After Sovereignty/After Virtue
This response reads the phrase "after sovereignty" as a turn on Alasdair MacIntyre's After Virtue. I then recommend the virtue of respect as a way of reframing key scenes in Measure for Measure, including the bed trick and the duke's final proposal. Respect belongs to the Kantian realm of a universal, maxim-based moral theory that replaces the Aristotelian regime of virtue championed by MacIntyre, Martha C. Nussbaum, and Hannah Arendt, but also has its roots in liturgical practices of the sublime that affiliate respect with political theology and the carnal sublimations of courtly love. Shakespearean drama both participates in the Aristotelian virtue tradition and tests its limits, predicting the modernization of aretê in liberalism.
Even for our kitchensWe kill the fowl of season. Shall we serve GodWith less respect than we do ministerTo our gross selves?—Shakespeare, Measure for Measure1
In these lines, the novitiate Isabella, advocating to Angelo on behalf of Claudio, draws on the bloody decorum of the kitchen in order to present her brother as an animal sacrifice that is not yet "of season" for temple service. The passage is ripe with many of the issues raised in this special issue: for instance, Isabella's use of the word "minister" in a quasi-liturgical context recasts the sovereign power of the state over life and death as a form of pastoral care, the very transformation explored by Jennifer R. Rust in her article on conduct and counterconduct communities in Michel Foucault and Ben Jonson. Whereas Rust would focus here on the term "ministry," David Glimp might call our attention instead to "administration": Isabella's jarring comparison of the kitchen, the managerial heart of the oikos, and the prison, which houses the incarceral power of the state, suggests the compositional and assembled character of early modern government. Finally, while the simultaneous sacralization and animalization of Claudio's living being is at stake in the various biopolitical readings pursued in this issue, this dynamic is perhaps most pertinent to Benjamin Parris's account of nutritive aretê in Aristotle, Marlowe, and Shakespeare. [End Page 205]
What stands out to me in this passage is the word "respect." As I will argue in the second half of these remarks, respect belongs to a virtue tradition undergoing transformation during this period. Drawn from both aristocratic and religious contexts that codify the ritualized awe and reverence owed to God and prince, respect would eventually become the touchstone of Kantian ethics, grounded in the moral equality of persons rather than the status landscape of the sovereign. Measure for Measure, I argue, participates in this transformative work, inviting us to consider virtue and the virtues not only as an area for political-theological analysis, but also as a resource for humanistic education.
Sovereignty, Joseph Campana suggests in his introduction, "is best understood as an argument in search of debaters, a theory in search of a practice, a theatricalization of legitimacy and unity and power, an incitement to the embodiment of ideals (especially political ideals), and an architecture of symbols and figures that solicit constant interpretation and reiteration" (p. 3).2 What does it mean to come after such a dynamic topic of inquiry? Most of the contributors pursue concepts that supplement sovereignty with other forms and figures of social life. Such modes include communitarian and governmental alternatives to sovereignty (Russ Leo, Glimp, Rust); biopolitical and erotic exits from sovereign seizure (Parris, James Kuzner); and the queer temporality introduced by the feedback loops of mediation that plugs every after into its own before (Jen E. Boyle). Although Daniel Juan Gil argues that any effort to remediate sovereignty devolves into neoliberal nostalgia, he ultimately suggests that Shakespearean theater opens an aesthetic easement from complete capture by state power. In each of these articles, "after sovereignty" points to a form of life, historical possibility, moment, or antimoment that we might variously discover, embody, enjoy, or refuse through our critical work and dispositional stances.
The phrase "after sovereignty" echoes the title of Alasdair MacIntyre's 1981 After Virtue. Gil, the only contributor in this collection to refer to MacIntyre directly, cites the messianic conclusion of After Virtue, "We are waiting not for a Godot, but for another—doubtless very different—St. Benedict," as indicative of the "communitarian drop-out fantasy" that plagues all attempts to find alternatives to sovereignty (p. 86).3 Taken up by conservative Christian thinker Rod Dreher in a disturbingly literal fashion, MacIntyre's critique of modern moral philosophy, Gil argues, is the boldest version of less noxious forms of communitarianism manifested in projects such as Paul Yachnin's "Making Publics" [End Page 206] research initiative or my own Citizen-Saints.4 Dreher's "crunchy conservatism" draws broadly on medieval and early modern theology and social experiment to draft contemporary calls for renovated forms of life.5 In other words, Dreher is attempting to lead what Rust, following Foucault, calls a "counterconduct movement" that "seeks salvation through other modes of governance discovered within the Christian tradition, inspired particularly by communitarian, ascetic, and eschatological impulses" (p. 99). Whereas Gil's "Shakespeare Option" is implicitly secularizing, Rust proffers a more complex relationship between religion and modernization: "Rather than the narrative of the secularizing transfer of religious values into political concepts that is the common motif of discourses of sovereignty, Foucault urges us to think of modern governmentality as arising on the basis of the 'proliferation' and 'intensification' of pastoral concerns and 'techniques'" (pp. 96–7). In this issue, Leo's brilliant account of the Diggers spells out just what a counterconduct community could achieve in the worlds of both action and ideas: for Gerrard Winstanley, "power is constituted from below, just as reformation is first a matter of transforming the bodies, habits, and practices of a community that is aware of its constitutive power. Winstanley effectively shifts both the meaning and site of politics from sovereignty and its most august institutions to the living labor of the autonomous community" (p. 186).
The word "virtue" appears only once in Rust's article, in the context of alchemy: "According to Paracelsus, quintessence is 'a nature, a force, a virtue, and a medicine'" (p. 104).6 Virtue here carries the broadest possible sense of power and potentiality, both human and nonhuman; thus Parris uses the concept of nutritive aretê manifested in the restorative state of sleep to activate the full scope of virtue in Aristotle. Sleep, Parris writes, concerns "the virtues of the nutritive soul in its Aristotelian capacity to preserve its possessor" (pp. 65–6), that is, the living substratum of the person apart from and as the precondition of conscious action in the public sphere—what Isabella in Measure for Measure calls "our gross selves." Whereas MacIntyre explicitly excludes Aristotle's biology from his account of aretê in After Virtue, in his 1999 Dependent Rational Animals, he looks to Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas for ways to think about the sharing of capacities such as phronesis among human and nonhuman animals.7 The Aristotelian virtue tradition broadly conceived—including human and nonhuman interactions, attachments, dependencies, powers, and capacities—belongs to the virtue horizon in which Shakespearean [End Page 207] drama unfolds. In this issue, such a virtue orientation is most pointedly visible in Rust's discussion of conduct and counterconduct, Parris's analysis of the nutritive soul, and Leo's outlining of the "human capacities for action" (p. 184). Yet I think similar impulses also subtend Kuzner's discussion of friendship, a classical Aristotelian virtue; Glimp's understanding of sovereignty as a "compositional process" that organizes diverse "agencies and capacities" (p. 24); Boyle's interest in Aristotelian dynamis as a principle of potentiality (p. 154); and even Gil's affirmation of "countervailing forms of association" that are not fully captured by sovereign power (p. 86). Virtue, of course, provides just one radiating term for identifying a possible field of inquiry after sovereignty shared by these diverse pieces, and these authors may well prefer not to have their work considered under the many-ribbed but nonetheless normative umbrella of aretê.
In both its secular and its religious phases, MacIntyre's project, as I understand it, is to retrieve the breadth and creativity of Aristotelian ethics before virtue had become rule bound, divorced from the passions, instrumentalized by utilitarianism, and identified with impoverished concepts such as altruism, benevolence, and sexual propriety. Not surprisingly, Shakespeare holds a transitional place in the great turn of epochs that MacIntyre charts. Virtue in MacIntyre's sense was fully eclipsed in the late eighteenth century by the moral philosophies of David Hume and Immanuel Kant, the Scotsman spawning the utilitarianism that jettisons the good as an end in itself and the German espousing universal rules dislodged from local practices and historically transmitted traditions. In such a chronology, Shakespeare would still belong to the great era of Aristotelian virtue. Yet MacIntyre argues that Thomas Hobbes and Niccolò Machiavelli as well as Martin Luther and John Calvin were already wringing sea changes in Aristotelian aretê, and we know that Shakespearean drama reveals affinities with these thinkers of modernity.8 Shakespeare writes not only within but also at the end of the virtue tradition recovered by MacIntyre, and both his creative transmission of the classical virtues and his critical contribution to their demise are at stake in the ethical concerns and capacities explored in his plays.
In my ongoing work on Shakespeare's virtues, I would like to borrow several key claims from MacIntyre in order to test the variety, elasticity, and perdurability of Shakespeare's virtuous exercises. These insights include the historicity of moral philosophy, the constitutive basis of virtues in practices and traditions, and the contribution of narrative to the intelligibility of human discourse [End Page 208] and life. Yet there is much that I do not like in MacIntyre's work, including his antimodernism, his suspicion of pluralism, and his increasingly orthodox Christianity. With these reservations in mind, I am supplementing MacIntyre with the work of two other great Aristotelians, Hannah Arendt and Martha C. Nussbaum. Arendt rejects the Thomist reading of Aristotle as an economic thinker in order to insist on the continued validity of the classical polis as the space of human appearing.9 In her account, the polis is kept open and illuminated by the classical virtue of courage, which Arendt defines as the willingness of the speaking, acting person to exit the privacy of the oikos and make herself known. Rather than simply closing the door on the kitchens, barnyards, and counting rooms of the household, however, the oikos/polis threshold remains an active zone in Arendt's work, and her attention to the phenomenology of work, labor, and action affiliates her thinking with the biopolitical and political-theological discourses of Foucault and Giorgio Agamben explored in this issue.
Whereas Arendt renovates civic humanism in order to critique both liberal capitalism and communism, Nussbaum strives to integrate Aristotelian and Stoic virtue traditions—including an affirmative account of the passions—with a rights-based, capabilities-oriented liberalism that embraces pluralism, globalism, and feminism.10 In her powerful early book, The Fragility of Goodness, Nussbaum develops the idea of moral luck to bring out the context- and status-bound constraints on the individual exercise of virtue, finding in Aristotle a view of the human "as a being both capable and vulnerable, in need of a rich plurality of life-activities."11 In Women and Human Development, Nussbaum argues that the classical virtue of justice involves "not only promoting appropriate development of [citizens'] internal powers, but also preparing the environment so that it is favorable for the exercise of practical reason and the other major functions."12 I am using Nussbaum to build the idea of a virtue ecology, a setting for action composed of social, political, economic, and environmental formations that differently afford and constrain the capacities for self-realization and civic participation for a range of persons and other actors on the scene. Aristotle asserts that ethics belongs to politics, not only because virtuous actions aim at building a common good, but because the particular polis in which people live and the status that polities confer shapes their possibilities for action and their capacities for flourishing.13 Reading Shakespeare with MacIntyre, Arendt, and Nussbaum, I wager, will help us better understand the range, thrust, momentum, and meanings of [End Page 209] virtue in the plays, providing an urgent opportunity to articulate what continues to be dynamic, aspirational, and capacity building in Shakespeare.
With such questions in mind, I would like to return to Measure for Measure. The duke's opening speech to Escalus ("The properties of government to unfold") belongs to political science, whereas his second speech, to Angelo, turns to ethics:
God doth with us as we with torches do,Not light them for themselves; for if our virtuesDid not go forth of us, 'twere all alikeAs if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touchedBut to fine issues; nor nature never lendsThe smallest scruple of her excellenceBut, like a thrifty goddess, she determinesHerself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.(I.i.33–41)
The image of torches alludes, of course, to the parable of the candle and the bushel from Luke 11:33 and Matthew 5:15; a version of the parable also appears in James I's Basilicon Doron and had become broadly proverbial by Shakespeare's time. The parable communicates the idea that virtues are best realized in action: the unlit candle is dormant, an instrument of stored and latent potential (Aristotle's dynamis), whereas the burning candle is fulfilling its intended end or telos. Moreover, in fulfilling its purpose or final cause, the burning candle is also manifesting itself as virtuous, lighting up a zone of visibility and publicity that others can share, extend, enact, and commemorate, whether in art or in life. At the end of the play, Mariana, in a rush of luminous equations, will associate light, heaven, virtue, breath, word, truth, and promise, identifying the performance of excellence with the realm of speech and action (V.i.221–3). For Shakespeare, theater is a form of candlelighting, and virtuous action is a form of theater. In Nussbaum's gloss of virtue as performance, "Activity, energeia, is the coming-forth of that good condition from its state of concealment or mere potentiality; it is its flourishing or blooming … Like an actor who is always waiting in the wings and never gets a chance to appear on the stage, it is not doing its job, and, in consequence, is only in a shadowy way itself."14 The stage cleared by virtuous exercise in Nussbaum's analysis resembles Arendt's space of human appearing; in both Nussbaum and Arendt, the [End Page 210] dance of light and the retreat of shadows suggest the flickering phenomenality of human action that politics and drama share, distinguishing their outcomes from the durable products of work.15
Yet Shakespeare immediately blends the biblical proverb with the more charismatic and vitalist image of Jesus curing the woman with the issue of blood through his touch.16 Sliding from virtue as the light cast by action in the world (bios) to virtue as charismatic touch between porous corporeal beings (zoe), the duke's discourse on virtue begins to secrete the smirch of creaturely life inside more expansive images of light and flow, channeling the ambiguities of procreation and erotic expenditure explored in Shakespeare's sonnets. The polis of mutual appearing is thickened and rankled by the approach of rampant venereal disease, neglected bastards, sexual harassment, and cynical libertinism, loading the phenomenal theater of sound and light with a ranker, darker, more tangible theater of touch, taste, and aroma. Pulsing between Aristotle and Augustine, eudaemonia and original sin, the passage picks up a biorhythm within virtue that will be measured and remeasured as the play moves through its extraordinary paces.
Thus, when Angelo is called upon to exercise his talents as a magistrate and judge, and to light the candle of his stored knowledge and ethical training, what flares up instead is his concupiscence. The duke's assurance to Isabella—"Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful" (III.i.199)—implicitly acknowledges the opposite: namely, that deeds expose actors to the dangers of harm, failure, crime, and sin, revealing who they are in a manner that can be both subjectively devastating and socially catastrophic. Moreover, what kindles Angelo's candle is the vision of Isabella's own flickering virtue, taken out of the cloister and drawing air in the semipublic space of his law chambers. While she discovers and exercises new capacities for speech and moral reasoning that will remain with her through the end of the play, the judgments she finds herself making in the heavy middle of Measure for Measure expose her as a virtuous extremist blinded by her own commitments to the counterconduct community of the convent.17 Placing her chastity above her brother's life, Isabella ignores Claudio's own moral limitations and actively wills his death when he tries to argue with her. When at the end of their calamitous interview he twice cries out, "Hear me" (III.i.147–8), dropping his obscene suit and pleading instead for forgiveness, she denies his request for recognition or repair, and leaves him in a more desperate state than the one in which she had found him. [End Page 211] Both Angelo and Isabella are surprised by virtue: snared in each other's counterconduct demands, they become equally though oppositely entangled in virtue's postclassical division between sexual propriety narrowly conceived and the exercise of a broader, more elastic, and relational menu of capacities.18
The play's dominant virtues are justice and mercy, their dependency played off of each other in a dazzling string of comparative cases that repeatedly ask the audience to judge anew. Yet I glimpse another virtue being produced by the end of the play, a virtue that borrows features from both justice and mercy but is distinct from both. Measure for Measure notoriously ends in a sequence of marriages in which romantic love plays little or no role. What might, however, inhere in the contract between the duke and Isabella and endow it with some legitimacy and promise is the virtue of respect. Respect means to look again, a form of seeing that is redoubled, focused, and deliberate; in fact, according to the OED, the original meaning of respect meant simply "[r]egard, gaze; visual attention."19 Respect combines the intellectual virtue of observantia with the moral stance of reverentia.20 The re- also asserts an element of distance, both emotional and physical, between the person who manifests respect and the object of that respect, be it another person, office, idea, or element of the cosmos. Although respect is traditionally one-sided and hierarchical (Lear and Richard II both demand respect as kings), in modernity, that re- becomes increasingly reflexive, affording the new dimensions of self-respect and mutual respect that will become crucial to the ethics and politics of liberalism.21
Yet the narrative is not so simple: if respect historically shifts from a political-theological liturgy of reverence to a liberal-humanist ethics of equality, then the Kantian renovation of respect takes sustenance from the philosophy of the Stoics and elements of monotheism. As Nussbaum points out, the Stoics argued very early in the philosophical tradition that "the bare possession of the capacity for moral choice gives us all a boundless and an equal dignity."22 Indeed, if Kantian respect is essentially secular, then the elements of distance, reserve, and awe that attach respect to the sublime continue to harbor a political-theological charge, investing the child, the woman, the fool, the slave, and the beggar with a special sovereignty and a residual sacredness.
Looking (respicere) backward and forward, respect straddles the epochs of virtue and its aftermath addressed by MacIntyre. Respect's original relationship to inherited social roles and religious traditions would make it appealing to MacIntyre's conservative [End Page 212] assessment of virtue; he would likely be adverse, however, to Kant's universalizing and dehistoricizing separation of respect from inherited practices that are local, faith based, or status conscious. In a powerful recent response to the Kantian argument, moral philosopher Andrea Sangiovanni argues for what he calls "opacity respect," based not on the universal dignity but the particular vulnerability—physical, mental, or legal—of the person owed respect. Opacity concerns the reserve of privacy and non-disclosure that respect acknowledges in the vulnerable person: "The distance required by opacity respect … create[s] space for the self-presentation intrinsic to our sociable nature."23 Whereas virtue's main impulse is to show itself through self-realizing action, respect introduces a second-order theatricality that allows persons the social space to keep aspects of their being in reserve. The bushel has its virtuous purposes after all.
The word "respect" appears twelve times in Measure for Measure. In the early exchange between Elbow and Pompey, the two speakers become giddy with the word: "the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman" (II.i.138–9). The comic exchange is not without a serious core, since their banter establishes respect as an aspect of marriage in both its private and its political-theological functions. In The History of King Lear, the King of France declares to Cordelia after her public debasement, "'Tis strange that from their cold'st neglect / My love should kindle to inflamed respect."24 Sanford Budick glosses these lines as an anticipation of Kant's "kingdom of ends": Cordelia's royal suitor "has discovered the generative relation between passionately felt respect for an other's moral being and love for that other. His love has found its ground in respect."25 Isabella resembles Cordelia in her fierce commitment to love as bond, what the Jews call chesed or covenant love, a passionate duty that can appear as coldness or legalism. So too, the duke shares something with the King of France in discovering love for Isabella by observing and honoring her actions (observantia and reverentia).
In his tragic reading of Kant, Budick argues that respect for the moral law is born from an experience of radical negation and humiliation of the self, epitomized by heroes such as Job, Samson, Oedipus at Colonus, and Lear. The bed trick is perhaps the baldest moment of such an undoing in Measure for Measure. Angelo's "garden circummured with brick" (IV.i.25), borrowed from the medieval iconography of the hortus conclusus, endows the profane action with a sense of sacred mystery and heroic initiation, and [End Page 213] the whole device totters uncomfortably between exaltation and debasement, sacramental consummation and legalistic entrapment.26 As the duke hands Mariana over to Isabella for counsel, he asks, "Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?" (IV.i.50). Well might he ask, given the social risk that each assumes in the dubious enterprise: what the duke's respect establishes here is his recognition of the women's moral standing, an assurance that will give them the courage to undertake the subterfuge.
Isabella refers to the rendezvous with Angelo as a "repair i'the dark" (IV.i.40): to repair is to journey, "return," or "resort" to a place, but also to "mend," "fix," or "restore" a damaged thing.27 We have come a long way from the candle shining for all to see. To attempt a repair in the dark is to undergo a certain blindness, take a moral risk, tap the other senses, and accept a subjective undoing. If their courage affiliates Measure for Measure's bold women with the tragic heroes of Budick's Kantian poetics, then Mariana is not a modern Oedipus so much as a latter-day Alcestis, a sublime surrogate descending into a sexual underworld in the place of another.
Respect recurs in the scene with Barnardine. When the duke realizes that he cannot justly execute the unregenerate prisoner, himself a prime instance of Parris's sleepy virtue, he is discovering a kind of respect for Barnardine's person apart from any merit. Acting the part of a rogue chaplain, he comes into that respect from something like Isabella's earlier posture of pastoral ministration. "Barnardine" sounds like "barnyard": the drunken prisoner has become the fowl that is not yet "of season" for the carceral kitchen.
Finally, respect may help us understand the duke's marriage proposal in a mode other than romantic or erotic. Bridging Aristotle and Kant, Arendt explicitly contrasts romantic love and respect: "what love is in its own, narrowly circumscribed sphere, respect is in the larger domain of human affairs. Respect, not unlike the Aristotelian philia politikē, is a kind of 'friendship' without intimacy and without closeness; it is a regard for the person from the distance which the space of the world puts between us, and this regard is independent of qualities which we may admire or of achievements which we may highly esteem."28 Arendt's description of respect captures the measured mood and action at the end of the play, in which Isabella and the duke, like the King of France and Cordelia, appear to be joined in a kind of philia politikē rather than an amorous liaison. Yet even the sexless character of their [End Page 214] union manifests a certain kind of respect for Isabella, whose own sexuality at the beginning of the play expresses itself in the form of a negation. Respect sublimates the sexual matter that had seeped into virtue discourse from the very beginning of Measure for Measure, not in the sense of eliminating or disavowing sexuality and the creaturely condition, but in Jacques Lacan's sense of raising an object to the level of the Thing, granting it the dignity, sublimity, and insistence of the real.29 Sexuality so understood might cease to be simply the unruly object of biopolitical and ecclesiastic regulation—that is, virtue in the narrow regulatory and prescriptive sense—and instead come to be acknowledged as an interactive domain for the creative and exploratory practice of a broader set of virtues, as explored in this issue by Kuzner in his study of Katherine Philips. Respect inheres in the contract of masochism as well as in modern innovations in marriage law, from Love v. Virginia to Obergefell v. Hodges.
In Measure for Measure, respect involves the exchange of glances, the harboring of distances, the acceptance of opacity, the ministration of needs, the observance of times and tempos, the acknowledgment of sexual complexity, and the cultivation of sublimity in a landscape of vulnerability and degradation where light creates shadow. Shakespearean respect is not yet Kantian, since it remains rooted in status distinctions, pastoral care, and liturgical reverence. But it is also no longer purely aristocratic, since respect is increasingly exchanged among persons of different ranks and extended to creaturely life, in the form of sleeping, mortal, unregenerate, amorous flesh encountered as sublime things worthy of regard. Shakespearean respect both inheres in the traditional tropes of sovereignty and suggests their undoing, posing a resource and a challenge to contemporary responses to the play. What forms of respect encourage honest exchange and thoughtful evaluation in the public spheres constituted by our classrooms and scholarly bodies, and when is the idea of respect used to intimidate or inhibit courageous speech? What forms of observantia and reverentia are practiced in the theater, whose ensemble work depends on the full attunement of the assembled company in relation to each other and the audience? What would it mean to retrieve a thick, ambivalent, multisensory account of respect for humanistic education? These are some of the questions that Measure for Measure after sovereignty poses for me. [End Page 215]
Julia Reinhard Lupton is Professor of English at the University of California, Irvine, where she has taught since 1989. She is the author or coauthor of five books on Shakespeare, including Shakespeare Dwelling: Designs for the Theater of Life (2018).
1. Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, ed. N. W. Bawcutt, Oxford Shakespeare (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2017), II.ii.87–90; https://doi.org/10.1093/actrade/9780198129080.book.1. Subsequent references to Measure for Measure are from this online edition and will appear parenthetically in the text by act, scene, and line number.
2. All articles in this special issue will be cited in the text parenthetically by page number.
3. See Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 2d edn. (Notre Dame IN: Univ. of Notre Dame Press, 1984), p. 263.
4. See Paul Yachnin and Marlene Eberhardt, eds., Forms of Association: Making Publics in Early Modern Europe (Amherst: Univ. of Massachusetts Press, 2015); and Julia Reinhard Lupton, Citizen-Saints: Shakespeare and Political Theology (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago, 2006), pp. 1–18.
5. Rod Dreher, Crunchy Cons: How Birkenstocked Burkeans, Gun-Loving Organic Gardeners, Evangelical Free-Range Farmers, Hip Homeschooling Mamas, Right-Wing Nature Lovers, and Their Diverse Tribe of Countercultural Conservatives Plan to Save America (or at Least the Republican Party) (New York: Crown Forum, 2006). The phrase "crunchy con" and "crunchy conservatism" appears throughout the book, e.g., p. 181.
6. Jennifer R. Rust finds this definition in Paracelsus, The Archidoxies of Theophrastus Paracelsus, in The Hermetic and Alchemical Writings of Aureolus Philippus Theophrastus Bombast of Hohenheim, Called Paracelsus the Great, trans. Arthur Edward Waite, 2 vols. (London: James Elliott, 1894), 2:3–93, 22.
7. See MacIntyre, Dependent Rational Animals: Why Human Beings Need the Virtues (Chicago: Open Court, 1999), p. 5.
8. See MacIntyre, "Luther, Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Spinoza," in A Short History of Ethics (New York: Macmillan, 1966), pp. 121–45.
9. Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition, 2d edn. (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1998), pp. 27–8.
10. See Martha C. Nussbaum's controversial "Recoiling from Reason," review of Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, by MacIntyre, New York Review of Books, 7 December 1989; and Alexander Green, "MacIntyre and Nussbaum on Diversity, Liberalism, and Christianity," Perspectives on Political Science 46, 2 (April–June 2017): 137–47. Green contrasts MacIntyre's conservative particularism to Nussbaum's liberal universalism but locates both within virtue ethics and a renovated Aristotelianism. He sees both as ultimately Christian thinkers.
11. Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy, 2d edn. (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2001), p. xviii.
12. Nussbaum, Women and Human Development: The Capabilities Approach (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2000), p. 85.
13. See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. and ed. Robert C. Bartlett and Susan D. Collins (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2011), 1094b. Also see Aristotle's comment that "it is not the same thing in every case to be a good man and to be a good citizen" (1130b).
14. Nussbaum, Fragility of Goodness, p. 324.
15. See Arendt, p. 187. [End Page 216]
16. Compare the lines from Measure for Measure, "Spirits are not finely touched / But to fine issues" (I.i.36–7), to Luke 8:43–8. The woman's issue of blood is presumably menstrual, touching on problems in Jewish law.
17. In unpublished work on Measure for Measure, Rust looks at conduct and counterconduct in the play ("'Of Government the Properties to Unfold': Governmentalities in Measure for Measure" [unpublished manuscript, 2017]).
18. In After Virtue, MacIntyre credits the Victorians with reducing vice and virtue to sexual matters, but I think we owe at least some of this narrowing to Christianity, especially with regards to women's "virtue," often rendered as synonymous with chastity (p. 233).
19. OED, 3d edn., s.v. "respect, n. (and int.)," 1a.
20. See Robin S. Dillon, "Respect," in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Stanford Univ., 1997–), article published 10 September 2003, last modified 4 February 2014; https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2016/entries/respect/.
21. See Andrea Sangiovanni, Humanity without Dignity: Moral Equality, Respect, and Human Rights (Cambridge MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 2017).
22. Nussbaum, Fragility of Goodness, p. xx.
23. Sangiovanni, p. 90.
24. Shakespeare, The History of King Lear: The 1608 Quarto, ed. Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor, Oxford Shakespeare (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2012), I.i.237–8; https://doi.org/10.1093/actrade/9780198182900.book.1.
25. Sanford Budick, "Shakespeare's Secular Benediction: The Language of Tragic Community in King Lear," in Religious Diversity and Early Modern English Texts: Catholic, Judaic, Feminist, and Secular Dimensions, ed. Arthur F. Marotti and Chanita Greenblatt (Detroit: Wayne State Univ. Press, 2013), pp. 330–51, 339.
26. On the hortus conclusus, see Rob Aben and Saskia de Wit, The Enclosed Garden (Rotterdam: Rotterdam 010 Publishers, 1999).
28. Arendt, p. 243.
29. See the chapter on courtly love in Jacques Lacan, Seminar Seven: The Ethics of Psychoanalysis, ed. Jacques-Alain Miller, trans. Dennis Porter (New York: Norton, 1992), pp. 139–54. [End Page 217]