Ioannis G. Ntagkas

This article is concerned with what Nietzsche claims about particular kinds of suffering that can emerge in encounters with others. I maintain that, even taking into account statements of Nietzsche’s that contradict or modify his language of solitude, hardness and domination, his acknowledgement of the capacity of witnessing others’ suffering to cause pain does not indicate an intersubjective notion of self-affirmation, but is an instance of a tension he identifies between our inescapable implication in social ways of being, and our need to create ourselves independently to overcome self-alienation. I argue that Nietzsche’s claims about pity are a particular instance of this tension – that is, that while he recognizes that we feel pity, he treats this as an unfortunate affect to be overcome, to be appropriated on an individual basis, rather than as an invitation to be authentically with others – as indicating the possibility of a mutual project of self-affirmation

ABSTRACT This paper adds to efforts to retrieve the long-neglected philosophical contributions of Karoline von Günderrode (1780–1806), and is one of the first to seriously address the political commitments in Günderrode’s work, especially regarding revolution. This idea gains an unusual status in the context of Günderrode’s metaphysics, and is key to understanding the connections between Günderrode’s more obviously philosophical writings and her literary work. I argue that Günderrode’s concept of revolution resembles, in some respects, the ideas of other thinkers of her time, but has ramifications for conceiving of human individuals and their relationships to society and nature that are unique to Günderrode. First, I use a comparison with the work of contemporaries on revolution to justify interpreting Günderrode’s metaphysics in relation to her thought on politics. Günderrode often masks her political thought in the form of plays, and the paper next considers the theme of revolution in her plays Muhammad, the Prophet of Mecca, and Udohla. Lastly, the paper contrasts Günderrode’s position on revolution to claims by Herder and Fichte, arguing that Günderrode’s conception of a cycle of enhancement and decay of natural forces, political power and social cohesion differs from androcentric models that emphasize the development of consciousness.

This chapter considers the philosophical contributions of German writer Karoline von Günderrode (1780–1806). Günderrode is an original, though neglected, thinker engaged with German Idealism and Romanticism, whose writings reflect on the same problems that preoccupied other philosophers working in these traditions. Her work participates in debates regarding the question of free will, the nature of the self, the nature of consciousness, what happens to us after we die, the vocation of humankind, the relationship between the self and nature and between these and the Absolute or the divine, the role of gender in social life, ideals for political arrangements, and the pursuit of virtue and beauty. Günderrode’s writings provide a rich and relatively unexplored perspective on these topics. After a biography and overview of Günderrode’s writings, the chapter summarizes key areas of Günderrode’s thought. These include Günderrode’s metaphysical claims, unique accounts of love and death, models of consciousness and identity, political theory (especially regarding revolution), contributions to early nineteenth century understandings of gender, and nascent ethics and aesthetics. The last section of the chapter considers ways that Günderrode might have influenced several well-known nineteenth century thinkers, notably Clemens Brentano, Georg Friedrich Creuzer, and Bettina Brentano-von Arnim – and, through the latter, the Young Hegelians and American Transcendentalism.

This paper considers the systematic relationship between faith and reason in Kant’s grounding and limiting of moral faith in the Canon of Pure Reason in the Critique of Pure Reason. The first section addresses the interrelationship between Kant’s critique of knowledge and his critique of faith. The second section defines the complex interplay of theoretical and practical issues in Kant’s critical question of what a morally acting agent may hope for regarding the overall outcome of his actions. The third section investigates Kant’s positioning of faith in relation to the epistemic modi of opining and knowing, and defines the specific status of moral faith in Kant. The textually based systematic analyses focus on the complementary relationship in Kant’s work between the way rational critique limits theoretical knowledge in favor of moral faith and the way this critique limits religious faith through moral consciousness.

Johann Heinrich Tieftrunk has a place among the early Kantians in Halle as both a theologian and a philosophical thinker. After situating Tieftrunk within this intellectual history and determining his theological and philosophical position, this paper provides a chronological account of the concept of hope—which lies at the basis of Kant’s moral philosophy—in Tieftrunk’s writings on philosophy of religion. In particular, the discussion centers on the relationship between the foundation of hope in the moral law and the exclusion of a legalistic fulfilment of hope. The “love of the law,” which emerges especially in Tieftrunk’s work, takes a prominent position in the interpretation. The investigation is accompanied by an evaluation of Tieftrunk’s role in the early reception of Kant.

Philosophical Fragments is a volume of translations of short pieces by the German philosopher and poet Karoline von Günderrode (1780–1806), with accompanying introductions. Günderrode’s work provides original responses to the same questions that concerned male philosophers of her time, especially those in the German Idealist and early German Romantic traditions: What is it to be an individual human being? What is the nature of the universe? Do we have free will, or are our actions determined by operations beyond our control? What can we know about the world, and how? What happens to us after we die? How should we behave while we are alive? What forms of social and political life should we foster? This volume makes available in English, in many cases for the first time, the most philosophically significant of Günderrode’s published and unpublished works along with excerpts from her letters and notes on philosophical topics. The short introductions accompanying each text explicate the ideas embedded in Günderrode’s writing, connecting them to intellectual debates of the day and to relevant work by better-known philosophers including Kant, Plato, Schelling, Herder, Schleiermacher, Hemsterhuis, Schlegel, and Novalis. The general introduction provides a more comprehensive orientation to Günderrode’s philosophy, considering her metaphysics, epistemology, social and political thought, ethics, aesthetics, and reflections on gender, death, friendship, and human identity. The volume is written to be accessible to students and the general public as well as scholars.

, George Dickie offers an account of artistic principles comprising both a description of their character and a description of the role they play in the evaluation of artworks. According to the former, artistic principles state that certain individual properties of artworks, in isolation from other properties, are always artistic merits; according to the latter, artistic principles serve as premises from which we infer that artworks have artistic merit. I argue not merely that Dickie 's account fails, but that any account comprising either component of Dickie's account fails. Because not every account of artistic principles need comprise either of Dickie's components, the success of my argument will not rule out every possible account. But it will rule out many, and it will place tight constraints on the rest—tight enough, I believe, to raise worries about whether principles play any role in the evaluation of art.

Consider the following three propositions: (R) Artworks necessarily have aesthetic properties that are relevant to their appreciation as artworks. (S) Aesthetic properties necessarily depend, at least in part, on properties perceived by means of the five senses. (X) There exist artworks that need not be perceived by means of the five senses to be appreciated as artworks. The independent plausibility and apparent joint inconsistency of these three propositions give rise to what I refer to as ‘the problem of non-perceptual art’. Assuming that the propositions are independently plausible and jointly inconsistent, there will be three ways of solving the problem: you may affirm (R) and (S) while denying (X); you may affirm (S) and (X) while denying (R); or you may affirm (R) and (X) while denying (S). The first of these, once the orthodox solution, has been displaced in recent years by the second. The third has never really been defended. I defend it here. If successful, my defence will have shown that there is reason to deny the existence of non-aesthetic art and no reason to believe that art is not essentially aesthetic.

The problem of tragedy is the problem of explaining why tragedy gives us the pleasure that it does, given that it has the content that it has. I propose a series of constraints that any adequate solution to the problem must satisfy. Then I develop a solution to the problem that satisfies those constraints. But I do not claim that the solution I develop uniquely satisfies the constraints I propose. I aim merely to narrow the field of contending solutions, and then to draw attention to an overlooked contended in that narrowed field.

George Dickie argues that Hume's principles of taste have value-laden properties as their subjects, including those properties we now refer to as ‘aesthetic’. I counter that Hume's principles have value-neutral properties as their subjects, and so exclude those properties we now refer to as ‘aesthetic’. Dickie also argues that Hume's essay on taste provides ‘the conceptual means for recognizing the problem of the interaction of aesthetic properties with other properties of artworks’. I counter that the very passages Dickie takes to provide these conceptual means in fact suggest that Hume recognizes no such problem.

Isenbergian particularism is the view that we make no appeal to general principles in criticism. Sibleyan generalism is the view that we do make appeal to general reasons in criticism. I argue that Isenbergian particularism and Sibleyan generalism are compatible one with another. I refer to their conjunction as "critical compatibilism" and argue that we ought to accept it over its rivals: strong particularism (the view that we make appeal neither to general principles nor to general reasons in criticism) and strong generalism (the view that we make appeal both to general principles and to general reasons in criticism).

Value empiricists in aesthetics claim that we can explain the value of artworks by appeal to the value of the experiences they afford. I raise the question of the value of those experiences. I argue that while there are many values that such experiences might have, none is adequate to explaining the value of the works that afford the experiences. I then turn to defending the alternative to value empiricism, which I dub the object theory . I argue that if there is some problem attending the object theory, commensurate with the problems attending empiricism, no one seems to have any idea what it is. I close by urging that the object theory be granted a fresh hearing

Hume is plausibly interpreted as asserting that an artwork is beautiful if and only if it pleases ideal critics. Jerrold Levinson maintains that Hume's commitment to this biconditional gives rise to a problem that occurs neither to Hume nor to his any of his interpreters—the problem of explaining why you should care what pleases ideal critics if you are not one yourself. I argue that this problem arises only if you hold an empiricist theory of aesthetic value—that is, a theory that reduces the aesthetic value of a work to the value of the experience it affords—as Levinson does. I argue that Levinson's own attempted solution to the problem cannot succeed. And I argue that the problem never arises for Hume because his commitment to the biconditional is not a commitment to an empiricist theory of aesthetic value, but to an empiricist theory of aesthetic evaluation

The dominant view about the nature of aesthetic value holds it to be response-dependent. We believe that the dominance of this view owes largely to some combination of the following prevalent beliefs: 1 The belief that challenges brought against response-dependent accounts in other areas of philosophy are less challenging when applied to response-dependent accounts of aesthetic value. 2 The belief that aesthetic value is instrumental and that response-dependence about aesthetic value alone accommodates this purported fact. 3 The belief that response-dependence about aesthetic value alone accommodates the widely acknowledged anthropocentricity of aesthetic value. 4 The belief that response-dependence about aesthetic value alone accommodates aesthetic normativity. We argue that each of these beliefs is false, and that the dominance of response-dependent accounts of aesthetic value is therefore largely without foundation

Malcolm Budd speaks for many when he locates the "principal weakness" of Hume's account of the standard of taste in Hume's "blithe optimism about the uniformity of response of his true judges of artistic value". I argue that Hume's optimism is not blithe. I argue, in particular, that it follows from Hume's definition of a true judge that true judges will never disagree, and that it follows from his appeal to the test of time that true judges will agree often enough to support the kind of standard Hume has in mind.

Introduced into the philosophical lexicon during the Eighteenth Century, the term ‘aesthetic’ has come to be used to designate, among other things, a kind of object, a kind of judgment, a kind of attitude, a kind of experience, and a kind of value. For the most part, aesthetic theories have divided over questions particular to one or another of these designations: whether artworks are necessarily aesthetic objects; how to square the allegedly perceptual basis of aesthetic judgments with the fact that we give reasons in support of them; how best to capture the elusive contrast between an aesthetic attitude and a practical one; whether to define aesthetic experience according to its phenomenological or representational content; how best to understand the relation between aesthetic value and aesthetic experience. But questions of more general nature have lately arisen, and these have tended to have a skeptical cast: whether any use of ‘aesthetic’ may be explicated without appeal to some other; whether agreement respecting any use is sufficient to ground meaningful theoretical agreement or disagreement; whether the term ultimately answers to any legitimate philosophical purpose that justifies its inclusion in the lexicon. The skepticism expressed by such general questions did not begin to take hold until the later part of the 20th century, and this fact prompts the question whether (a) the concept of the aesthetic is inherently problematic and it is only recently that we have managed to see that it is, or (b) the concept is fine and it is only recently that we have become muddled enough to imagine otherwise. Adjudicating between these possibilities requires a vantage from which to take in both early and late theorizing on aesthetic matters.

18th-century British aesthetics addressed itself to a variety of questions: What is taste? What is beauty? Is there is a standard of taste and of beauty? What is the relation between the beauty of nature and that of artistic representation? What is the relation between one fine art and another? How ought the fine arts be ranked one against another? What is the nature of the sublime and ought it be ranked with the beautiful? What is the nature of genius and what is its relation to taste? Although none of these questions was peripheral to 18th-century British aesthetics, not all were equally central. The question on which the others tended to turn was the question concerning the nature of taste. But this question was not simply how best generally to define taste. Everyone seems to have been in at least rough agreement with Joseph Addison’s early definition of taste as “that faculty of soul, which discerns the beauties of an author with pleasure, and the imperfections with dislike” (Addison and Steele 1879, no. 409). But agreeing with Addison meant agreeing only to use “taste” to refer to that faculty and to acknowledge that such discerning has something of the phenomenology of sensation. The central question was how to think of taste so defined. Is taste a higher, cognitive faculty, akin perhaps to reason, with objects of a primarily intellectual nature? Or is it a lower, bodily faculty, more akin to the five bodily senses, and with objects of a primarily material nature? The major theories that arose in response to this question can be grouped into three main lineages: (a) internal-sense theories, of which the theories of Shaftesbury (1711), Hutcheson (1725), Hume (1739–40, 1751, and 1757) and Reid (1785) are representative; (b) imagination theories, of which theories of Addison (1712) and Burke (1757/59) are representative; and (c) association theories, of which the theories of Gerard (1757) and Alison (1790) are representative.

Arthur Danto argued from the premiss that artworks are essentially cognitive to the conclusion that they are incidentally aesthetic. I wonder why Danto, and the very many of us he persuaded, came to believe that the cognitive and the aesthetic oppose one another. I argue, contrary to Danto’s historical claims, that the cognitive and the aesthetic did not come into opposition until the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, and that they were brought into opposition for reasons of art-critical expediency rather than philosophical necessity. I conclude that a robustly cognitive notion of the aesthetic remains an option for us.

© British Society of Aesthetics 2017. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the British Society of Aesthetics. All rights reserved. For Permissions, please email: [email protected] you are philosophically uncurious or have no aesthetic life, Peter Kivy’s new book may not be for you. Otherwise you owe it to yourself to read it. Kivy’s question—why we argue about art—has received scant philosophical attention, yet the slightest philosophy is all you need to motivate it. Though aesthetic disputes are, as Kivy says, widespread, persistent, vigorous and often heated, we seem unable to account for why we engage in them. Kivy develops his own account with patience and good sense. He writes with unusual care for his reader. He is indeed unwilling to leave any intelligent layperson behind. Yet the force of his arguments and the novelty of his conclusions are likely to shake the assumptions of the most...