There has been no dearth, since Plutarch’s day at least, of erudite theories about what message the E at Apollo’s temple was meant to convey to visitors. Yet no account so far has added up to a truly compelling answer, not for lack of ingenuity, but because the various approaches have tended so strongly towards the sophisticated and artful, rather than the probable. This article will review why the familiar answers are more impressive than convincing, and will propose in their place a much simpler explanation: namely that the E was meant to represent the mysterious itself, reminding pilgrims that they were entering a realm where logos continued to hold sway, to be sure, as the other inscriptions testified, but where the human intellect must leave room for mantic wisdom, and where logical reasoning must be supplemented with contemplation and meditation upon the enigmatic, the hidden, and the ineffable.

As against the abiding popular image of the ever-dauntless Spartans, serious commentators have long recognized what a central part fear played in Lacedaemonian life: fear of the helots, fear of the laws, fear of defeat and dishonour and disgrace, without hope of respite this side of the grave. Yet the full implications of such a life, forever suspended most precariously ‘between shame and glory’ as Jean-Pierre Vernant put it, have not been drawn out, especially with respect to its supposed beneficiaries, the Spartiates, who were sacrificed to its merciless logic no less than those they were keeping under such brutal subjugation. This essay proposes to close the gap by fitting together the dispersed pieces and presenting a more comprehensive picture of the silent anxieties and hidden miseries of the vaunted masters of Sparta who purchased their dominion at so frightful a price, not only to others, but also to themselves.

The charge that the Reformation heralded a triumph of confessional party over religion and fostered a spirit of division, discord, and strife is not an unfamiliar one. The thought of Jean Calvin, in particular, has been found responsible, by Karl Barth among others, for rousing its followers to militancy. As this essay will show, however, Calvin's actual positions point in a rather more irenic direction. Thus the first section of the essay addresses common misconceptions about the role of military metaphor in Calvin's writings. Section II draws attention to the integral importance for Calvin's theology of the Gospel call to unity, concord, and peace not only among Christians but all mankind. Section III examines Calvin's cautious treatment of actual fighting and war, and section IV draws together the argument by reference to Calvin's discussion of political authority and the tasks of the state.

Hegel on Ethics and Politics, Robert B. Pippin and Otfried Höffe, eds., translated by Nicholas Walker; The German Philosophical Tradition Series; Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004, pp. 358

In a better world, all books involving Kant or Hegel might come with a reverse price tag. Instead of making prospective readers pay for the privilege, they would encourage and reward the gruelling labour facing those who would brave the convoluted prose, the merciless grind of thousand-word paragraphs lecturing in German no matter the language in which they appear to be written. In our own world, of course, such learned works tend to be especially expensive, a whopping hundred dollars in this case.