This article builds on Gadamer’s rehabilitation of the Augustinian concept of inner word. Unlike most interpretations, the thesis is that the Augustinian inner word does not show the potentialities, but rather the ineffectiveness of ontological hermeneutics. In the first section, it is argued that for the later Augustine, the verbum in corde is the consequence of a Word- and Truth- event. In the second section, the author suggests that Gadamer has properly understood the verbum in corde as a matter of (...) faith. In the third section, it is shown that Gadamer has found in the notion a paradigm for his philosophical and theological insights. Concerning the former, he has always been fascinated by the evenemential character of the ‘second’ Heidegger’s thought. Concerning the latter, Gadamer has explicitly accused Bultmann’s demythologization of being ‘human, all too human’, and he has implicitly praised Barth’s dialectical theology. (shrink)

To read the gospels as fiction, as Frank Kermode does in The Genesis of Secrecy , the Charles Eliot Norton lectures delivered at Harvard in 1977–8, does not require the abandonment of all concern for ‘history’ or for ‘truth’, two other fictions which are essential for faith. Nor, In Defence of the Imagination , the title Dame Helen Gardner gave to her Charles Eliot Norton lectures of 1979–80, need apologists for Christianity commit themselves to a wholesale rejection of literary critical (...) methods such as structuralism, as she suggests. There is a middle ground which can accept many of the methods of structuralism and even of post-structuralism without sharing the anti-theological assumptions of some of their practitioners. Structuralist analysis aims for objectivity, a scientific description of the processes at work in the production of meaning, a systematic articulation of the ‘grammar’ of narrative. It is therefore neither for nor against Christianity. Kermode's book, I argue, helps to show how the gospels function as narrative, revealing their capacity to ‘redescribe life’. In recognising their fictive nature, however, we need not consign ourselves with him to ‘endless disappointment’. For the gospels have aregenerating power which can transform our lives. (shrink)

A British historian might be excused for looking slightly askance at any collection of recent books relating to the philosophy of history. This is because we have been told, several times over and by distinguished members of the profession, that such speculative and analytic activity has little, if anything, to do with the actual business of historiography. One of the most forthright warnings was delivered on the very first page of Professor G. R. Elton'sThe Practice of History(1967), when we were (...) advised that: ‘Every new number ofHistory and Theoryis liable to contain yet another article struggling to give history a philosophic base, and some of them are interesting. But they do not, I fear, advance the writing of history’. For Elton, therefore, there could be little point in granting his colleague in another discipline the right to assess the cognitive claims of historiography. The historian himself, and he alone, was qualified to determine, for all practical purposes, the aims and applications of historical method. It was left to the late Arnold Toynbee to diagnose (inToynbee on Toynbee, 1974) the dangers in this protectionist approach. He claimed that Elton was ‘trying deliberately to create a closed circuit of “professional” historians’ which was, in his opinion, ‘fatal to any form of study’. But of course Toynbee's own lack of standing within the historical profession could be put forward as a telling index of the dangers of transgressing the barriers between history and philosophy. (shrink)

The article offers an analysis of the workings of Dostoevsky’s paradoxical poetics of space in three scenes of Notes from the Dead House. In spite of the fact that freedom in its direct meaning is accessible only outside the walls of the prison, and that in our social world it is accessible only to a few, inside the prison freedom can be acquired by everyone, and can be found within every individual. The bathhouse scene, as is often noted by critics, (...) offers a picture of hell. However, the bathhouse, like the church where the prisoners celebrate Easter, is located in the town, not inside the prison. Parallels are analyzed between these two scenes and the theater scene, which serves as the culmination of Part I. The theatrical performance takes place in the barracks where the prisoners live. The curtain is described in terms that suggest an iconostasis; details of the performance suggest a church service. After the theater, the inhabitants of the fortress experience a deep feeling of calm and blessedness, which they do not experience in any other space: ‘Everyone was somehow unusually satisfied, even as though happy, and they fell asleep not as at all other times, but almost with a calm spirit‘. In this way, Notes from the Dead House gives a new vision of freedom at the very center of the prison. The article cites work by Bakhtin, Emerson, Jackson and others. (shrink)

The psychotherapeutic nature of the relatedness of literature and religion is part and parcel of the story‐telling imperative that we have in mind. There is not a shred of evidence that a historical character Jesus lived, to give an example, and Christianity is based on narrative fiction of high literary and cathartic quality. On the other hand Christianity is concerned with the narration of things that actually take place in human life. The human animal is subject to biologically and socially (...) determined programs that collide head‐on with the morality of secular and religious traditions. Hence guilt of sin takes place in human life, and consciousness of sin is a real event and so are despair and salvation through faith. (shrink)

Popular filmic and literary stereotypes of teachers from Brodie and Chips to Keating and Schneebly have not only reflected a public desire for radically innovative and perverse teaching practices, but also created those paradigms in ways that are not always readily identifiable or traceable. This article seeks to analyse tensions between traditional institutional protocols and contemporary populist opinion on the role of the effective teacher. In doing so, the article takes Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society (1989) as a primary example (...) of those tensions and argues for a perverse ‘foolosophical’ view of pedagogical performance and a new appreciation for the necessity of ignorance in the classroom. Since ignorance and understanding are not taken as unambiguous antonyms, the article proposes that effective teaching and learning occur most effectively in the interstices between humility and hospitality. (shrink)

Recently, bioethics has become interested in engaging with narrative, but in this engagement, narrative is usually viewed as a mere helpmate to philosophy. In this precis to his book The Fiction of Bioethics, Tod Chambers argues that narrative theory should not be simply a helpful addition to medical ethics but instead should be thought of as being as vital and important to the discipline as moral theory itself. The reason we need to rethink the relationship of medical ethics to narrative (...) is that ethicists test their ideas by applying them to cases, and cases are a narrative genre. Recognizing the importance that cases have for the way medical ethicists do ethics is essential in order to appreciate the field as a form of applied philosophy. Like other forms of representation, narrative has distinct and defining features, which ethicists, in order to understand the data of their field, must learn to recognize and differentiate. Ethicists need to attend to the way decisions about the discourse of a narrative influences the kind of moral theories judged relevant to it. The author briefly examines six features of narrative discourse that rhetorically condition the way we understand medical ethics cases: filter, reportability, closure, characters, chronotope, and gender. (shrink)

In this paper the author argues that a narrative approach to understanding assisted suicide has been compromised by the notion that all narratives must be both coherent and unified. He asks what we are to do with those narratives that cannot seem to cohere or be other than full of disunity? Is suicide the only way to make meaning out of suffering? He then proposes that the narrative found in the Gospel of Mark leads Christians to a life in hope (...) and compassion in spite of apparent incoherence and disunity and threats of abandonment and suffering. (shrink)

A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth glancing at, for it leaves out the country at which humanity is always landing.Oscar WildeThe further ahead one looks, the more the vision of the distant future resembles the golden age of the mythical past.John CohenBeing condemned (or chosen?) to be “the missing link” on its way to perfectibility (or redemption?) - half animal/half human - we always need in some way or another the transcendence of a (...) Utopian Vision. It therefore comes as no surprise that most of the essays in this issue, reflecting a vision of the world today, are openly or covertly concerned with Utopian expectations. Hence, it might be worthwhile to trace the origins and reflect in flashbacks - following the pioneering technique of the French film-maker Alain Resnais - a story of the Utopian Vision. (shrink)

A British historian might be excused for looking slightly askance at any collection of recent books relating to the philosophy of history. This is because we have been told, several times over and by distinguished members of the profession, that such speculative and analytic activity has little, if anything, to do with the actual business of historiography. One of the most forthright warnings was delivered on the very first page of Professor G. R. Elton's The Practice of History (1967), when (...) we were advised that: ‘Every new number of History and Theory is liable to contain yet another article struggling to give history a philosophic base, and some of them are interesting. But they do not, I fear, advance the writing of history’. For Elton, therefore, there could be little point in granting his colleague in another discipline the right to assess the cognitive claims of historiography. The historian himself, and he alone, was qualified to determine, for all practical purposes, the aims and applications of historical method. It was left to the late Arnold Toynbee to diagnose (in Toynbee on Toynbee, 1974) the dangers in this protectionist approach. He claimed that Elton was ‘trying deliberately to create a closed circuit of “professional” historians’ which was, in his opinion, ‘fatal to any form of study’. But of course Toynbee's own lack of standing within the historical profession could be put forward as a telling index of the dangers of transgressing the barriers between history and philosophy. (shrink)