Temperance is a condition of a person’s physical appetites (for food, drink, and sexual contact) in which those appetites themselves conform to a rational standard. Temperance is possible for human beings because of the sophistication with which we can conceptualize the objects of our appetites and because an appetite’s object is internal to the appetite’s identity. A salmon steak construed as poisoned appeals to our appetite (and thus affects the pleasure of satisfying it) differently than one construed as healthful. Temperance differs from self-control, which doesn’t involve a conformity of the appetites themselves, but imposes rational control on unmodified appetites. The rational standard for temperance is the human good, which is the object of the virtues of caring. Thus, the temperate person’s physical appetites are such that, without being controlled, they fit the person to participate in an order of peace.

Lacan’s writings were for many decades the primary mode of access that the public had to his work. This was unfortunate because Lacan disdained writing and strove to write in a way that could not be readily understood. His oral seminars, which are now available, provide an enlightening contrast. This introduction concentrates on Lacan’s seminars to present a philosopher preoccupied with the problem of subjectivity and how the insights gleaned from psychoanalysis might be able to contribute to thinking through this problem. Many critics have wrongly associated Lacan with other French thinkers of his time, such as Jacques Derrida or Michel Foucault. This book will draw a significant contrast between them and highlight their irreconcilable differences.

In his Republic, Plato claims that we always do whatever we do in pursuit of the good. But in Book IV of the Republic, Plato shows that people can have attractions and aversive reactions at the same time toward the same objects or actions. In this essay, I argue that Plato’s recognition and use of aversion as a motivating response cannot be squared with what I call his ‘motivational monism’, that is, with the view that the pursuit of the good is the only thing that motivates us. Rather, as Plato’s own arguments show clearly, sometimes we don’t pursue what is good; instead, we act so as to avoid what is bad. I contend that this negative motivation cannot be wholly understood in terms of our positive interest in what is good.

As the providers of care work, women experienced the painful losses of male bodies during the Civil War acutely. This chapter explores the way Elizabeth Stuart Phelps used her works—particularly her successful sentimental novel, The Gates Ajar (1868)—to imagine faith as a way to manage this pain. Yet, Phelps’s popularity stemmed from the way her notion of faith also complicated the orthodox Calvinist belief in a disembodied spirit: an ontology premised on the soul’s difference from, and superiority to, the body. By developing what Phelps calls “spiritual materialism,” she puts the lived experience of embodiment at the very center of belief, not drifting or working between mind-centered and body-centered paradigms, as we have seen, but operating beyond them both at the level of faith. Precisely the way this re-embodied faith moves beyond mind-centered and body-centered ontologies allows Phelps’s sentimental novel itself to move beyond the restrictive gender politics of sentimentalism, “minding the body” to tell a less repressive story of domesticity and reveal a more capacious understanding of female desire.

Explores the interaction between love poetry and philosophy in Ovid and Plato. The philosophical uncertainty that results from Ovid’s visions of fluid ontologies is not restricted to the Metamorphoses but can also be identified in his earlier elegiac work, as love too is subject to constant change. Love and desire are also frequently theorized in ancient philosophy, with Ovid’s didactic Ars Amatoria integrating and distorting elements of this tradition. Its combination of a speculative approach to love with manipulative rhetoric, all with the goal of fostering and pursuing the object of desire, has clear precedents in the philosophical tradition, most notably Plato’s Symposium and Phaedrus. The nature of love, however, remains fundamentally elusive, and its definition something of a paradox. The dangers of abduction and sexual assault, however, remain a dark undercurrent in both Ovid’s and Plato’s works. This danger is closely associated with poetry in the Phaedrus, which includes myths of abduction and metamorphosis that internally disrupt the philosophical dimensions of the dialogue. Comparisons are also drawn between passages from the Symposium and Phaedrus and Ovid’s narratives of Narcissus and Hermaphroditus from the Metamorphoses.

Previous chapters have examined forms of action that the standard belief-desire model ignores. This chapter starts to dig deeper into the standard model itself. It is about how decisions get made (especially decisions that are commonly described as conscious ones), and about how those decisions subsequently give rise to actions. It draws on the scientific literature on prospection and on what is often called “neuroeconomics” to argue that valence (pleasure and displeasure) is the common currency of all decision-making. It also argues that the goals and intentions that result from decision-making are real, and distinct from beliefs and affective forms of desire. The chapter begins by showing that the ordinary notion of desire conflates two very different kinds of mental state, however, and it concludes by discussing how intentions and affective desires interact when they conflict.

The standard philosophical model of intentional action-explanation appeals to states of belief and desire to do the explaining. This chapter evaluates what philosophers have had to say about the nature of desire. Chapter 5 showed that the ordinary notion of desire encompasses two very different kinds of mental state: goals and intentions, on the one hand, and affective or emotion-like forms of desire, on the other. The focus here is on the latter. The chapter shows that desires of this sort always incorporate anticipatory pleasure, and that pleasure itself is an analog-magnitude representation of value. The chapter begins with what the science can tell us about the respective natures of pleasure and desire, before comparing the results with claims made by armchair-philosophers. Many of the latter are false, albeit sometimes containing partial insights.

This chapter discusses the relationship of the imagination to Christian eschatology. It gives an account of the function of eschatological imagery in the Bible, discusses the changing ways in which art and literature have engaged Christian eschatology, and concludes with an account of a distinctly eschatological imagination.

This chapter moves from the imaginative inhabitation of the world in general to the question of religious faith in particular. Religious faith concerns both the objects of perception and their frame: God is both an object of (partly imaginative) apprehension and a frame for our perception of the world at large. Drawing on both anthropological and psychological scholarship and on C. S. Lewis’s theory of transposition, the chapter examines the inalienable role of imagination in the perception of God and the necessary limits of such imaginative engagement. It concludes with a discussion of the significance of acknowledging experiences that do not make sense.

I loathe everything to do with The People,’ writes Callimachus, and this (public) turning away from the public poetry of the fifth century is a stance, a gesture, repeated in a multiformity of guises throughout the texts of the Hellenistic period. Although the practices of literary production, performance and circulation are known in even less detail for this period than for the fifth century (and many questions about, say, the constitution of the public of Hellenistic literature are simply not answerable with any security), none the less there are much-discussed and highly significant shifts both in the conditions of literary production and in the presentation of the poet’s voice which require some brief introductory remarks.

The chapter reflects on four approaches to desire present in American science fiction: normalization, displacement, reification, and reimagining. Fanfiction or fanfiction-adjacent novels such as Becky Chambers’ The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (2014) are set in queernormative worlds and as such normalize queer desire. Feminist depictions of separatist women’s communities, such as Joanna Russ’s “When It Changed” (1972), Nicole Griffith’s Ammonite (1993) or Larissa Lai’s The Tiger Flu (2018), displace queer desire, situating lesbian sex and pleasures in the background of the narrative concerned with the social and political implications of a world without men. In Samuel R. Delany’s “Aye, and Gomorrah” (1967) and Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Book of Joan (2017) desire is reified as it serves as a condition of full humanity. Finally, stories of human/nonhuman encounters seem to lend themselves particularly well to the efforts to reimagine desire. In Octavia E. Butler’s Xenogenesis trilogy (1987-9) and Annalee Newitz’s Autonomous (2017), alien and robot characters experience desire and pleasure as diffused and independent of binary sex/gender systems.

Comics that represent nonheteronormative sexualities and diverse genders make up part but not the whole of the vital history of queerness in the medium. The emergence and uptake of comics in feminist and LGBTQA spaces tell important, divergent stories about the politics of cultural production and interpretation. A queer account of comics history recalls the development of the medium as a staging ground for fantasies and for challenges to prevailing mores; controversies over the availability of sexually provocative material in print and digital formats; the changing significance of longstanding icons amid generational shifts in youth cultures.

A common view of the Gorgias is that Plato is portraying the limits of Socratic discussion. Interlocutors become hostile, little agreement seems reached, and conversation breaks down. Furthermore, non-rational forces, by which may be included pleasures, pains, epithumiai, and the pathos of eros, come to the fore at various points. These twin factors have led to a growing consensus that what is shown is that discussion is not effective with persons in whom non-rational forces are strong. This chapter questions this consensus, bolstering Socrates’ optimistic reply to Callicles, that if the same things are examined “often and better”, Callicles will be persuaded. It argues that dialogue is a normative practice, which exemplifies the virtues that constitute its subject matter; this enables greater appreciation of how it can play a role in shaping cognition and behaviour. If values are involved in the very operation of dialogue, then participants can become accustomed to the values that form the explicit content of discussion by learning to adhere correctly to its form. Seen as such, Socratic argument is not just determined by the desires of its participants (unlike rhetoric), but is capable of shaping them.

Polus admires orators for their tyrannical power. However, Socrates argues that orators and tyrants lack power worth having: the ability to satisfy one’s wishes or wants (boulêseis). He distinguishes wanting from thinking best, and grants that orators and tyrants do what they think best while denying that they do what they want. His account is often thought to involve two conflicting requirements: wants must be attributable to the wanter from their own perspective (to count as their desires), but wants must also be directed at objects that are genuinely good (in order for failure to satisfy them to matter). We offer an account of wanting as reflective, coherent desire, which allows Socrates to satisfy both desiderata. We then explain why he thinks that orators and tyrants want to act justly, though they do greater injustices than anyone else and so frustrate their own wants more than anyone else.