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Among the most important, but frequently neglected, figures in the history of debates over skepticism is Augustine of Hippo (354–430 CE). His early dialogue, Against the Academics, together with substantial material from his other writings, constitutes a sustained attempt to respond to the tradition of skepticism with which he was familiar. This was the tradition of Academic skepticism, which had its home in Plato's Academy and was transmitted to the Roman world through the writings of Cicero (106–43 BCE). This book is the first comprehensive treatment of Augustine's critique of Academic skepticism. The book presents that critique as a serious work of philosophy and engages with it precisely as such. While the book provides an extensive review of Academic skepticism and Augustine's encounter with it, its primary concern is to articulate and evaluate Augustine's strategy to discredit Academic skepticism as a philosophical practice and vindicate the possibility of knowledge against the Academic denial of that possibility. In doing so, considerable light is shed on Augustine's views on philosophical inquiry and the acquisition of knowledge.

For too long, the study of religious life in Late Antiquity has relied on the premise that Jews, pagans, and Christians were largely discrete groups divided by clear markers of belief, ritual, and social practice. More recently, however, a growing body of scholarship is revealing the degree to which identities in the late Roman world were fluid, blurred by ethnic, social, and gender differences. Christianness, for example, was only one of a plurality of identities available to Christians in this period. This book explores how Christians in North Africa between the age of Tertullian and the age of Augustine were selective in identifying as Christian, giving salience to their religious identity only intermittently. By shifting the focus from groups to individuals, the book more broadly questions the existence of bounded, stable, and homogeneous groups based on Christianness. In emphasizing that the intermittency of Christianness is structurally consistent in the everyday life of Christians from the end of the second to the middle of the fifth century, the book opens a whole range of new questions for the understanding of a crucial period in the history of Christianity.

This book explores Euripides's revolutionary literary art. While scholars have long pointed to subversive elements in Euripides's plays, this book goes a step further in identifying a Euripidean program of enlightened thought enacted through carefully wrought textual strategies. The driving force behind this program is Euripides's desire to subvert the traditional anthropomorphic view of the Greek gods—a belief system that in his view strips human beings of their independence and ability to act wisely and justly. Instead of fatuous religious beliefs, Athenians need the wisdom and the strength to navigate the challenges and difficulties of life. Throughout his lifetime, Euripides found himself the target of intense criticism and ridicule. He was accused of promoting new ideas that were considered destructive. Like his contemporary, Socrates, he was considered a corrupting influence. No wonder, then, that Euripides had to carry out his revolution “under cover.” This book lays out the various ways that the playwright skillfully inserted his philosophical principles into the text through innovative strategies of plot development, language and composition, and production techniques that subverted the traditionally staged anthropomorphic gods.

Was Plato a Platonist? While ancient disciples of Plato would have answered this question in the affirmative, modern scholars have generally denied that Plato's own philosophy was in substantial agreement with that of the Platonists of succeeding centuries. This book argues that the ancients are correct in their assessment. The conclusion is reached through challenging fundamental assumptions about how Plato's teachings have come to be understood. The book shows that Platonism, broadly conceived, is the polar opposite of naturalism and that the history of philosophy from Plato until the seventeenth century was the history of various efforts to find the most consistent and complete version of “anti-naturalism.” The book contends that the philosophical position of Plato—Plato's own Platonism, so to speak—was produced out of a matrix he calls “Ur-Platonism.” Ur-Platonism is the conjunction of five “antis” that in total arrive at anti-naturalism: anti-nominalism, anti-mechanism, anti-materialism, anti-relativism, and anti-skepticism. Plato's Platonism is an attempt to construct the most consistent and defensible positive system uniting the five “antis.” It is also the system that all later Platonists throughout Antiquity attributed to Plato when countering attacks from critics including Peripatetics, Stoics, and Sceptics. In conclusion, the book shows that Late Antique philosophers such as Proclus were right in regarding Plotinus as “the great exegete of the Platonic revelation.”

Libanius of Antioch was a rhetorician of rare skill and eloquence. So renowned was he in the fourth century that his school of rhetoric in Roman Syria became among the most prestigious in the Eastern Empire. This book draws on the entire body of Libanius's vast literary output—including 64 orations, 1,544 letters, and exercises for his students—to offer the fullest intellectual portrait yet of this figure whom John Chrystostom called “the sophist of the city.” Libanius (314–ca. 393) lived at a time when Christianity was celebrating its triumph but paganism tried to resist. Although himself a pagan, Libanius cultivated friendships within Antioch's Christian community and taught leaders of the Church including Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea. The book calls him a “gray pagan” who did not share the fanaticism of the Emperor Julian. The book considers the role that a major intellectual of Libanius's caliber played in this religiously diverse society and culture. When he wrote a letter or delivered an oration, who was he addressing and what did he hope to accomplish? One thing that stands out in Libanius's speeches is the startling amount of invective against his enemies. How common was character assassination of this sort? What was the subtext to these speeches and how would they have been received? The book restores Libanius to his rightful place in the rich and culturally complex world of Late Antiquity.

Aurelius Prudentius Clemens (348–c.406) is one of the great Christian Latin writers of late antiquity. He wrote poetry that was deeply influenced by classical writers and in the process he revived the ethical, historical, and political functions of poetry. This aspect of his work was especially valued in the Middle Ages by Christian writers who found themselves similarly drawn to the Classical tradition. Prudentius' Hamartigenia, consisting of a 63-line preface followed by 966 lines of dactylic hexameter verse, considers the origin of sin in the universe and its consequences, culminating with a vision of judgment day: the damned are condemned to torture, worms, and flames, while the saved return to a heaven filled with delights, one of which is the pleasure of watching the torments of the damned. This book, the first new English translation in more than forty years, shows that Hamartigenia is critical for understanding late antique ideas about sin, justice, gender, violence, and the afterlife. Its radical exploration of and experimentation with language have inspired generations of thinkers and poets since—most notably John Milton, whose Paradise Lost owes much of its conception of language and its strikingly visual imagery to Prudentius' poem.

In Plato's Republic, Socrates contends that philosophers make the best rulers because only they behold with their mind's eye the eternal and purely intelligible Forms of the Just, the Noble, and the Good. When they are endowed with an array of moral, intellectual, and personal virtues and appropriately educated, surely no one could doubt the wisdom of entrusting to them the governance of cities? Although it is widely assumed that all the Republic's philosophers are the same, the Republic actually contains two distinct portrayals of the philosopher. According to the book, Plato's two paradigms of the philosopher are the “philosopher by nature” and the “philosopher by design.” Philosophers by design, as the allegory of the Cave vividly shows, must be forcibly dragged from the material world of pleasure to the sublime realm of the intellect, and from there back down again to the “Cave” to rule the beautiful city envisioned by Socrates and his interlocutors. Yet philosophers by nature, are distinguished by their natural yearning to encounter the transcendent realm of pure Forms, as well as by a willingness to serve others—at least under appropriate circumstances. In contrast to both sets of philosophers stands Socrates, who represents a third paradigm, one that is only hinted at in the Republic. As a man who not only loves “what is” but is also utterly devoted to the justice of others, Socrates surpasses both the philosophers by design and the philosophers by nature. This book aims to challenge Plato scholars to revisit their assumptions about Plato's moral and political philosophy.

When we think of Roman Poetry, the names most likely to come to mind are Vergil, Horace, and Ovid, who flourished during the age of Augustus. The genius of Imperial poets such as Juvenal, Martial, and Statius is now generally recognized, but the final years of the Roman Empire are not normally associated with poetic achievement. Recently, however, classical scholars have begun reassessing a number of poets from Late Antiquity—names such as Ausonius, Claudian, and Prudentius—understanding them as artists of considerable talent and influence. This book offers the first systematic study of these fourth-century poets since Michael Robert's foundational The Jeweled Style. It is the first to give equal attention to both Christian and Pagan poetry and the first to take seriously the issue of readership. Like the Roman Empire, Latin literature was in a state of flux during the fourth century. As the book shows, the period marked a turn towards forms of writing that privilege the reader's active involvement in shaping the meaning of the text. In the poetry of Ausonius, Claudian, and Prudentius we can see the increasing importance of distinctions between old and new, ancient and modern, forgotten and remembered. The strange traditionalism and verbalism of the day often concealed a desire for immediacy and presence. We can see these changes most clearly in the expectations placed upon readers. The space that remains is the space that the reader comes to inhabit, as would increasingly become the case in the literature of the Latin Middle Ages.

To address the roots of pardoning’s treatment in contemporary politics and uncover what new formulations of pardoning might contribute, this book examines the role of what it calls “theaters of pardoning”—a form of tragicomedy—in the drama and politics of seventeenth-century England. Historically, shifts in the representation of pardoning tracked the transition from a more monarchical and judgment-focused to an increasingly parliamentary and legislative vision of sovereignty. On stage, a transformation surreptitiously took place from individual pardons of revenge to more sweeping pardons of revolution. The change can be traced from Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure to later works like Philip Massinger’s The Bondman. In the political arena, the pardon correspondingly came to be envisioned in increasingly law-like terms, culminating in the idea of a general amnesty, or “Act of Oblivion,” implemented by the Restoration Parliament under King Charles II. The figuration of pardoning as lawgiving did not eliminate its connection with sovereignty but instead displaced sovereignty from the King onto Parliament. The link between pardoning and sovereignty has contributed to the suspicion that has more recently surrounded the exercise of pardoning. Only by breaking the connection between pardoning and sovereignty cemented in seventeenth-century England can we reinvigorate pardoning in the polity today.

This book re-examines the origins of the Great Persecution (AD 303–313), the last eruption of pagan violence against Christians before Constantine enforced the toleration of Christianity within the Empire. Challenging the widely accepted view that the persecution enacted by Emperor Diocletian was largely inevitable, the book points out that in the forty years leading up to the Great Persecution Christians lived largely in peace with their fellow Roman citizens. Why, the book asks, did pagans and Christians, who had intermingled cordially and productively for decades, become so sharply divided by the turn of the century? Making use of evidence that has only recently been dated to this period, the book shows that a falling out between Neoplatonist philosophers, specifically Iamblichus of Chalcis and Porphyry of Tyre, lit the spark that fueled the Great Persecution. In the aftermath of this falling out, a group of influential pagan priests and philosophers began writing and speaking against Christians, urging them to forsake Jesus-worship and to rejoin traditional cults while Porphyry used his access to Diocletian to advocate persecution of Christians on the grounds that they were a source of impurity and impiety within the empire. This book revises our understanding of the late third century period by revealing the extent to which Platonists and Christian theologians came from a common educational tradition, often studying and teaching side by side in heterogeneous groups.

This book argues for the centrality of the idea of freedom in Thucydides's thought. Through a close reading of his History of the Peloponnesian War, the book explores the manifestations of this theme. Cities and individuals in Thucydides's history take freedom as their goal, whether they claim to possess it and want to maintain it or whether they desire to attain it for themselves or others. Freedom is the goal of both antagonists in the Peloponnesian War, Sparta and Athens, although in different ways. One of the fullest expressions of freedom can be seen in the rhetoric of Thucydides's Pericles, especially in his famous funeral oration. More than simply documenting the struggle for freedom, however, Thucydides himself is taking freedom as his cause. On the one hand, he demonstrates that freedom makes possible human excellence, including courage, self-restraint, deliberation, and judgment, which support freedom in turn. On the other hand, the pursuit of freedom, in one's own regime and in the world at large, clashes with interests and material necessity, and indeed the very passions required for its support. Thucydides's work, which he himself considered a possession for all time, therefore speaks very much to our time, encouraging the defense of freedom while warning of the limits and dangers in doing so.