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This lecture discusses Jerome Kern, who provides a convenient and important case study for the reclamation of the musical as historical output. It explores how the cross-disciplinary, unruly, and sometimes ephemeral, materials of popular musical theatre can best be first located and safeguarded. These materials are then reconstituted for the detached assessment they now demand, away from the pressures and traditions of showbusiness and popular canons. The lecture touches on four areas: the changing expectations of genre, the workings of nationalism, the nature and scope of the source materials, and the interplay of creative ambition and commercial expediency.

The Arian writers made much of the blunt admission by Jesus that he was ignorant of the Day of Judgment. This chapter examines orthodox responses to the charge that this was proof of the inferiority of the Incarnate Word's nature.

This chapter shows that the book’s account of malady generates the objective account of mental disorders that has been included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) from DSM III R to DSM IV TR. It defends this definition from the criticisms of Jerome Wakefield and others, and explains why the DSM account of the paraphilias continues to change from DSM III R to DSM IV TR. An account of volitional disabilities and a classification of actions that distinguishes between intentional, voluntary, and free actions are also provided.

This chapter makes three large-scale points about the positions developed in the book. First, it explains that taking good will as an end in itself is consistent with Jerome Schneewind’s emphasis on the historical context of Kant’s revolutionary moral insights. In particular, Kant’s opposition to voluntarism or divine command theory fits with the good will reading. The second point is that of all the possible readings of the humanity formulation, the least justified is the one which takes the mere power of choice or Willkür to be the end in itself. The third point is just a final emphasis on the role of humanity in Kant’s moral theory, that Kant not only takes humanity to be an object of moral concern, but also a moral ideal toward which we should strive continuously.

Although a few important elements remain shrouded in mystery, the history of the filioque in the West is a relatively well documented phenomenon. Although there are a few scattered references to the relationship of Son and Spirit in the writings of the apologists, the story of filioque begins with Tertullian, as Latin theology began to link the understanding of God’s very nature (i.e., the theology) and the biblical revelation that the Holy Spirit is given to the Church by both the Father and the Son. Although the Latin fathers (e.g., Ambrose) increasingly used language that could be thought to support the filioque, it was Augustine of Hippo who first explicitly spoke of the Spirit proceeding from both the Father and the Son, and who later became the patristic authority for the orthodoxy of the filioque. By the seventh century not only was the filioque part of the creed in many parts of the West, but also considered part of the apostolic faith.

This chapter explores the early years of the songwriting partnership between Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick, who began writing songs together in 1957 for a Broadway musical about boxing, The Body Beautiful. Though the show, which opened in 1958, was not a success, Bock and Harnick worked together again on songs for a musical based on the life of Fiorello La Guardia, the beloved New York City mayor, congressman, and war hero. Fiorello! (1959) was a huge success, earning them and their collaborators—writer-director George Abbott and his co-author Jerome Weidman—Tony Awards and a Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Bock and Harnick quickly became known not only for their stylish, singable melodies and clever lyrics, but also for their attentiveness as songwriters to the dramatic circumstances of each song in the show.

This entire chapter is devoted to the defining work of the Bock–Harnick partnership, Fiddler on the Roof (1964). It considers the musical’s origins in four stories by Sholem Aleichem, the process of adaptation in collaboration with writer Joseph Stein, the composition and evolution of the show’s songs, the history of the ethnic idioms employed by Bock to evoke Jewish culture, the creation of the main character, Tevye, by Zero Mostel, and the crucial role played by director-choreographer Jerome Robbins in the show’s development and unqualified success. Fiddler on the Roof played on Broadway for almost eight years between 1964 and 1972, longer than any previous Broadway show, and has remained vital and immensely popular, with Broadway revivals in 1976, 1990, and 2004 and countless productions around the world. The musical is also important for the serious issues it addresses pertaining to ethnic oppression and Jewish identity.

This chapter considers the work of Bock and Harnick in the aftermath of the unprecedented success of Fiddler on the Roof (1964). Their next show was The Apple Tree (1966), a collection of three mini-musicals based on short stories by Mark Twain, Frank R. Stockton, and Jules Feiffer. Mike Nichols directed and Jerome Coopersmith contributed to the adaptations. The show was a moderate success and has aged well, reappearing on Broadway in 2006 starring Kristin Chenoweth. Also during this time, Bock and Harnick helped write songs for another Broadway show, Baker Street (based on Sherlock Holmes stories), and wrote the score for a made-for-television musical, The Canterville Ghost (based on the Oscar Wilde novella).

This chapter focuses on Dorothy's collaborations with Jerome Kern. When Dorothy Fields began working with Kern, she gained not only a new collaborator but a second family and a new approach to integrating songs with dramatic works. Jimmy McHugh was a gifted musician, but Kern was a man of the theater. His Princess shows, some of which Dorothy saw when she was a girl, inspired many songwriters, including Rodgers and Hart and George Gershwin.

Stoic apatheia was accepted as an ideal for certain humans by Philo the Jew and many leading Christians: Clement of Alexandria, Origen, the Cappadocians (Basil, Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory of Nazianzus), as well as Evagrius; although even Evagrius agrees with the others that it requires the grace of God. For ordinary people the Cappadocians write consolation letters about bereavement which urge no more than moderation of emotion (metriopatheia), as Seneca also had done, in spite of being a Stoic. Although Evagrius was followed by the Latin-writer Cassian, some Latin-writing Christians opposed apatheia: Lactantius, Jerome, and Augustine. The last two were attacking Pelagius, who denied original sin, and they lumped him with supporters of apatheia. For Augustine, even unpleasant emotions have been needed since man left the Garden of Eden, and pleasant ones were enjoyed in Eden and will be in heaven.

This introductory chapter begins by highlighting the problematic nature of Jerome's theological, ecclesiastical, and personal profile and how this complicated his efforts to achieve credibility in his own lifetime as a respected authority on the Bible and the spiritual life. It is argued that his letters in particular reveal the dynamics of Jerome's manufactured authority. Modern scholarship on these letters is briefly surveyed and the present book is placed in the context of this scholarly discourse.

In this concluding chapter, the main points of the argument presented throughout the book are summarized and expanded upon. Jerome's contributions to the Latin epistolographic tradition are set into relief and the implications of his self‐presentational strategies for a more nuanced understanding of his life and work are explored.

Preexistence was often linked to immortality, a threat to orthodox conceptions of the human soul. Other problems with the doctrine were its connection with Gnostics and with Plato and its incompatibility with creation ex nihilo (pushed by Basilides). Unlike Jerome, Augustine initially favors preexistence but distances himself in reaction to Pelagianism. Facing that threat, he finds it more important to defend God's grace (thereby emphasizing depravity) than to defend his justice (by emphasizing human choice and by implication, preexistence). Theodicy is largely discarded as a theological problem, and Justinian pronounces an anathema on preexistence.

This chapter studies the glossed octavo editions in which Virgil was made available to English schoolboys during the last decades of the sixteenth century. It argues that an image of Virgil-as-master (and through this, a conception of mastery itself) is constructed in the principal Virgilian schoolbooks used in Renaissance England, in foundational curriculum texts such as Lily's grammar, and on the two-dimensional plane of the glossed, commented page. Pitting itself against the prevailing view that commentary is instinctively agonistic, this chapter draws together threads in Virgil, Lily, and the history of classical scholarship to argue that the practice of commentary, no less than the practice of instruction, is one of the disciplines of amor (in all of that word's Virgilian complications). As such, commentary becomes an extension of one of humanist pedagogy's most cherished constructions: the figure of the loving master. Indeed, the practice of humanist pedagogy sees the master striving to recuperate a particular experience of the text by becoming the object of the student's zeal, and by speaking on behalf of the recalcitrant text, the silent object of the student's attentions. The loving master thus embodies in a displaced form the fantasy that a schoolbook might reciprocate the schoolboy's desires. The work of commentary in glossed editions of Virgil grants a material form to that impossible romance.