O’Connell’s Rhetoric of Seeing joins a growing list of titles interested in restoring performance and visuality to our understanding of ancient Greek culture and, especially, political and legal culture. This work distinguishes itself through its limited focus on the rhetorical function of seeing and visuality in extant forensic speeches. Each chapter addresses a different kind of seeing, often beginning with an overview of the relevant secondary literature, then considering other ancient genres or fields—Plato and Aristotle, poetry or history, medical or rhetorical treatises, and finally examining two or three important or representative examples from legal speeches. O’Connell divides the work into three “kinds” of seeing.First, he looks at what the audience can literally see. Part 1, “Physical Sight,” considers examples of visual bias concerning the physical appearance of litigants or others. This includes familiar arguments from probability (eikos) based on appearance: one need only look at Antigenes to know that he could not have overpowered Pantainetos (Demosthenes 37, Against Pantainetos); a glance at the pensioner’s disability and we can see that the charge of hubris is ridiculous (Lysias 31, For the Disabled Man). It is surprising here that O’Connell does not do more with the visual aspect of eikos arguments, which are said to have begun with Hermes’ infantile appeal to his own youth in his defense speech against Apollo: “Do I look like a cattle driver to you, a burly fellow?” (Hymn to Hermes 265). This is a central and well-trod aspect of ancient rhetorical theory that seems to call out for inclusion and that could have been given a new layer of interpretation through O’Connell’s visual approach. Counter-probability is rare in legal arguments but equally important in the development of rhetorical theory and with similar implications for visual rhetoric. The strong (or young) man who asserts that he would not have assaulted the weak (or old) man because he would be the first suspected depends in part upon similarly visible features of his person (Antiphon 2.2.3; cf. Aristotle 2.24.10–11).The final chapter of Part 1 takes up issues of movement and gesture, with references to gesture in Plato and Aristotle, a brief review of physiognomy, and then a discussion of Aeschines’ widely studied Against Timarkhos. There is brief mention of the rhetorical cannon of delivery or hupokrisis and the recommendations of Cicero, Quintilian, and Dionysius and more recent work on categories of gesture by Karsouris and Hughes, but O’Connell does not take up the rhetorical canon of delivery (hupokrisis) in depth. His discussion of delivery faces the same problems that most scholars face: there simply is no good way to talk about it as a general category. Either atomize the body to talk about hands, then faces, then movement, or settle for vague gestural and expressive categories and recommendations: modest and appropriate or excessive and inappropriate. Attending to specific cases and speeches is often more successful. O’Connell’s discussion of Aeschines’ speech Against Timarkhos goes further toward demonstrating his overall thesis than do his general comments.Second, we can observe the language of visuality in the speech itself, when the speaker asks the audience to look at something literally and directly as visual evidence, or figuratively or indirectly through terms of demonstration, display, and witnessing. Part 2, “The Language of Demonstration and Visibility,” looks at terms of seeing in the orations: deiknumi (demonstrate or display) and its variants (apodeixis, epideixis, endeixis, etc.), phaneros and phainomai (visible) and their variants (kataphanēs, apophainō, etc.), and martus (witness) and its variants. Chapter3 considers the language of display and witnessing, where speakers seek to prove their case by describing what has been shown and seen by witnesses, or where they demand witnesses to prove what has been asserted. “How else,” says Antiphon in On the Chorus Boy, “can I make true things trustworthy” except through the consistent affirmation of witnesses who were present? (Antiphon 6.29). This section is valuable for bringing into focus the centrality of visibility and sight to notions of truth, a factor that can easily be lost in translations. Thus, the speaker of On the Chorus Boy emphasizes not only that he was appointed a counselor and entered the council-house as such, but that he was seen (horōntes) and was visible (phaneros) doing so. O’Connell does not claim, but he enables one to conclude, that the infamous dichotomy between truth and probability in rhetorical theory typically devolves into these two kinds of seeing: what has been witnessed (and is therefore true) and what the situation “looks like” to the audience (and must be probable).Included here is a section on medical and philosophical interest in the visible as an epistemological link to the invisible. O’Connell quotes Anaxoagoras’ maxim, “Visible things are the face of things which are unclear” (101). This could lead to a discussion of the complex and rhetorically important doctrine of signs as tools of rhetorical argument. Instead, O’Connell moves on in chapter four to discuss how speakers use the language of visibility and demonstration to describe arguments. This, argues O’Connell, places jurors into the position of virtual witnesses themselves of something publicly known, as it was known that some grain dealers had been changing their prices over the course of a day (Lysias 22, Against the Grain Dealers). Or they are witnesses of arguments as demonstrations (epideixō). Speakers contrast what the opponent simply says (legei) with what the speaker will “demonstrate in an evident manner” (110). The language of display is thus used to differentiate mere telling from showing. This reference to visual metaphors for the persuasive effects of argument suggests a larger connection with rhetorical argument generally and the role of vision therein.Third, we can attend to imagination as internal sight, or what O’Connell calls “shared spectatorship,” when speakers “try to make the jurors visualize their version of events and accept it as true” (123). This includes a discussion of techniques of vivid description like enargeia, hyptyposis, or ekphrasis via detailed description. O’Connell looks specifically at described scenes of civic suffering, as when Lycurgus describes the panic after the Athenian defeat at Chaeronea. Shared spectatorship can also occur through the construction of “internal audiences—characters in a narrative who witness what is being described and whose reaction can function as a prompt and model for the jury, as when, in the speech Against Diogeiton (Lysias 32), the speaker recounts Diogeiton’s daughter speaking to the family about her father’s embezzlement and lying (150). Visualization can also be heightened through deictic pointing to the persons in court whose actions or suffering is being described, fusing what is physically seen (demonstratio ad oculo) with what is imagined (deixis ad phantasma): “this man here they seized and tied to the pillar” (Lysias fr. 279, 155). This takes us back to the beginning, which addressed seeing in performance space itself. This last section was for me the most interesting and informative, and it seemed the most widely applicable to forensic, and indeed all genres of oratory. Here too, I saw connections to a basic category of rhetorical discourse: narrative and narrative theory, to notions of realism and verisimilitude, to the conjuring of story worlds and the work of narrative inference.Certainly, anyone interested in visual and spatial rhetorics, bodily rhetoric, performance, and related topics will want to be familiar with O’Connell’s work. I found much to admire in every chapter, and more so as the book advanced to later sections and chapters. At the same time, in each section I found myself thinking about some clear and relevant connections to fundamentals of rhetorical theory—theories of probability and signs, of argument and narrative—that the work brushed up against but did not explore. Of course, O’Connell writes as a classicist, not a rhetorician, and we cannot expect any work to follow up every thread that it pulls on, particularly those outside the author’s bailiwick. So, we might rather say that this work promises to amply repay the attention of scholars of rhetorical history and theory for its insights into the operation of sight and seeing—physical, lexical, and imaginary—in Attic forensic speeches.

ABSTRACTThe enthymeme is well known in rhetorical theory as a three-part syllogism from which one premise has been elided. The enthymeme works because the listener supplies the “missing piece,” thereby participating in the very argument by which she is persuaded. This enthymeme is widely believed to derive from Aristotle, but previous scholars have shown that the “truncated syllogism” view of the enthymeme is both un-Aristotelian and impracticable. In this article, I review problems with the syllogistic enthymeme and reasons for its improbable longevity before proposing a view of the enthymeme that derives not from the syllogism but from the legal narratives produced by early Greek orators. The enthymeme is best understood not through its deductive structure, but its emplotment. This model makes sense of Aristotle's comments without relying on a discredited syllogistic frame to explain how ancient orators argued.

The original research of Johnstone and Graff on the bouleuteria of ancient Greece and their physical and acoustic features will, I predict, have a significant impact on future work in the history of rhetoric. Of equal importance to me is their gathering together in one easy view the site plans and reconstructions—in some cases three-dimensional reconstructions and interior views—of Greek council houses. Though students of ancient Greek rhetoric will be familiar with the functions of the council house, this will be for most the first opportunity to view this collection of council-house plans and reconstructions in close proximity. This collection and arrangement of images constitute an argument for a deliberate and principled evolution in the architecture of council-houses, from the mid-sixth-century structures at Olympia (Johnstone and Graff, Figures 6–7c) and Athens (Johnstone and Graff, 1a and 1b) to the second-century curvilinear structures at Athens and Miletos (Johnstone and Graff, Figures 17a–21b). Their essay demonstrates nothing less than the invention of a specifically rhetorical space, parallel to the development of deliberative arenas like the Pnyx.We shouldn’t let the current ubiquity of the semicircular, banked theatral area obscure or diminish for us the significance of this invented spatial configuration and rhetorical technology. Today, this form is ubiquitous in lecture halls, movie theaters, playhouses, churches, and assembly halls around the world, but it was for the Greeks a significant achievement and a rhetorical one, as Johnstone and Graff’s essay makes clear. Its underlying purpose was the collection, arrangement, and display of a collectivity—the creation of a people—for mutual regard through political deliberation in service to the city. I mean here to invoke both constitutive rhetoric (Charland) and the social imaginary (Castoriadis). Rhetorical spaces like the council house were instrumental in constituting the polis as an imagined, known, and valued entity.The Greeks, of course, had a name for what Johnstone and Graff have brought together for us. They called something collected and arranged so that it could be easily or clearly seen in one view, eusynoptos. As a result of Johnstone and Graff’s essay, the historical development of the Greek council house as a distinctly rhetorical space becomes eusynoptos. I might then coin the term eusynoptic to name the effect of collecting and positioning objects so that they can be easily seen, and so that the principle underlying their orchestration can be clearly understood. A eusynoptic image, scene, or perspective features a collection of otherwise disparate items deliberately selected and gathered, and strategically arranged for complete visibility of all items within a 180 degree radius. A scene so configured generates in the spectator a clear and rapid comprehension of its implicit rationale. What is eusynoptos is not simply easy to see at a glance, it has been rendered so in a way that demonstrates and illustrates its controlling idea.Graff and Johnstone’s essay makes immediately clear to me that the underlying principle and implicit rationale governing the historical development of bouleuteria from the sixth century to the second century BC was itself eusynoptic. Greek cities and Greek architects crafted and refined their bouleutêria to highlight the ability of both speakers and audiences to easily attend to and comprehend at a glance the collective—the city as its citizenry—and the issue before them in deliberation, and they did so to highlight this very mutual co-presence, to make plain to the council the importance of seeing and being seen, hearing and being heard, by speaker and spoken to alike. I suspect that the rhetorical importance of eusynoptics has till now escaped our attention because its disparate applications have not been collected or arranged.Eusynoptic techniques are tools of arrangement and subordination, of hypotaxis out of parataxis, of bringing the many into one: one view, one principle of organization, one controlling idea or purpose. Such a goal might seem mundane to the modern world, where Aristotle’s rules of identity, non-contradiction, and the excluded middle go without saying, where hierarchical rules of composition are universally taught, and where Whitman’s “Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself” remains an eccentric view. But ancient Greeks even into the Roman age regularly entertained incompatible or inconsistent ideas or images in close proximity, what Perry calls “the capacity to see things separately,” and what Veyne refers to as “the Balkanization of the mind” (92). Versnel notes the paratactic character of much Greek literature as “the linking of disparate and not seldom contradictory or incompatible parts and the (apparent?) lack of a uniting and binding central concept or theme” (214). In the same way, Greek city development has often seemed “unsystematic and irregular” (Wycherly 7). Eusynoptic bouleutêria and similar spaces catalyzed then and demonstrate now a Greek commitment to principles of organization, subordination, and comprehension. The elements of eusynoptics are worth reviewing here.Keeping or having something in view implies keeping it in mind and affording it some attention and regard, respect, or affection. And, by contrast, keeping it out of sight implies keeping it “out of mind.” When the ancient hero Diocles fled from Corinth to Thebes to escape his mother’s incestuous love, his lover Philolaus followed him to Thebes, but retained his love for his home city, Corinth. In death, their tombs reflected their allegiances: “Even now people still show the tombs (of Diocles and Philolaus), in full view of each other, and one of them fully open to view in the direction of the Corinthian country but the other one not” (Aristotle Politics, 168–169, 1274a35).Greek homes turned inward around a central courtyard, but kept external windows high and small, so that its members might be visible to each other, but not to outsiders (Phoca and Valavanis 26–29). And after it was partially destroyed by the Persians, the ruins of the old temple of Athena (archaios neos) were left visible on the Athenian Acropolis, to preserve a memory of Persian hubris and Athenian suffering, and a desire for revenge.1 Greeks expressed their values through the planned visibility provided by architectural spaces.Arranging social space to enable mutual visibility was also a goal of city planning. Aristotle limits the population of a city to the number that can be easily seen in one view: “The best limiting principle for a state is the largest expansion of the population with a view to self-sufficiency that can well be taken in in one view” (Aristotle Politics 558–559, 1326b23). In like manner, the city territory should also (from one privileged vantage point) “be well able to be taken in at one view” (558–559, 1327a). This implied not only the ability to see the physical city from one position, but the capacity for the citizens to gather as a collective, to see and be seen by each other.By contrast, a city or a citizenry too large or diffuse to be easily seen could not be comprehended, and thus could neither act wisely nor be managed well. Isocrates complains that “Athens is so large and the multitude of people living here is so great, that the city does not present to the mind an image easily grasped or sharply defined” (Antidosis 282–283 §172). It would be the task of structures like the Athenian council house to make such an image possible and useful.Through its visibility, a person, structure, or text could be grasped, regarded, remembered, observed, and managed. A space or place could be called to mind and taken to heart, including all the characters, actions, and events that it contained and made possible. For these reasons, the Greeks planned structures, precincts, and even whole towns mindful of how, and from where, they could be seen. In particular, Greek spatial planning often valued the full and contiguous visibility of structures within a sacred precinct or area, such that no structure obstructed another and no spatial gaps were left open, so as to maximize visibility of all structures in the smallest possible space (within a 180-degree field of vision), with the exception of the path of approach open to the surrounding countryside, called the “sacred way” (Doxiadis 5).For example, the Sanctuary of Athena at Pergamon was built so that each of its elements—the stoa, altar, temple, and column—was visible within the peripheral vision of a visitor at the entrance. From this perspective, every object filled in the gap left by the other objects, without any one element obstructing any other, presenting one contiguous scene. This principle applies to a wide range of sacred precincts and urban areas across the Greek world.The same principle applied to city planning. Pergamon was laid out so that all the important structures could be fully seen in one view from the theater stage. The elevation of the hillside made it possible to cluster public buildings so that all were visible without overlap. When the theater was in attendance, a speaker or performer would see the city (its citizenry) as well as the city (its important public structures) together at a glance (Wycherly 28–29). The indoor square and round bouleuteria utilized the same combination of elevation, contiguity, and positioning, albeit with a more uniform geometry, the more clearly to express an aesthetic and egalitarian ideal.An understanding of eusynoptics reveals that it would behoove anyone who sought to know (and control) his city—like a prospective tyrant—to keep its people (and their actions and associations) within clear view, and arranging “for the people in the city to always be visible and to hang about the palace gates, for thus there would be least concealment about what they are doing and they would get into the habit of being humble” (Aristotle, Politics 460–461, 1313b7).If Aristotle’s insight applies to Athens, then it is possible that Peisistratus worked to secure his tyranny at Athens by arranging to have the people “hang about” his palace gates (Johnstone and Graff, Figures 1a and 1b) so that they would “always be visible” to him and would “get in the habit of being humble.”The Peisistratids selected a flat area northwest of the Acropolis to build their new agora. At the southwest corner of this open space, a palace is built (Johnstone and Graff, Figure 2a). To the north, an altar to the twelve gods is set up. To the east is a fountain house where women could collect fresh water. The Panathenaic way ran past these two structures, toward the Acropolis. A large open space was available for political, sporting, and theatrical events and for market stalls, creating a eusynoptic gathering place (Camp 32–36).The resulting triangular shape embodied Aristotle’s principle of eusynoptic surveillance and provided a model for the shape of the democratic Pnyx. Like the agora, the Pnyx was an essentially triangular arena built for eusynoptic gathering of the city anchored by the bema rather than the palace complex.2 The logic of eusynoptic parataxis that shaped the bouleuteria, as Johnstone and Graff demonstrate, also shaped the agora, the Pnyx, and, as we’ll see, the polis.Isocrates’ complaint notwithstanding, Athens, too, was laid out so that the city was visible from at least one eusynoptic vantage point without any one important element obstructing any other. In its earliest form, a speaker at the Pnyx could see in one view all the citizens gathered together (Pnyx, from puknos, means “packed” or crowded) while, at the same time, the assembled citizens could see easily at a glance the whole city laid out before them (Pnyx I, see Thompson 134–138 and plate 18a; orientation, see Camp 4–5, images 1,3). From the Pnyx hillside, the late fifth-century spectator could see, from the far right (southeast): the (unfinished) temple of Olympian Zeus, the theater of Dionysus and Odeon, the Acropolis, and Parthenon. A citizen looking to the Parthenon from the Pnyx would see the temple of Athena Niké (just to the left of and jutting out in front of the Propylaia) nested inside of the larger Parthenon further back.Just to the left of the Acropolis, spectators could see the Areopagus and then, directly in front of them (on a line running through the center of the Pnyx), the western edge of the agora and its important structures, including the stoae, council house, temples and altar. Immediately to the west was the temple of Hephaestus, the Kerameikos, the Dipylon gate (along with the Sacred Gate and Sacred Way to Eleusis) and the Piraeus gate. This contiguous arc of structures asserted, like the curvilinear bouleuterion, albeit with less mathematical precision, that Athens as place and as idea belonged to the political participants who could see it.Visible beyond the city lay the country and many rural demes. In Aristophanes’ Acharnians (25), as Dicaeopolis sits in the Pnyx, he gazes upon his fields out in the rural deme of Acharnai, and longs for peace. In this way, an audience would see in one view the entire polis: all the landmarks of the urban center and the rural demes that made up Athens, even as the speaker saw the entire city in the form of the citizens themselves.Tellingly (but not surprisingly), when, with Spartan aid, the Thirty Tyrants overthrew the democracy, one of their first objectives was to reverse the direction of the Pnyx. The idea may have been to prevent the people from seeing (and keeping in mind) the city which they were voting to preserve and protect (Plutarch §19, 99).This principle of a visible array, selected, gathered, and arranged so that it could be seen “easily at a glance” as an organic whole, did not only guide the construction of bouleuteria and other structures, it also shaped the evolution of rhetorical artistry through the spatial metaphors applied to it. That is, the spatial logic of the bouleuteria also provided a fundamental principle of rhetoricStyle, says Aristotle, should be periodic, “and by period, I mean a sentence that has a beginning and an end in itself and a magnitude that can be easily grasped (eusunopton)” (Aristotle Rhetoric 386–387, 1409a–b). Aristotle and Demetrius alike explain with the image of runners on a circular running track: “For at the very beginning of their race the end of the course is already before their eyes, hence the name “periodos,” an image drawn from paths which go around and are in a circle” (On Style 354–355, §11, cf Rhetoric 386–7, 1409a).Plots (of dramatic and epic poems) too should have magnitude, with actions selected and arranged so that the arc of the whole can be seen in one view: “So just as with our bodies and with animals, beauty requires magnitude, but magnitude that allows coherent perception (eusunopton), likewise plots require length, but length that can be coherently remembered” (Aristotle Poetics 56–57, 1451a5, cf 118-119, 1459b; and contrast 116–117, 1459a30–35).Most importantly, speeches should convey an argument in a way that is easily comprehended at a glance. One function of enthymemes, says Aristotle, is to help a lay audience (untrained in dialectical reasoning) more easily see (sunoran; 22, 1357a) a long chain of reasoning in one view (Rhetoric 22–23, 1357a and 288–289, 1395b).3 A well-selected series of enthymemes can tie up even a sprawling narrative nicely and make clear its underlying rationale.Even at the outset of rhetoric, Corax, after gathering the people and his thoughts together, eusynoptically began “to advise the demos and to speak as though telling a story, and after these things to summarize the argument and to call to mind concisely what had gone before, and to bring before their eyes at a glance what had been said to the demos (Rabe 12–13, italics inserted).I am suggesting that the bouleuteria collected by Johnstone and Graff demonstrate eusynoptics to be central not only to civic structures and spaces, but to rhetorical artistry as a whole. In texts as much as in spaces, paratactic arrangement like that perfected in late bouleuteria proves crucial to persuasion.

ABSTRACT Lysias is best known for his portrayal of character (ethopoiia), his believable narratives, his plain or “Attic” style, and for the role he plays as inferior foil to Socrates in Plato’s Phaedrus. But he was also an important figure in developing, refining, and employing types of argument, including the rhetorical technique that would later be called the enthymeme. In On the Death of Eratosthenes, Lysias not only uses enthymemes, he highlights their use, selects a term (enthymizing), and demonstrates how “enthymizing” could be central to rhetorical artistry, to narrative development, to legal reasoning, and to political activism. Examining Lysias 1 not only deepens our understanding of Lysias’ rhetorical abilities, but it suggests that the orators had an important role to play in the development of rhetorical theory.

ABSTRACT A theoretical bias pervades enthymeme. Most studies of the enthymeme are thoroughly Aristotelian and syllogistic, while the study of enthymemes in ancient oratory is virtually nonexistent. Yet the Attic orators used enthymemes commonly and consistently, and as practitioners, they have something to teach us about enthymemes that theorists can’t. In this article, I begin an examination of oratorical enthymemes and the variety of their use and offer a preliminary understanding of the “oratorical enthymeme” as a rhetorical technique. I conclude by briefly touching on the connections between oratorical enthymemes and ancient theory.

ABSTRACTThough popular in the nineteenth century and widespread since, the elements of the hoax form can be traced to the origins of rhetorical theorizing, principally in the strategies of probability and counterprobability developed by the early orators and sophists. This article begins by defining features of the hoax as a textual event and then describes how hoaxes use traditional rhetorical techniques of both probability and improbability to transport viewers from credulity and acceptance to doubt and disbelief, demonstrating technical mastery over rhetorical conventions of the genre to mock their targets and to entertain and instruct their audience.

The theory of bullshit put forth by philosopher Harry Frankfurt needs to be critiqued from the perspective of rhetorical theory, which can take into account how the identification of bullshit involves analyzing speaker, content, and audience as well as the interactions of these elements. More specifically, bullshit can be seen as an indifferent tampering with conventions of politeness, which makes it the antithesis of the kind of rhetoric we should teach.

Why is it that discussion of the sophists and sophistic activity routinely mentions the fees they charged, but never explores why the sophists might have charged fees and why this rather mundane detail would warrant such regular reiteration? I argue that the sophists charged fees to demystify the ways in which gift-exchange made it possible to naturalize culturally established values and misrecognize power relations as relations of generosity and friendship. By charging fees, the sophists showed that trade in skillful political discourse was always tied to the pursuit of advantage and power. This critical practice was rejected by Socrates, so that when his students needed a way to highlight the distinctions between their master and other teachers and schools (since in the popular mind all alike were sophists), they fixated upon the fees the sophists charged as a distinguishing trait. As a result, it took on the form of a stigma, and has been remained a defining charge against the sophists ever since.

334 RHETORICA ration" among antebellum women (because Truth's speech was reproduced by Frances Gage). Because Regendering Delivery provides so little analysis of African American women speakers' unique struggles, this relatively uncriti­ cal treatment of white antebellum reformers' relationship to Sojourner Truth is disappointing. Chapter 5 and the conclusion, which would have benefitted from further development, foster confusion over the book's theory of delivery. Nevertheless, this criticism should not deter scholars from picking up this fine book, which makes important contributions to the feminist study of the history of rhetoric. Roxanne Mountford University ofArizona Joseph Roisman, The Rhetoric of Manhood: Masculinity in the Attic Orators. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005. 283 pp. A book entitled The Rhetoric ofManhood: Masculinity in the Attic Orators was probably as inevitable as was the study of gender and sexuality in the ancient world. As gender studies matured as an academic discipline, the scholarly examination of masculinity could not remain far behind, despite the expected quip that all previous scholarship was "masculine studies." In fact, men's studies forms an important complement to women's studies and deserves to stand as an important element of rhetorical studies as well. Anyone interested in exploring the overlapping fields of rhetoric, on the one hand, and ideologies and practices of masculinity, on the other, will find The Rhetoric ofManhood: Masculinity in the Attic Orators an important resource for scholars of ancient rhetoric and rhetorical theory more generally despite the fairly narrow focus revealed by the subtitle. As the full title suggests, Roisman has limited his focus to one genre— ancient oratory—which in turn further limits his study to a roughly onehundred year span of Athenian history, from the late fifth century to the 320s bce. In practice, the focus is even narrower, as this study must inevitably rely most heavily on a small handful of orators (chiefly Demosthenes and Lysias) with the largest corpus of orations. However, this tight methodological lens brings its own benefits, and in fact is less restricting than it might at first appear to be. In the first place, as Roisman himself notes (quoting Loraux), the context for ancient oratory—the political life of the city and its citizens— was so thoroughly imbricated with notions of masculinity that "the true name of the citizen is really aner [man], meaning that sexual identity comes first" (1). Thus what it meant to be a virtuous citizen, friend, and speaker, a benefit to friends and a harm to enemies, can be seen as largely co-terminous within the political and legal arena with what it meant to be a virtuous and capable man in general. Reviews 335 Further, though ancient oratory was once suspect as too rhetorical to be reliable as historical evidence, it is now valued as an important resource precisely because it depends for its effectiveness on its believability to its audience. More than any other genre, oratory had to appeal to beliefs that the audience was willing to accept. This does not mean that orations accurately reflect social practices and behaviors, but it does suggest that they remain within the bounds of what politically active Athenian men thought they and their city valued, and how it ought to put those values into practice. This study of ancient orations turns out to be a particularly valuable resource for self-representations of and for Athenian men. The Athenian masculine ideology that Roisman discovers turns out to be quite broad and complex, including standards of behavior in youth (chapter 1); the roles and responsibilities of the adult male as husband, father, kin, friend, and citizen; the role of shame (chapter 3); the relationship between masculinity and social status (chapter 4); military service (chapter 5); the struggle for power (chapter 6); the negotiation of desire and self-control (chapter 7); the mastery of fear (chapter 8); and old age (chapter 9). Of particular interest for historians of rhetoric in this context are sections devoted to the struggle for political power and assertions of manliness be­ tween speakers and audiences. Roisman reveals not only the value of oratory as a source of information about masculine ideology in ancient Greece but shows as well how oratory was...

ABSTRACT Though many sophists were interested in the nature and power of logos, there were strong reasons for them not to set up as teachers of the art of verbal manipulation. Whatever Aristophanes and Plato may imply, sophists would have been foolish to advertise a persuasive skill divorced from knowledge and moral authority. “Sophists without Rhetoric” Andrew Ford The aim of this chapter is to examine a particular rhetoric of socialization which has in the latter part of the twentieth century fallen from view despite its significance in Hellenic antiquity, that of Athenian law. “Legal Instruction in Classical Athens” Yun Lee Too This paper suggests a view of ancient Greek rhetoric that embraces multiple media and that emphasizes rhetorical interaction as a form of cultural reproduction through visual and spatial means, and it illustrates the importance of these elements with reference to the ancient Athenian assembly place, the Pnyx and the Greek concept of eusynoptos .

In rhetorical studies recent attention to the central role of pedagogy in the formation of disciplinary identity has obscured the disciplinary-based differences in the presentation of the history of rhetoric in English and communication classrooms. This essay surveys introductory rhetoric textbooks to contrast our presentations of rhetorical history.

Presents a debate between traditionalist ideas from Xin Lin Gale and postmodern ideas from Cheryl Glenn and Susan Jarratt. Quotes Gale who says that you cannot have it both ways, foundational and antifoundational: using the historical evidence to champion Aspasia while at the same time "reclaiming" her from the biases of those very documents. Notes Jarratt’s response to the contrary.

Research Article| August 01 1999 Short Reviews: Taming Democracy: Models of Political Rhetoric in Democratic Athens, by Harvey Yunis, Rhetoric Reclaimed: Aristotle and the Liberal Arts Tradition, by Janet M. Atwill, Two Greek Rhetorical Treatises from the Roman Empire: Introduction, Text, and Translation of the Arts of Rhetoric Attributed to Anonymous Seguerianus and to Apsines of Gadara, by Mervin R. Dilts and George A. Kennedy, Language and Society in Early Modern England, by Vivian Salmon, Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes, by Quentin Skinner and Rhetorical Hermeneutics: Invention and Interpretation in the Age of Science, by Alan G Gross and William M. Keith Harvey Yunis,Taming Democracy: Models of Political Rhetoric in Democratic Athens (Ithaca, NY: Comell University Press, 1996) xv + 316pp.Janet M. Atwill,Rhetoric Reclaimed: Aristotle and the Liberal Arts Tradition (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998) 265pp.Mervin R. Dilts and George A. Kennedy eds. Two Greek Rhetorical Treatises from the Roman Empire: Introduction, Text, and Translation of the Arts of Rhetoric Attributed to Anonymous Seguerianus and to Apsines of Gadara, Mnemosyne Supplement 168 (Leiden: E. J. Brill 1997) xxvii + 249 pp.Vivian Salmon,Language and Society in Early Modern England (The Netherlands: John Benjamfris, 1996) 276 pp.Quentin Skinner,Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) xvi + 477 pp.Alan G Gross and William M. Keith eds. Rhetorical Hermeneutics: Invention and Interpretation in the Age of Science (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997) 371 pp. Michael Svoboda, Michael Svoboda C/O The Joanne Rockwell Memorial House, 1910 E. Jefferson Street, Baltimore, Maryland 21205, USA Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar James Fredal, James Fredal Department of English, 164 W. 17th Avenue, The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio 43210, USA Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar John T. Kirby, John T. Kirby Program in Comparative Literature, Purdue University, SC 1354, West Lafayette, Indiana 47907, USA Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Linda C. Mitchell, Linda C. Mitchell Department of English, One Washington Square, San Jose State University, San Jose, California 95192-0090, USA Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Wade Williams, Wade Williams Department of English, The University of Puget Sound, 1500 North Warner, Tacoma, Washington 98416, USA Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Judy Z Segal Judy Z Segal Department of English, University of British Columbia, #397-1873 East Mall, Vancouver, British Columbia, V6T1Z1, Canada Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Rhetorica (1999) 17 (3): 331–346. https://doi.org/10.1525/rh.1999.17.3.331 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Peer Review Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Tools Icon Tools Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Michael Svoboda, James Fredal, John T. Kirby, Linda C. Mitchell, Wade Williams, Judy Z Segal; Short Reviews: Taming Democracy: Models of Political Rhetoric in Democratic Athens, by Harvey Yunis, Rhetoric Reclaimed: Aristotle and the Liberal Arts Tradition, by Janet M. Atwill, Two Greek Rhetorical Treatises from the Roman Empire: Introduction, Text, and Translation of the Arts of Rhetoric Attributed to Anonymous Seguerianus and to Apsines of Gadara, by Mervin R. Dilts and George A. Kennedy, Language and Society in Early Modern England, by Vivian Salmon, Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes, by Quentin Skinner and Rhetorical Hermeneutics: Invention and Interpretation in the Age of Science, by Alan G Gross and William M. Keith. Rhetorica 1 August 1999; 17 (3): 331–346. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/rh.1999.17.3.331 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search Dropdown Menu toolbar search search input Search input auto suggest filter your search All ContentRhetorica Search Copyright 1999, The International Society for the History of Rhetoric1999 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal You do not currently have access to this content.

Reviews 333 Yunis distorts the Phaedrus by bending it too harshly to his thesis. The setting of the dialogue and the focal relationship of the lovers both argue, in my view, against an endorsement of political discourse. Yunis' suggestion that the demos can be treated as having a single soul and, thus, as subject to the dialogue's rhetorical psychology strikes me as akin to pious efforts to allegorize The Song of Solomon. Nevertheless, by interpreting Plato in the dramatic political context of his time, Yunis succeeds in making Plato's dialogues on rhetoric more compelling objects of study for our time. I recommend the book highly. MICHAEL SVOBODA The Pennsylvania State University Janet M. Atwill, Rhetoric Reclaimed: Aristotle and the Liberal Arts Tradition (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998) 265pp. Following Achilles' death near the end of the Trojan War, the chieftains held a debate to determine whether Odysseus or Ajax should win his armor. Ajax claimed the armor based not only on his legendary strength, but on his strength of character, his steadfast loyalty, bravery and self-control in battle. He was governed by a proper sense of shame and honor, corresponding to a code of behavior that guaranteed the propriety of his actions. Odysseus, by contrast, used shameless tricks and deceptions to defeat his enemies, even allowing his slaves to beat him so that, dressed in rags, he could sneak behind the walls of Troy, accomplishing in one night what the entire Achaean army couldn't accomplish in ten years. He makes the weaker appear to be the stronger. Odysseus wins the armor, for good or ill, but the contest represented by constant Ajax and wily Odysseus would continue to saturate ancient Greek public discourse. Are skills at trickery, deception and craft to be valued for their effectiveness, or despised for their dangers? Ought rhetoric to reproduce stable, normative subjects governed by traditional conventions of 334 RHETORICA conduct (like Ajax)? Or does it rather teach crafty arts of social intervention through cunning self-reformation answerable only to the specific exigencies of context and advantage (like Odysseus)? In Rhetoric Reclaimed, Margaret Atwill challenges us to rethink the question of techne, not only in terms of Greek rhetoric, but in terms of contemporary liberal arts education. For Atwill, the liberal arts tradition has long been committed to reproducing normative subjects defined in terms of a universal human "nature", in terms of a foundationalist faith in objective knowledge, and of a reductive scale of value whose end is the acquisition of knowledge. These models of subjectivity, knowledge and value, argues Atwill, coalesce to form what is now termed "the humanities", whose business "is not so much the dissemination of knowledge or competencies as it is the production of a particular 'kind' of subject" (p. 18). This educational paradigm naturalizes the contingent, universalizes the particular, and privatizes the public: claims by now familiar to students of various current postmoderisms. But despite its deformation into a theoretical discipline by scholars like Plato and, later, Grimaldi and Cope, rhetoric was always more than just a tool for normative subject formation. It was in the hands of Protagoras, Isocrates and Aristotle a productive art (a techne) of "seizing the advantage", of social and political intervention, of creating possibilities and transforming existing social structures (a la Odysseus). Atwill's goal is to rethink current classroom goals and methods within the humanities by "reclaiming" rhetoric; to ask "What forums are available and what must be invented to enable the kind of political agency that was once the primary aim of rhetorical instruction?" (p. 210). In her approach to this question, Atwill discusses a wide variety of texts, from Hesiod to Aristotle, unpacking the meaning of techne and rhetoric's place as productive art within that tradition. Atwill develops terms like techne in important ways, but avoids connecting the discussion to related terms (like metis—cunning intelligence, hexis, or habitus all terms used by Bourdieu, upon whom she relies). She does not pursue the important subjectivity/knowledge/value equation with which she Reviews 335 begins. And she never fully answers the question posed by the structure of the book. How does a revised understanding of rhetoric as an...