Gambling affected the mental apparatus that people employed to understand the world around them as well as their own desires and compulsions. Casino gambling established a psychological dynamic perfectly calibrated to drive people to the edge of madness. The “storm” of despair generated by a loss, never compensated by a corresponding elation coming with a win, can overwhelm the player and leave them incapable of self-direction. Descriptions of the psychological effects of addiction – not only how those behaviors were formed through repetition but also how they resulted in a person whose entire world had shrunk – indicate how the machinery of Blanc-style casino gambling affected people in new and profound ways.

The casino provided a unique location to probe the logic of chance for those seeking to understand fortune and misfortune, causation and correlation. Chance helped generate predictability. When we shift to consider the picture of luck that emerges, we see that it is exhibited in various systems designed to generate wins at the gambling table, lured to a person to through any number of bizarre superstitions, and made the object of social scientific inquiry. Luck was something that people could generate, manufacture, cultivate, or capture. This element of human agency speaks to a vision of the world that promoted the basic idea of human agency while also acknowledging its limits. Gambling systems and superstitions, especially when they did not rest on the foundation of the “maturity of chances,” were at their heart modern attempts to bend luck to one’s side.

The epilogue draws out some broader conclusions from this study, encouraging us to rethink traditional narratives of ancient literary history. Archaic poets already participated in a sophisticated and well-developed allusive system, and Hellenistic/Roman poets’ ‘footnoting’ habits are not as novel, bookish or scholarly as we might think. The epilogue further asks why these indices have not been identified or studied at such length before; it explores variation in indexical practice across genres and time; and it highlights further avenues for further research.

The Stoics break with Plato and Aristotle, who envisaged the value that makes a life worth living as a degree or part of the value that makes a life happy. Instead, they establish two separate axiological scales, one that determines whether a life is happy, and another one that determines whether it is worth living. The former contains virtue and vice, or what is good and bad, whereas the latter is defined by the so-called preferred and dispreferred indifferents, such as health, wealth or renown. This allows for the possibility that a virtuous and happy person sometimes ought to depart from life, when they do not have a prospect of a life worth living, while a vicious and unhappy person ought to stay alive, when they have such a prospect. This decoupling of the happy life from the worthwhile life is consistent with the Stoic view that life itself is a preferred indifferent, and hence the deliberations about staying alive should be referred to other preferred indifferents rather than to virtue and vice.

The book’s final chapter argues that the various elements of fairy belief as we might recognise it, including belief in an underground otherworld inhabited by sometimes pygmy-sized otherworlders, the connection between fairies and fate, and the sexual aspects of fairy activity, were brought together as a direct result of the Norman Conquest. The key role played in the Conquest by Breton nobles who felt a cultural affinity with the Cornish and Welsh, combined with the Normans’ desire to escape the English past, resulted in the crafting of a new ‘British’ identity for the whole island of Great Britain by authors with a Brittonic cultural background such as Geoffrey of Monmouth, Gerald of Wales and Walter Map. These authors united elements of English and Brittonic folklore to fashion a new fairy world that was subsequently adopted as the setting for literary romances and became the background to late medieval popular belief.

This chapter provides an introduction to poet and composer Ivor Gurney’s responses to war, predominantly in poetry, but also in his music. It explores the strategies used by Gurney in the face of war; his sense of fate; his use of, and response to, place; his representation of the ordinary soldier; and his responses to the conflict through the lens of writings by Walt Whitman and Leo Tolstoi.

In the Oresteia’s central scene, Cassandra tells of being cursed by Apollo to foretell the future but be disbelieved. The Trojan princess, who “cheated” the god in a violent sexual encounter, who survived her city’s extirpation, goes to her own known doom bravely, predicting Agamemnon’s death and vengeance to come. Yet there is an unexplored aspect to this famous and moving scene – Cassandra’s hint of her own continuation in the afterlife. It seems (eoika) to her that she will soon be singing prophecies in Hades. This chapter argues that attention to Cassandra’s potential afterlife changes how we view her prophecies of death and vengeance, her rebellion against Apollo and Clytemnestra, her bravery, her language of closure, and the ironies each of these entail. Moreover, the “poetics of plurality” uncovered in Cassandra’s statement and its uncertain status sophisticate and perhaps even reverse our understanding of her fate.

An in-depth analysis of ageing can assist us in developing a deeper understanding of human temporality and its relevance for the good life. The experience of growing old makes clear that life is essentially a process in time with a particular temporal extension and structure that has important eudaemonic implications. Taking ageing as the starting point and frame of reference, I distinguish three ethically relevant levels of human temporality that become manifest in the process of ageing: the fundamental co-ordinates and parameters of human existence in time; the culturally variable models of the life course and life stages; and the unique individual trajectory through life and its narrative interpretation. These considerations underline the need for a more appropriate appreciation of the temporal dimension and structure of human existence in ethical discussions about the good life.

Mark Ford’s chapter on the prose style of Thomas Hardy’s fiction discerns something involuntary and dishevelled about Hardy’s style. Early reviewers lamented its bad taste and haphazard manner. But this chapter shows that therein lies a source of the novels’ power. Moments of scenic description and unexpected encounters are reviewed to reveal that the achieved faltering of Hardy’s style suggests the prose recognizing its own struggling efforts to come to terms with overmastering nature and fate.

In his treatises De divinatione and De fato, Cicero discusses the possibility of the prediction of future events. His understanding of divination in these philosophical works differs significantly from accepted Roman practice. Thus, De divinatione should not be read as a handbook on Roman divination. Rather, it should be read alongside De fato as an exhortation to act in the service of the res publica after the death of Caesar. Rather than denying outright that divination is real, Cicero seeks to refute the more superstitious divinatory practices current in Rome, all of which he attaches to the individual rather than to the political community to which he has dedicated his life. Among these superstitious views are the belief that humanity is subject to impersonal fate and therefore that human responsibility is curtailed. In writing for a Roman audience, Cicero denies both the notion that men cannot be responsible for their own actions, thus rejecting the idea of fate, as well as the existence of divination in the context of a deterministic worldview.

This chapter examines Calcidius' position vis-à-vis and use of Stoicism, focusing on the themes of Providence and fate, the human soul, and matter, and argues that the Stoic influence is much stronger than commonly assumed, despite an overt polemic.

This chapter examines Calcidius' use of Aristotle, focusing on the topics of fate, the human soul, and matter.

This chapter argues that Providence is one of the key themes of the commentary, and examines how Calcidius (1) harmonizes Providence and fate with human free will through a notion of hypothetical necessity; and (2) refutes determinist positions, among which the Stoic view.

focuses on longer-term life planning and the role of learning involved in it, drawing specifically on the work of the macroeconomist Robert Lucas. Taking one ethnographic example from Taiwan, the author asks questions about Lucas’s account of human capital, examining among other things questions about fate in economic life and processes of modernisation in seemingly traditional societies.

In Book 1 of On divination, Cicero’s brother Quintus, who is not a Stoic, presents the Stoic case that all the many forms of divination at Rome are channels of divine communication. He does so explicitly in response to the arguments of On the nature of the gods, to strengthen the case that the gods care for us. I argue that his speech, which scholars have often called confused, can be better understood once we see it as a continuation of On the nature of the gods. For he speaks about not the, or even one, Stoic defence of divination, but rather two different Stoic views. The first is the view of Chrysippus, according to which divination was an art of interpreting messages from the gods. This view was challenged by the skeptic Carneades, and Cotta reissued some of this challenge in On the nature of the gods. Quintus recruits a new view in answer to this challenge, according to which some divination (e.g. augury, haruspicy, astrology) is artificial in that its divination meaning is first discovered by an art, but some is natural, in that some dreams and oracles have divinatory meaning without the use of an art.

Though Chaucer seems to have matriculated at neither of England’s medieval universities, his acquaintance with philosophical ideas of the classical and medieval traditions is strikingly evident in his writings. He also had friends at the University of Oxford, including the ‘philosophical’ Strode to whom he dedicates Troilus and Criseyde. His principal textual authority was Boethius’ De consolatione philosophiae, but he also drew on the works of the Neoplatonic poets Alan of Lille and Bernard Silvester. The philosophical themes explored by these writers, which range from the origin and ordering of the universe to the function of nature and the relationship between fate and free will, are addressed in different ways in his literary narratives, perhaps most subtly and successfully in Troilus and Criseyde. Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis, on which the narrator dwells at the beginning of the Parliament of Fowls, was known to Chaucer through the commentary on this text produced by Macrobius, which itself supplied the classification of dreams that confounds the narrator of the House of Fame, and to which Pertelote wisely appeals in the interpretation of his own prophetic dream in the Nun’s Priest’s Tale. Though not typically remembered as a philosopher, Chaucer was certainly a philosophical poet.

Chaucer lived in a society that was aware of childhood and adolescence as distinctive stages of human life and which inherited practices whereby young people were brought up and trained for adulthood. Informally, at home, children were introduced to social norms, religion and work. Those from wealthier families underwent more formal education, mastering literacy at home, in schools or in great households, where they learnt reading, rules of courtesy, French and, in the case of some boys, Latin. Chaucer’s works refer in passing to most of these processes, with particular attention to adolescents, including university scholars. During the fifteenth century his works in general came to be seen as having educational value. The Astrolabe, first written for his son Lewis, seems to have been used for teaching reading to other young children while his major writings were recommended as suitable literature for older ones.