#the most greek philosopher thought ive ever had

[the-chaotic-snek]

realizing that loving people and the everyday things they do I the greatest form of devotion to the world, once we see each other for what we are, we finally recognize the face in the mirror.

[troybeecham]

Today, the Church remembers St. Bonaventure.

Ora pro nobis.

He was born at Bagnorea in Umbria, not far from Viterbo, then part of the Papal States, in 1221 AD. Almost nothing is known of his childhood, other than the names of his parents, Giovanni di Fidanza and Maria di Ritella.

He entered the Franciscan Order in 1243 and studied at the University of Paris. In 1253 he held the Franciscan chair at Paris. A dispute between seculars and mendicants delayed his reception as Master until 1257, where his degree was taken in company with Thomas Aquinas. Three years earlier his fame had earned him the position of lecturer on The Four Books of Sentences—a book of theology written by Peter Lombard in the twelfth century—and in 1255 he received the degree of master, the medieval equivalent of doctor. After having successfully defended his order against the reproaches of the anti-mendicant party, he was elected Minister General of the Franciscan Order. On 24 November 1265, he was selected for the post of Archbishop of York; however, he was never consecrated and resigned the appointment in October 1266.

Bonaventure was instrumental in procuring the election of Pope Gregory X, who rewarded him with the title of Cardinal Bishop of Albano, and insisted on his presence at the great Second Council of Lyon in 1274. There, after his significant contributions led to a union of the Greek and Latin churches, Bonaventure died suddenly and in suspicious circumstances.

He steered the Franciscans on a moderate and intellectual course that made them the most prominent order in the Catholic Church until the coming of the Jesuits. His theology was marked by an attempt completely to integrate faith and reason. He thought of Christ as the “one true master” who offers humans knowledge that begins in faith, is developed through rational understanding, and is perfected by mystical union with God.

Bonaventure was formally canonised in 1484 by the Franciscan Pope Sixtus IV, and ranked along with Thomas Aquinas as the greatest of the Doctors of the Church by another Franciscan, Pope Sixtus V, in 1587. Bonaventure was regarded as one of the greatest philosophers of the Middle Ages.

Bonaventure wrote on almost every subject treated by the Schoolmen, and his writings are very numerous. The greater number of them deal with philosophy and theology. No work of Bonaventure’s is exclusively philosophical, a striking illustration of the mutual interpenetration of philosophy and theology that is a distinguishing mark of the Scholastic period.

Much of St. Bonaventure’s philosophical thought shows a considerable influence by St. Augustine. So much so that De Wulf considers him the best medieval representative of Augustinianism. St. Bonaventure adds Aristotelian principles to the Augustinian doctrine, especially in connection with the illumination of the intellect and the composition of human beings and other living creatures in terms of matter and form. Augustine, who had introduced into the west many of the doctrines that would define scholastic philosophy, was an incredibly important source of Bonaventure’s Platonism. The mystic Dionysius the Areopagite was another notable influence.

In philosophy Bonaventure presents a marked contrast to his contemporaries, Roger Bacon, Albert the Great, and Thomas Aquinas. While these may be taken as representing, respectively, physical science yet in its infancy, and Aristotelian scholasticism in its most perfect form, he presents the mystical and Platonizing mode of speculation that had already, to some extent, found expression in Hugo and Richard of St. Victor, Alexander of Hales, and in Bernard of Clairvaux. To him, the purely intellectual element, though never absent, is of inferior interest when compared with the living power of the affections or the heart.

Like Thomas Aquinas, with whom he shared numerous profound agreements in matters theological and philosophical, he combated the Aristotelian notion of the eternity of the world vigorously (though he disagreed with Aquinas about the abstract possibility of an eternal universe). Bonaventure accepts the neo-Platonic doctrine that “forms” do not exist as subsistent entities, but as ideals or archetypes in the mind of God, according to which actual things were formed; and this conception has no slight influence upon his philosophy.

Like all the great scholastic doctors, Bonaventura starts with the discussion of the relations between reason and faith. All the sciences are but the handmaids of theology; reason can discover some of the moral truths that form the groundwork of the Christian system, but others it can only receive and apprehend through divine illumination. To obtain this illumination, the soul must employ the proper means, which are prayer, the exercise of the virtues, whereby it is rendered fit to accept the divine light, and meditation that may rise even to ecstatic union with God. The supreme end of life is such union, union in contemplation or intellect and in intense absorbing love; but it cannot be entirely reached in this life, and remains as a hope for the future.

Like Aquinas and other notable thirteenth-century philosophers and theologians, Bonaventure believed that it is possible to prove the existence of God and the immortality of the soul. He offers several arguments for the existence of God, including versions of St. Anselm’s ontological argument and Augustine’s argument from eternal truths. His main argument for the immortality of the soul appeals to humans’ natural desire for perfect happiness, and is reminiscent of C. S. Lewis’s argument from desire. Contrary to Aquinas, Bonaventure did not believe that philosophy was an autonomous disciple that could be pursued successfully independently of theology. Any philosopher is bound to fall into serious error, he believed, who lacks the light of faith.

A master of the memorable phrase, Bonaventure held that philosophy opens the mind to at least three different routes humans can take on their journey to God. Non-intellectual material creatures he conceived as shadows and vestiges (literally, footprints) of God, understood as the ultimate cause of a world philosophical reason can prove was created at a first moment in time. Intellectual creatures he conceived of as images and likenesses of God, the workings of the human mind and will leading us to God understood as illuminator of knowledge and donor of grace and virtue. The final route to God is the route of being, in which Bonaventure brought Anselm’s argument together with Aristotelian and Neoplatonic metaphysics to view God as the absolutely perfect being whose essence entails its existence, an absolutely simple being that causes all other, composite beings to exist.

Bonaventure, however, is not only a meditative thinker, whose works may form good manuals of devotion; he is a dogmatic theologian of high rank, and on all the disputed questions of scholastic thought, such as universals, matter, seminal reasons, the principle of individuation, or the intellectus agens, he gives weighty and well-reasoned decisions. He agrees with Saint Albert the Great in regarding theology as a practical science; its truths, according to his view, are peculiarly adapted to influence the affections. He discusses very carefully the nature and meaning of the divine attributes; considers universals to be the ideal forms pre-existing in the divine mind according to which things were shaped; holds matter to be pure potentiality that receives individual being and determinateness from the formative power of God, acting according to the ideas; and finally maintains that the agent intellect has no separate existence. On these and on many other points of scholastic philosophy the “Seraphic Doctor” exhibits a combination of subtlety and moderation, which makes his works particularly valuable.

In form and intent the work of St. Bonaventure is always the work of a theologian; he writes as one for whom the only angle of vision and the proximate criterion of truth is the Christian faith. This fact influences his importance for the history of philosophy; when coupled with his style, it makes Bonaventure perhaps the least accessible of the major figures of the thirteenth century. This is true, not because he is a theologian, but because philosophy interests him largely as a praeparatio evangelica, a preparation for evangelism, as something to be interpreted as a foreshadow of or deviation from what God has revealed.

In a way that is not true of Aquinas or Albert or Scotus, Bonaventure does not survive well the transition from his time to ours. It is difficult to imagine a contemporary philosopher, Christian or not, citing a passage from Bonaventure to make a specifically philosophical point. One must know philosophers to read Bonaventure, but the study of Bonaventure is seldom helpful for understanding philosophers and their characteristic problems. Bonaventure as a theologian is something different again, as is Bonaventure the edifying author. It is in those areas, rather than in philosophy proper, that his continuing importance must be sought.

Almighty God, you gave to your servant Bonaventure special gifts of grace to understand and teach the truth as it is in Christ Jesus: Grant that by this teaching we may know you, the one true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

[ruminativerabbi]

Chanukah 5781

Among President Lincoln’s most famous addresses is surely the one he gave in 1858 as part of his campaign to be elected to the Senate by the people of Illinois and in which he referred to the nation as a “house divided against itself” with respect to the slavery issue that at the time was, indeed, tearing the fabric of American nationhood asunder. Lincoln lost that election (Stephen A. Douglas was elected instead to a second term), but that image of the American republic as a house falling in on itself that cannot endure unless all of its walls and its foundation are somehow brought into alignment has become an enduring image, one cited over the years in countless contexts to describe situations as no less untenable than a house attempting somehow sturdily to exist while its walls go to war with each other.

Lincoln didn’t invent the image. It appears twice in the New Testament, once (in the Gospel of Mark) just as Lincoln used it and once (in the Gospel of Matthew) as a “kingdom divided against itself.” Augustine, bishop of Hippo, whose Confessions was once one of my favorite books, wrote about his conversion experience in similar terms, describing the state of his inner self in the years leading up to his embrace of Christianity as the psychic equivalent of a “house divided against itself.”  Whether Lincoln read the Confessions, I don’t know. (For more on Lincoln’s reading habits, click here.) But I can’t imagine he didn’t know Thomas Paine’s 1776 pamphlet Common Sense, truly one of the most important documents in all American history, in which the author uses that exact phrase witheringly to describe the English Constitution the Colonials were about to reject as the law of their land.

Whether or not there were Jewish roots to the expression used by the authors of the Gospels mentioned above, I don’t know. (I haven’t found any exact parallels.) But the concept itself—that there is a line beyond which dissent (including the kind that engenders fiery, passionate debate) becomes not a healthy sign of intellectual vibrancy but a harbinger of impending disaster—that surely was widely understood in Jewish antiquity. Indeed, the Chanukah story—or at least its backstory—is specifically about that notion. Yes, the famous tale about the miracle jug of oil has surely won in the court of public opinion. I’ve written about that story in several places (click here for one example), but the more sober historical sources written in ancient times by contemporaries or near-contemporaries tell a different story. And, indeed, it is precisely the story of a house divided against itself.

For most moderns, the period in question—the centuries between the death of Alexander in 323 BCE and the rise of the Roman Empire towards the end of the first century BCE—is one of relative obscurity. (For a dismal account of the degree to which American high school students are shielded from learning anything of substance about ancient history, click here.) And that reality pertains for most Jewish moderns as well, even despite the fact that those centuries were precisely the ones that witnessed the transformation of old Israelite religion into the earliest versions of what we today would call Judaism.

There’s a natural tendency to imagine that kind of transformation as a kind of slow, ongoing metamorphosis that leads from Point A to Point B. But the reality was far more complicated. And the single part of that reality that was the most fraught with spiritual tension, internecine strife, and the real potential for internal schism was the great task laid at the feet of the Jewish people by Hellenism, the version of Greek culture that became—in the very centuries under consideration—a kind of world culture that no sophisticated individual would turn away from merely because he or she wasn’t personally of Greek origin. This was the culture that brought the masterpieces of Greek theater, the classics of Greek philosophy, the masterworks of Homer and Hesiod, and the whole concept of athletics to the world. Opting out was not an option—not for anyone who wished to be thought of as a citizen of the modern world.  (The ancients thought of themselves as modern people, of course—just as do we. And that thought will sound just as amusing to people living 2500 years in the future as it does to us with respect to people living 2500 years ago!)

And thus was the stage set for the internal schism that was the “real” background to the Chanukah story.

The Hellenists—eager to be modern, to embrace world culture, to eschew provincialism, and to take their place among the educated classes of their day—wished to embrace all of it. If the Greeks were repulsed by the idea of circumcision, then they were against it too. If the Greeks believed that Homer, Plato, and Euripides existed at the absolute apex of culture, then they wanted to spend their days immersed in the sagas, dialogues, and dramas associated with those individuals, and with dozens of other classic authors as well. If the absolute monotheism of traditional Jewish belief was deemed incompatible with the more sophisticated theological stance espoused by the greatest Greek philosophers, including Socrates himself, then they wished to see the masters of the Temple in Jerusalem reform the worship service there to reflect that stance. In other words, they wanted so desperately to be modern that they lost confidence in the value of their own traditions.

Their opponents, the traditionalists, were no less committed to the all-or-nothing approach: just as the reformers wanted all of it, they themselves wanted none of it. They were repulsed by the theater and by the gymnasium. They refused even to consider the possibility that Sophocles and Aeschylus might well have had something valuable and profound to say about the human condition. The dismissed the Homeric epics as mere storytelling hardly worth the time to consider at all, let alone to study seriously and thoughtfully.  And they were certainly not interested in altering the procedures in place for centuries in the Temple to suit a new set of standards imported from Greece. Or anywhere.

The ancient history books, the First and Second Books of the Maccabees primarily but others as well, tell this story in detail. The internal debate among Jewish people had reached the boiling point. And by the time King Antiochus IV finally decided to intervene, the schism had become not merely passionate but violent. The nation was wholly divided against itself. And, as Lincoln would have commented, the nation, now fully divided against itself, was not going to stand for long. Or at all!

After Alexander the Great died, his generals divided up his kingdom. One general, Seleucus, became master of most of the Middle East. Ptolemy became master of Egypt. Israel passed back and forth many times between the Seleucid and Ptolemaic empires, ending up finally as part of the former. And that is why King Antiochus, the Seleucid emperor, was involved in the first place. How, when, and why he intervened is a story unto itself. But that he sought to restore order to a province in his empire that had reached the boiling point is the underlying fact worth considering. Nor is it that difficult to imagine why he would have favored the reformers over the traditionalists: he too was a committed Hellenist who saw one side as aligned with his own beliefs and one side espousing views inimical to them. That he was unexpectedly defeated by a ragtag group of guerilla warriors under the leadership of the Maccabee brothers was, depending on who was telling the story, a miracle or a calamity. That we remember it as the former is an excellent example of how the victors win the right to tell the tale: the losers would have told it entirely differently…but those who survived were eventually swallowed up into a people eager to remember the story positively and in as satisfying a way possible. That’s what losers lose most of all, I suppose: the right to frame the narrative.

I love Chanukah. Even as a child, I liked it—primarily the gelt and the latkes, but also the whole nightly ceremony of lighting the menorah that belonged to my father’s parents before it belonged to my parents and which is at this very moment sitting on our dining room table on Reed Drive. As I’ve grown more sophisticated in my understanding of ancient Jewish history, however, the message underlying all that fun has become more serious in my mind, more monitory, more cautionary. The Jewish people was ultimately weakened, not strengthened by the Maccabees’ victory—which led first, and within a few decades, to the Maccabees’ descendants illegitimately proclaiming themselves kings of Israel, and eventually to the Roman invasion that ended Jewish autonomy in the Land of Israel for millennia. Had the Jews of the time been able to compromise, they would perhaps have created a stronger, more inclusive kind of Judaism open to new ideas…and who knows where that would or could have led? We remember the Maccabees’ victory enthusiastically by framing the story as an “us against them” story featuring a harsh king and his innocent victims. But that’s only one way to tell the story. I understand perfectly well why we’ve always favored the story line that features brave Jewish warriors resisting the domination of a foreign tyrant. But I also see an alternate plot line hiding just behind the preferred narrative, one that features a house collapsing in on itself that needed outside intervention precisely because warring groups within the Jewish people couldn’t engage in meaningful dialogue and learn from each other. That doesn’t ruin Chanukah for me. Just the opposite, actually: it turns the holiday into a thought-provoking opportunity to consider the nature of Judaism in the context of history—and that is something I don’t ever pass up. Who would?

[travelandtravel]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[festravels]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[kazanlaktravels]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[goodaytours]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[trekkingbulgaria]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[privatetrip]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[bookingtripsbg]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[tratravels]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[xtours]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[troybeecham]

Today, the Church remembers St. Bonaventure.

Ora pro nobis.

He was born at Bagnorea in Umbria, not far from Viterbo, then part of the Papal States. Almost nothing is known of his childhood, other than the names of his parents, Giovanni di Fidanza and Maria di Ritella.

He entered the Franciscan Order in 1243 and studied at the University of Paris. In 1253 he held the Franciscan chair at Paris. A dispute between seculars and mendicants delayed his reception as Master until 1257, where his degree was taken in company with Thomas Aquinas. Three years earlier his fame had earned him the position of lecturer on The Four Books of Sentences—a book of theology written by Peter Lombard in the twelfth century—and in 1255 he received the degree of master, the medieval equivalent of doctor. After having successfully defended his order against the reproaches of the anti-mendicant party, he was elected Minister General of the Franciscan Order. On 24 November 1265, he was selected for the post of Archbishop of York; however, he was never consecrated and resigned the appointment in October 1266.

Bonaventure was instrumental in procuring the election of Pope Gregory X, who rewarded him with the title of Cardinal Bishop of Albano, and insisted on his presence at the great Second Council of Lyon in 1274. There, after his significant contributions led to a union of the Greek and Latin churches, Bonaventure died suddenly and in suspicious circumstances.

He steered the Franciscans on a moderate and intellectual course that made them the most prominent order in the Catholic Church until the coming of the Jesuits. His theology was marked by an attempt completely to integrate faith and reason. He thought of Christ as the "one true master" who offers humans knowledge that begins in faith, is developed through rational understanding, and is perfected by mystical union with God.

Bonaventure was formally canonised in 1484 by the Franciscan Pope Sixtus IV, and ranked along with Thomas Aquinas as the greatest of the Doctors of the Church by another Franciscan, Pope Sixtus V, in 1587. Bonaventure was regarded as one of the greatest philosophers of the Middle Ages.

Bonaventure wrote on almost every subject treated by the Schoolmen, and his writings are very numerous. The greater number of them deal with philosophy and theology. No work of Bonaventure's is exclusively philosophical, a striking illustration of the mutual interpenetration of philosophy and theology that is a distinguishing mark of the Scholastic period.

Much of St. Bonaventure’s philosophical thought shows a considerable influence by St. Augustine. So much so that De Wulf considers him the best medieval representative of Augustinianism. St. Bonaventure adds Aristotelian principles to the Augustinian doctrine, especially in connection with the illumination of the intellect and the composition of human beings and other living creatures in terms of matter and form. Augustine, who had introduced into the west many of the doctrines that would define scholastic philosophy, was an incredibly important source of Bonaventure's Platonism. The mystic Dionysius the Areopagite was another notable influence.

In philosophy Bonaventure presents a marked contrast to his contemporaries, Roger Bacon, Albert the Great, and Thomas Aquinas. While these may be taken as representing, respectively, physical science yet in its infancy, and Aristotelian scholasticism in its most perfect form, he presents the mystical and Platonizing mode of speculation that had already, to some extent, found expression in Hugo and Richard of St. Victor, Alexander of Hales, and in Bernard of Clairvaux. To him, the purely intellectual element, though never absent, is of inferior interest when compared with the living power of the affections or the heart.

Like Thomas Aquinas, with whom he shared numerous profound agreements in matters theological and philosophical, he combated the Aristotelian notion of the eternity of the world vigorously (though he disagreed with Aquinas about the abstract possibility of an eternal universe). Bonaventure accepts the neo-Platonic doctrine that "forms" do not exist as subsistent entities, but as ideals or archetypes in the mind of God, according to which actual things were formed; and this conception has no slight influence upon his philosophy.

Like all the great scholastic doctors, Bonaventura starts with the discussion of the relations between reason and faith. All the sciences are but the handmaids of theology; reason can discover some of the moral truths that form the groundwork of the Christian system, but others it can only receive and apprehend through divine illumination. To obtain this illumination, the soul must employ the proper means, which are prayer, the exercise of the virtues, whereby it is rendered fit to accept the divine light, and meditation that may rise even to ecstatic union with God. The supreme end of life is such union, union in contemplation or intellect and in intense absorbing love; but it cannot be entirely reached in this life, and remains as a hope for the future.[5]

Like Aquinas and other notable thirteenth-century philosophers and theologians, Bonaventure believed that it is possible to prove the existence of God and the immortality of the soul. He offers several arguments for the existence of God, including versions of St. Anselm's ontological argument and Augustine's argument from eternal truths. His main argument for the immortality of the soul appeals to humans' natural desire for perfect happiness, and is reminiscent of C. S. Lewis's argument from desire. Contrary to Aquinas, Bonaventure did not believe that philosophy was an autonomous disciple that could be pursued successfully independently of theology. Any philosopher is bound to fall into serious error, he believed, who lacks the light of faith.

A master of the memorable phrase, Bonaventure held that philosophy opens the mind to at least three different routes humans can take on their journey to God. Non-intellectual material creatures he conceived as shadows and vestiges (literally, footprints) of God, understood as the ultimate cause of a world philosophical reason can prove was created at a first moment in time. Intellectual creatures he conceived of as images and likenesses of God, the workings of the human mind and will leading us to God understood as illuminator of knowledge and donor of grace and virtue. The final route to God is the route of being, in which Bonaventure brought Anselm's argument together with Aristotelian and Neoplatonic metaphysics to view God as the absolutely perfect being whose essence entails its existence, an absolutely simple being that causes all other, composite beings to exist.

Bonaventure, however, is not only a meditative thinker, whose works may form good manuals of devotion; he is a dogmatic theologian of high rank, and on all the disputed questions of scholastic thought, such as universals, matter, seminal reasons, the principle of individuation, or the intellectus agens, he gives weighty and well-reasoned decisions. He agrees with Saint Albert the Great in regarding theology as a practical science; its truths, according to his view, are peculiarly adapted to influence the affections. He discusses very carefully the nature and meaning of the divine attributes; considers universals to be the ideal forms pre-existing in the divine mind according to which things were shaped; holds matter to be pure potentiality that receives individual being and determinateness from the formative power of God, acting according to the ideas; and finally maintains that the agent intellect has no separate existence. On these and on many other points of scholastic philosophy the "Seraphic Doctor" exhibits a combination of subtlety and moderation, which makes his works particularly valuable.

In form and intent the work of St. Bonaventure is always the work of a theologian; he writes as one for whom the only angle of vision and the proximate criterion of truth is the Christian faith. This fact influences his importance for the history of philosophy; when coupled with his style, it makes Bonaventure perhaps the least accessible of the major figures of the thirteenth century. This is true, not because he is a theologian, but because philosophy interests him largely as a praeparatio evangelica, as something to be interpreted as a foreshadow of or deviation from what God has revealed.

In a way that is not true of Aquinas or Albert or Scotus, Bonaventure does not survive well the transition from his time to ours. It is difficult to imagine a contemporary philosopher, Christian or not, citing a passage from Bonaventure to make a specifically philosophical point. One must know philosophers to read Bonaventure, but the study of Bonaventure is seldom helpful for understanding philosophers and their characteristic problems. Bonaventure as a theologian is something different again, as is Bonaventure the edifying author. It is in those areas, rather than in philosophy proper, that his continuing importance must be sought.

Almighty God, you gave to your servant Bonaventure special gifts of grace to understand and teach the truth as it is in Christ Jesus: Grant that by this teaching we may know you, the one true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

[metrotravels]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

[travellingbg]

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.

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The twelve volumes of Grote’s History

The twelve volumes of Grote’s History of Greece are neither manageable nor necessary for any but regular scholars of the original authorities. But there are sections of his work of peculiar value and well within the scope of the general reader. These are: the account of the Athenian democracy (vol. iv. ch. 31); of the Athenian empire (vol. v. ch. 45); the famous chapters on Socrates and the Sophists (vol. viii. ch. 67, 68), and the account of Alexander’s expedition (vol. xii.). For the general description of Greece, Curtius is unrivalled, and in many things he is a valuable corrective of Grote’s pedantic radicalism. But it is a serious drawback to Curtius as a historian that with his purist Hellenic sympathies he treats the history of Greece as closed by Philip of Macedon, whereas in one sense it may be said that the history of a nation then only begins. The histories of Greece too often end with the death of Demosthenes, or the death of Alexander, though Freeman and Mahaffy have shown that neither the intellect nor the energy of the Greek race was at all exhausted. The German work of Holm, pronounced by Mahaffy to be amongst the very best, will soon be open to the English reader.

The historians of Rome, with two exceptions, are too diffuse, or too fragmentary: such mere epitomes or such uncritical compilations, that they have no such value for the general reader as the great historians of Greece. Yet there are few more memorable pages in history than are some of the best bits from the delightful story-teller Livy. We cannot trust his authority; he has no pretence to critical judgment or the philosophic mind. He is no painter of character; nor does he ever hold us spellbound with a profound thought, or a monumental phrase private tours istanbul.

But his splendid vivacity and pictorial colour, the epic fulness and continuity of his vast composition, the glowing patriotism and martial enthusiasm of his majestic theme, impress the imagination with peculiar force. It is a prose AEneid — the epic of the Roman commonwealth from AEneas to Augustus. It is inspired with all the patriotic fire of Virgil and with more than Horatian delight in the simple virtues of the olden time. For the first time a great writer devoted a long life to record the continuous growth of his nation over a period of eight centuries, in order to do honour to his country’s career and to teach lessons of heroism to a feebler generation. Had we the whole of this stupendous work, we should perhaps more fully respect the originality as well as the grandeur of this truly Roman conception.

The loss of the 107 books

One of the abiding sorrows of literature is the loss of the 107 books, out of the 142 which composed the entire series. They were complete down to the seventh century: now we have to be content with the ‘epitomes,’ or general table of contents. But 35 books, a little short of one quarter of the whole, have reached us. In these times of special research and critical purism, the merits of Livy are forgotten in the mass of his glaring defects. Uncritical he is, uninquiring even, nay, almost ostentatiously indifferent to exact fact or chronological reality.

He seems deliberately to choose the most picturesque form of each narrative without any regard to its truth; nay, he is too idle to consult the authentic records within reach. But we are carried away by the enthusiasm and stately eloquence of his famous Preface: we forgive him the mythical account of the foundation of Rome for the beauty and heroic simplicity of the primitive legends, and the immortal pictures of the early heroes, kings, chiefs, and dictators. Where the facts of history are impossible to discover, it is something to have epic tales which have moved all later ages. And we may more surely trust his narrative of the Punic wars, which is one of the most fascinating episodes in the roll of the Muse of History.