cardinal virtues (themselves difficult concepts), and doing so in nicely balanced prose. Such neatness and balance could hardly be further away from the world of King Lear. Here justice is anything constant, and fortitude, prudence, and temperance are called into question. In Lear, justice is inseparable from conflicts of will and power, the forms and structures of law are subservient to individual desires, and the vagaries of human justice eventually raise doubts even about divine justice. The inability to judge justly in matters of the highest importance might justly be judged the play's tragedy. It is therefore unsurprising that over the last thirty years critics have found one of the play's chief themes to be the inadequacy of human judgment-and especially of traditional formulations like Elyot's-to the task of interpreting human experience. The play's many sententiae and commonplaces, once culled confidently as evidence that the play affirmed universal human truths, are now most often seen as faulty generalizations exposed as such by the process of the play. For example, Nicholas Brooke, one of the most influential of new Lear critics, writes that fatalistic and Christian ideas can be found in the play, but stronger than either is the sense of nature, internal and external, as immediate experience on which any superstructure of interpretation may be mere delusion.2 In recent years New Critical readings like Brooke's have been supplemented by

Politics and Folktale in the Classical World

The usurpation of myths and folktales for political purposes is a phenomenon that is well attested during classical antiquity. The preservation of heroic legends was probably motivated in part by social or political considerations, and the process continued into historical times. Our focus has now shifted from the question of historicity to the degree to which folktale has embellished history, and to what degree historical figures have exploited folktale and myth for real-life ends. The Peisistratid tyrants in Athens employed myths and religious symbols both in the initial stages of Peisistratus' rise to power and in the maintenance of the dynasty over several decades. Alexander the Great made special efforts to associate himself with the hero Heracles; the emphasis on Heracles diminished as Alexander's interests turned toward administration of a united Greek-Persian empire. Scipio Africanus was viewed by contemporary and later Roman authors as a Roman Alexander, a fact that is revealing about his personality but that complicates study of his own image-making efforts. Cato Censorius, on the other hand, created his own conservative Roman image by appealing to distinguished historical Romans and by emphasizing cardinal Roman virtues in his public oratory and literary efforts. Greek myths tend to generalize events, Roman myths make them concrete; Greek legends transcend time and space, Roman legends insist upon historicity; Greek myths are largely related to Greek religion, Roman myths and folktales are not part of Roman religion, but part of Roman history, and should be examined first of all from that perspective.

Conciseness and Amplification

Few elements of style have as strong a place in popular opinion as conciseness. It is still seen by many as the cardinal virtue of composition, the sine qua non of readability and style, a shibboleth of proficiency testing and student placement. Without it, nothing. In the name of conciseness, generations of students have labored to unlard their prose, chopping off unnecessary nouns, adjectives, and prepositions as if they were pure linguistic cholesterol-unhealthful, unpleasant, or, worse, immoral, the visible symptoms of festering sin, of wordiness and padding. But conciseness is not an unqualified good. Carried to excess, it results in bluntness, opacity, and underdevelopment. Styles that try too hard to be concise become precious and spare-in a word, anorexic, with no more substance than is minimally necessary for the embodiment of meaning. After all, if the point of an essay can be summed up in a few sentences or a thesis statementand conciseness is the ideal-why say more? To be complete, our presentation of style must be more balanced. We need to encourage profuseness as well as concision, to teach not just brevity but also loquacity, the ability to extend, vary, and expatiate upon one's subject at length, to shape, build, augment, or alter the force and effect of communication, and to repeat oneself inventively. In classical rhetoric this was the art of amplification. It included elaboration, emphasis, and copiousness of style. We have, of course, been teaching amplification all along, under the headings of development, exposition, variety, and invention. But the message seems blurred in many students' minds. The stylistic values implicit in our theories, pedagogy, and culture so overwhelmingly favor conciseness that elaboration gets lost in the learning process. Students miss the point and continue to revise towards a hard, gem-like style that lacks dimension, amplitude, and explanatory power. Brevity is all. Yet amplification is crucial.

Heroic Striving and Don Quixote's Emblematic Prudence

‘Prudente, el hombre sabio y reportado, que pesa todas las cosas con mucho acuerdo, prudens.’ It hardly seems possible that Covarrubias Horozco's definition of one of the cardinal virtues could be applicable to Don Quixote.1 For our knight errant goes to incredible extremes in his attempts to imitate heroes. Initially, the protagonist is culpable of excessive self-indulgence. All others constitute mere players on the stage of his fantasies. When Sancho derisively mocks this excess by holding up a kind of auditory mirror in which his master is chided with his own words ('Has de saber, ioh Sancho amigo!, que yo naci, por querer del cielo, en esta nuestra edad de hierro, para resucitar en ella la dorada, o de oro. Yo soy aquel para quien estan guardados los peligros, las hazanas grandes, los valerosos fechos …'),2 in the pivotal episode of the fulling hammers (I.20), Don Quixote undergoes a metamorphosis. Just a few chapters later, our protagonist elects to mimic heroes by practising a new extreme: the mock ...

Middle-Class Heroism and the Cardinal Virtue Fortitude in Thomas Dekker's Honest Whore Plays

Middle-Class Heroism and the Cardinal Virtue Fortitude in Thomas Dekker's Honest Whore Plays

COOPER'S PROBLEMATIC PILOT: "UNRIGHTEOUS AMBITION" IN A PATRIOTIC CAUSE

In the sixth chapter of James Fenimore Cooper's The Redskins, the protagonist-narrator Hugh Littlepage records his amusement at Opportunity Newcome's translation of the inscriptions beneath some engravings of female figures intended to represent the cardinal virtues. La Virtue, La Solitude, La Charité are rendered aloud by the girl as "The Virtue," "The Solitude," The Charity." This display of erudition brings a smile to Hugh and the genteel heroine of the novel, Mary Warren who, Hugh informs the reader, comprehended perfectly the difference between La Solitude and The Solitude} The intent of the scene is clear; Hugh wishes to make invidious comparisons between Opportunity, the sister of the Snopes-like Seneca Newcome, and Mary Warren, the girl he will later marry. The achieved effect of the scene notwithstanding, there is something troubling about the creator of Natty Bumppo, the world's greatest marksman, shooting fish in a barrel. Opportunity is ridiculous in her own right, and the reader does not need a genteel commentator to remark on her commanding ignorance. The reader of the earlier Cooper novels is further troubled by a protagonist who would descend to concern himself with such observations. Cooper's romantic heroes, lower class to a man, lack the knowledge for such commentary, and his gentlemen heroes deign not to criticize the manners of women socially beneath them.

Mark Twain’s Ambivalent Utopianism

MARK TWAIN’S AMBIVALENT UTOPIANISM Thomas Bulger Siena College Throughout his literary career, the idea of a utopian society fascinated and frustrated Mark Twain. Utopianism is an underlying theme in much of Twain’s fiction, including “The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg” and Huckleberry Finn. Even in his final diatribes against humanity, there are suggestions of utopian possibilities that mankind has tragically been unwilling to realize. Moreover, in several instances Twain overtly explores the complex ramifications of a utopian community, as in “The Curious Republic of Gondour,” Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven, and A Con­ necticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. These works reveal Twain’s life­ long ambivalence in his fictional renditions of utopianism. Published anonymously in the October, 1875, issue ofAtlantic, “The Curious Republic” has all the trappings of a straightforward utopian narra­ tive. In many essential respects, it seems like a nineteenth-century update of Plato’s imaginary commonwealth: as in The Republic, justice is Gondour’s cardinal virtue; women in theory have an equal right to govern (though also like Plato’s ideal state, women governors are the exception rather than the rule; Gondour has had the grand total of two female leaders in its history); virtue is rewarded and given a tangible social value; perhaps most importantly, education, also the foundation of Plato’s community, is the cornerstone on which Gondour’s civilization is built. Another similarity between the republics of Plato and Twain is that both reject democracy as the form of their utopian governments. Despite Twain’s many pronouncements on the virtues of democracy (he still speaks of democracy in 1886 as a “new dynasty”1 that will replace the repressive and archaic institution of monarchy), “The Curious Republic” is overtly anti-egalitarian in its advocation of an educated ruling elite. In Gondour, “universal suffrage pure and simple” is abolished because “it had seemed to deliver all power into the hands of the ignorant and non-tax-paying classes.”2 Instead, Gondour operates under a system any academician would subscribe to wholeheartedly: the more education one has, the greater the voting power. Every resident of Gondour has at least one vote, but someone with a university education could possess up to nine votes. Twain, like Plato, regards the establishment of a utopian community as depending on the elevation of the wise to positions of political authority: “Learning goes usually with uprightness, broad views, and humanity; so the learned voters, possessing the balance of power, became the vigilant and efficient protec­ tors of the great lower rank of society” (pp. 3-4). There is no doubt that Twain saw “The Curious Republic” as an off­ shoot ofthe mode ofconventional utopian literature. In one of his notebook entries, he refers to Edward Bellamy’s enormously popular and influential utopian novel Looking Backward as a “fascinating book” and equates “The Curious Republic” with Bellamy’s work.3 It should also be added that Twain by no means starts with the premise that utopianism is inherently absurd; even after he composed the dystopic Connecticut Yankee, he praised Bellamy as “the man who has made the accepted heaven paltry by invent­ ing a better one on earth.”4 Consequently, the satirical thrust in “The Curious Republic” is not directed at the institutions of Gondour but at the narrator who is unable to appreciate the superior values and virtues of Gondour society. Nevertheless, the utopian vision of “The Curious Republic” is sharply qualified. There is a disturbingly Hobbesian pragmatism about this putatively better society. Material possession as well as education is made a fundamental criterion for political power: “brains and property managed the state” (p. 9). This concession to the instinct of self-interest is alien to the communistic impulse of most utopian societies and indicates that Twain is already acknowledging a basic human tendency that he later rails against in What is Man? that the individual is primarily interested not in altruism but in “the content of his own spirit.”3 Twain’s seemingly harmonious republic has other dissonant notes. From its inception, the utopian tradition assumes that human beings could and would act reasonably if provided with the proper circumstances. For Renaissance authors such as More...

The Cardinal Virtues and Plato's Moral Psychology

The Cardinal Virtues and Plato's Moral Psychology

Josephus' Version of Samson

It has long been known that many of the homiletic expositions of Scripture known as midrashim are lost and are to be sought for in non-rabbinic writings. Many of them may be recovered in such works as the Septuagint; in Pseudepigraphic works such as the Books of Enoch, Jubilees, the Syrian Apocalypse of Baruch, and IV Esdras; in historians (extant in fragmentary form) such as Demetrius, Pseudo Hecataeus, Eupolemus, Pseudo-Eupolemus, Artapanus, Aristeas, Cleodemus-Malchus, and Thallus; in poets (likewise extant only in fragments), such as Philo the Elder, Theodotus, and Ezekiel the tragedian; in Philo; in the New Testament; in Pseudo-Philo1s Biblical Antiquities; in writings found in the Dead Sea caves, particularly the Genesis Apocryphon; in Josephus; in such Latin Church Fathers as Tertullian and Jerome; in such Greek Church Fathers as Origen; and in such Syriac Fathers as Aphrahat and Ephrem. Rene'e Bloch and Geza Vermes^ have, through sample studies, attempted to explain differences among these midrashim by postulating a continuous and interconnected midrashic tradition and by tracing the historical development of this tradition. It is here pro posed to contribute to the explanation of these differences in midrashic exposition by presenting a supplementary theory, at least so far as Josephus^ is concerned, namely that he has placed his personal Hellenized imprint on the Biblical narrative, and that his portrait is strongly influenced by his concern for defending the Jews against anti-Semitic charges. In the example here chosen, that of Samson, we shall see that the very characteristics which distinguish Josephus' account from the rabbinic expositions — possessed of the four cardinal virtues, and with increased erotic, heroic, and dramatic interest and decreased magical and divine interest — are typically Josephan־^ rather than a stage in the historical development of the midrashic tradi tion. On the other hand, the rabbinic midrashim are con cerned with word play, with the divine and the miraculous, and with the deflation of the heroic stature of Samson,

Meaning and the Cluny Capitals: Music as Metaphor

The figurative capitals of the Cluny hemicycle form a cohesive program that resembles, in structure and content, a speculative musical treatise. It is argued here that the choice of subjects is not a random assortment of quaternities in the manner of Radulphus Glaber, but is determined by the triple division of Musica as defined by Boethius in his De institutione musica, the fundamental text for all subsequent medieval musical theory. Musica mundana is represented in the cycle by the presence of the Seasons, the Four Rivers of Paradise, and the Elements. Musica humana is exemplified in the representation of the Quadrivium, the Cardinal Virtues, and the Humors. Musica instrumentalis consists of the representation of the Tones. A close analysis of the tituli reveals the efforts of a designer who relied primarily on the textual imagery of Boethius found in his De consolatio philosophiae and De arithmetica. The influence of additional literary sources, found in Cluny's library, upon the design of individual capitals suggests an integrated plan that reflected the intellectual and spiritual concerns of the monastic community. The resultant combination of textual and figurative imagery in the deambulatorium Angelorum of Cluny was functional in nature, for it created a musical microcosm that echoed the continual performance of the opus Dei, the essential element of monastic life.

Ceradenia, a New Genus of Grammitidaceae

William J. Hooker's generic concepts for ferns essentially dominated the taxonomic community for the latter half of the nineteenth century. We now see that his genera, based almost solely on soral and venational characters, were nearly as artificial in conception as those of Linnaeus' sexual system for flowering plants. With the recognition in this century that some superficially similar groups such as the thelypterids and dryopterids were not at all closely related, the Hookerian dream of easy and obvious fern genera was permanently undermined. Today, even in complex groups, there is still resistance to the elucidation of genera based on nontraditional characters. Although conservatism is generally a cardinal virtue in taxonomy, the maintenance of very large, complex genera seems cumbersome for cases in which natural and discrete groupings of more manageable size can be demonstrated and defined by multiple, correlating characters. In my paper on Cochlidium (Bishop, 1978), I suggested that the only rational alternative to recognizing radically revised generic concepts in the Grammitidaceae is the inclusion of all species of the family into a single genus. Workers in at least two subsequent publications have adopted this approach for New World species (Tryon & Tryon, 1982; Proctor, 1985). The necessarily detailed studies to support more workable and hierarchic generic concepts in the family have proceeded rather slowly. But both Parris, from her studies of Indo-Malaysian species, and I, in my investigation of Neotropical groups, have become convinced that well defined, natural genera can be delimited among these ferns (Parris, 1984, 1986). As to the ease of generic recognition, those who wish to constitute the entire family Grammitidaceae as a single genus are recognizing a genus based on spore and sporangial characters, whereas the natural groupings within the family are to be founded on the more easily observed features of trichomes and general morphology. Among the larger grammitid ferns, the presence or absence of hydathodes seems to be a conservative character. In the Neotropics, the great majority of anhydathodous species probably constitute an allied group. The only Neotropical anhydathodous grammitids not part of this greater alliance are Grammitis graminea, G. turquina, and those few species of Grammitis sensu stricto in which the hydathodes are reduced to the point of extinction. In addition to lacking hydathodes, ferns of the alliance in question have concolorous scales, generally coriaceous fronds, and rather weak laminar setae. Another interesting character found among these ferns is the tendency for the base of the rachis or the distal stipe to be geniculate. This character is found among the hydathodous grammitids only in Grammitis asplenifolia and its immediate relatives.

Integrity

Integrity

A Heraldic Note about the Portrait of Ladislaus, Count of Haag, by Hans Mielich

princes of Liechtenstein, the earliest traceable-in the inventory of 1613-is the portrait of Ladislaus von Fraunberg, count of Haag, by Hans Mielich of Munich, court painter to the duke of Bavaria, Albrecht V (Figure 1). The painting is signed by the artist, and is dated 1557.1 It shows the count in fashionable Spanish-style court dress, standing in front of an open window that permits a view of a wintry landscape with Castle Haag in the distance.2 In the window's upper half is a stained-glass panel with the full armorial achievement of the count: gules, an argent horse, bridled sable, rearing to the sinister, and as its crest, a woman's torso, clad in a gown azure, seme with fleurs-de-lys or, holding up a pointed hat ermine, topped by a plume of peacock feathers. The mantlings are in the colors of the shield, red and white.3 The fleurs-de-lys on the woman's gown are an augmentation of honor granted to Count Ladislaus by Francis I, king of France, when he had distinguished himself in French service. The figure of the woman itself-Frau in German-is a canting device, as a wordplay on Ladislaus's family name, von Fraunberg; this is one of the rare cases of a canting crest (instead of a shield charge). Surrounding this heraldic achievement is an architectural frame, enlivened with figural representations of the four cardinal virtues.4

Eubouliain theIliad

The wordeuboulia, which meansexcellence in counselorsound judgement, occurs in only three places in the authentic writings of Plato. The sophist Protagoras makeseubouliathe focus of his whole enterprise(Prot.318e–319a):What I teach a person is good judgement about his own affairs — how best he may manage his own household; and about the affairs of the city — how he may be most able to handle the business of the city both in action and in speech.Thrasymachus, too, thinks well ofeuboulia. Invited by Socrates to call injusticekakoetheia(vicious disposition — he has just identified justice as ‘an altogether noble good nature (euetheia)’, i.e. as simple-mindedness), he declines the sophistry and says (Rep. 348d): ‘No, I call it good judgement’. But Plato finds little occasion to introduce the concept in developing his own ethical and political philosophy. The one place where he mentionseubouliais in his defence of the thesis that his ideal city possesses the four cardinal virtues. He begins with wisdom, and justifies the ascription of wisdom to the city on the ground that it haseuboulia(Rep.428b) — which he goes on to identify with the knowledge required by the guardians: ‘with this a person does not deliberate on behalf of any of the elements in the city, but for the whole city itself — how it may best have dealings with itself and with the other cities’ (428c–d). It is normally rather dangerous to draw an inference from the absence or rarity of a word to the absence or rarity of the idea expressed by the word.