SI

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Si

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sibidieno – Ossia: Grice e Sibidieno -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sibidieno The gens Sibidiena, sometimes written Sabidiena, was an obscure plebeian family at ancient Rome. No members of this gens attained any of the higher offices of the Roman state, but several are known from inscriptions.  Origin The nomen Sibidienus belongs to a class of names ending in -enus, typically derived from other gentilicia, or sometimes from cognomina. Sibidienus would seem to be derived from Sabidius, or perhaps from its derivative, Sabidianus. Gentilicia of this type were common in Umbria and Picenum, and most of the Sibidieni known from inscriptions seem to have lived at or near Tuficum in Umbria, from which it appears that the Sibidieni may have been of Umbrian origin, although the surname Sabinus borne by some of the family suggest that they may have been Sabines.[1]  Praenomina The main praenomina of the Sibidieni were Lucius and Gaius, the two most common names throughout all periods of Roman history. It also appears that the Sibidieni at one time used Spurius, a praenomen that had been common in Republican times, but which had become increasingly scarce, and finally disappeared under the early Empire.  Branches and cognomina The only distinct family of the Sibidieni lived at Tuficum in Umbria, but they do not appear to have been divided into separate branches. Sabinus, the only surname known to have been passed down among the Sibidieni, belongs to a class of cognomina typically indicating the place of origin of an individual or family, and suggests that the Sabidieni either were, or claimed descent from the Sabines. Maximus, borne by one or two of the family, was typically given to an eldest son, or bestowed on someone who had earned great honor or distinction. Scaeva, borne by an ancestor of the Sabini, originally designated someone left-handed, but could also refer to someone particularly lucky, or unlucky.[2][3]  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Sabidienus Paulus, a rhetorician early in imperial times, whose ineptitude is noted by Seneca the Elder. Sabidienus' description of Cicero's defense of Popillius made it sound as though it were Popillius guiding Cicero out of peril.[4] Lucius Sibidienus, named in an inscription from Tuficum in Umbria, along with Gaius Sibidienus Maximus.[5] Spurius Sabidienus (Falisleius?), the master of Artemo, a slave named in an inscription from Minturnae in Latium. Sibidienus Maximus, a centurion in the fifteenth legion.[6] Gaius Sibidienus C. f. Maximus, a military tribune in the second cohort of the praetorian guard.[5][7] Lucius Sibidienus L. f. Scaeva, the father of Lucius Sibidienus Sabinus, the military tribune, named in an inscription from Tuficum.[8] Lucius Sibidienus L. f. L. n. Sabinus, was at various times a military tribune, curator of the roads and bridges of Umbria and Picenum, and procurator of Africa. He was patron of the municipium of Attidium in Umbria. He married Autia Vera. His inscriptions seem to place him between AD 50 and 70.[9] Lucius Sibidienus Sabinus, a tribune in the fifth cohort of the vigiles at Rome, at the beginning of the third century.[10] See also List of Roman gentes References  Chase, p. 118.  Chase, pp. 109, 111, 114.  New College Latin & English Dictionary, s. vv. scaeva, scaevus.  Seneca the Elder, Controversiae, vii. 2.  CIL XI, 5703.  CIL III, 14358,21a.  CIL XI, 5704, CIL XI, 5705, CIL XI, 8056.  CIL XI, 5707.  CIL XI, 5673, CIL XI, 5689, CIL XI, 5706, CIL XI, 8058.  CIL VI, 1057. Bibliography Lucius Annaeus Seneca (Seneca the Elder), Controversiae. Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). John C. Traupman, The New College Latin & English Dictionary, Bantam Books, New York (1995). Category: Roman gentes And from THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sibidieno – Ossia: Grice e Sibidieno -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sibidieno For the Sibidieni, I think the first-best choice is unquestionably Sabidienus Paulus, the unfortunate rhetorician preserved by Seneca the Elder. Why? Because unlike most members of the gens, he actually survives through a reported misdescription, and misdescription is catnip for Grice. The entry tells us that Seneca notes his ineptitude because, in describing Cicero's defence of Popillius, he managed to make it sound as though Popillius was rescuing Cicero, rather than Cicero rescuing Popillius. The source given is Seneca the Elder, Controversiae VII.2. That is almost a ready-made Gricean disaster. Grice e Sabidieno Paolo: Quis Quem Servat? PAULVS. Popillius Ciceronem ex periculo duxit. (Popillius led Cicero out of danger.) +> Popillius appears to be the benefactor. AUDITOR. Nonne Cicero Popillium defendebat? (Was not Cicero defending Popillius?) +> The expected agency has been reversed. PAULVS. Id ipsum dixi. (That is exactly what I said.) +> The speaker fails to recognize the pragmatic effect of his wording. AUDITOR. Non dixisti. (You did not.) +> The literal wording and the intended meaning have diverged. GRICE. Quid voluit dicere aliud est; quid dixit aliud. (What he meant to say is one thing; what he said is another.) +> Speaker-meaning and sentence-meaning have come apart.  What makes Paulus especially attractive is that the error is not merely factual. The problem is one of role assignment:  defender ↔ defended helper ↔ helped agent ↔ beneficiary  The names are all present, yet the communicative burden collapses because the relations are inverted. Grice would immediately ask:  Did Paulus mean that Popillius saved Cicero?  Almost certainly not. Then:  Why do we understand him as saying it?  Because the linguistic form assigns agency in precisely that way. The whole anecdote thus becomes a miniature illustration of the difference between:  intended meaning, conventional meaning, hearer uptake. But Sabidienus Paulus is much more characteristically Speranzian. He survives not because of an office, but because he committed a communicative blunder memorable enough for Seneca to preserve. Dry Speranzian formula  Most rhetoricians are remembered for eloquence. Sabidienus Paulus is remembered because he accidentally made Cicero the client and Popillius the advocate. Grice would regard this as a useful failure: the speaker intended one ordering of the world and uttered another. Seneca laughed; philosophy took notes. A good question. I do not think Seneca's anecdote about Sabidienus Paulus is a "typo" in our sense. A typo is a mechanical accident of writing:  Popillium accidentally typed for Ciceronem.  But Seneca's complaint is rhetorical and conceptual. The report (as summarized by later sources) is that Paulus described the situation in such a way that the direction of assistance was reversed. Cicero was defending Popillius, yet Paulus' formulation made it sound as though Popillius was rescuing Cicero. The likely causes are therefore things such as:  confusion of grammatical agency, careless arrangement of clauses, failure to keep track of subject and object, rhetorical over-embellishment, loss of the narrative point while striving for effect.  In modern terms, one might call it:  a role-reversal error,  or even:  a discourse-planning mistake.  Grice would be fascinated because the mistake is not lexical but pragmatic. Suppose I say:  "The student kindly explained the theorem to the professor."  In some contexts that may be perfectly fine. But if the whole story was supposed to celebrate the professor's expertise, the hearer may exclaim:  "You've inverted the relation!"  The words are grammatical. The communicative structure has collapsed. A little vignette: SABIDIENVS. Popillius Ciceronem servavit. (Popillius saved Cicero.) SENECA. Non erras verbo uno, sed tota fabula. (You are not wrong in one word, but in the whole story.) GRICE. The trouble is not the sentence but the assignment of roles. +> The utterer has failed to preserve the intended relation between agent and beneficiary. So I suspect Seneca's joke is precisely that Paulus was trying to sound elevated and rhetorical, and in doing so lost sight of who was helping whom. A typo is a slip of the fingers. Sabidienus' error was closer to a slip of the conceptual script. Dry Speranzian formula:  A typist exchanges letters. Sabidienus Paulus exchanged protagonists. Cicero entered the sentence as advocate and emerged as client. Seneca laughed because the grammar survived while the story died. Yes. The web result gives the exact passage, and it turns out that the famous mistake is even more specific than the summary usually suggests. Seneca says:  Inepte Sabidienus Paulus, qui induxit Ciceronem cum maxime pro Popillio orationem legentem. [loebclassics.com]  The Loeb translates:  "Sabidienus Paulus incongruously represented Cicero as just then reading his speech in defence of Popillius." [loebclassics.com]  Let's parse it:  inepte = ineptly, awkwardly, absurdly Sabidienus Paulus = the rhetorician induxit = "introduced", "brought on stage", a technical declamatory term Ciceronem = Cicero cum maxime = "at that very moment", "just then" pro Popillio = "on behalf of Popillius" orationem legentem = "reading the speech"  Literally:  "Sabidienus Paulus awkwardly introduced Cicero at the very moment of reading his speech in defence of Popillius." [loebclassics.com]  The problem is not a typo. It is a failure of dramatic perspective. The declamation concerns Popillius after murdering Cicero. The fictional setting presupposes Cicero is already dead. Yet Sabidienus suddenly "brings on" Cicero as if he were still alive reading Pro Popillio. Seneca's objection is that the declaimer has collapsed two different temporal levels of the story. [loebclassics.com], [latin.packhum.org] So the error is closer to what a modern critic would call:  an anachronism, a narrative inconsistency, a failure of dramatic framing,  rather than a mere grammatical slip. And that fits Seneca's opening adverb:  inepte.  Not "incorrectly" in a narrow linguistic sense, but "clumsily," "inartistically," "without realizing the dramatic consequences." [loebclassics.com] A Gricean way of putting it: SABIDIENVS. Introducam nunc Ciceronem legentem Pro Popillio. (I shall now introduce Cicero reading Pro Popillio.) SENECA. Sed Cicero iam mortuus est. (But Cicero is already dead.) +> The speaker has violated the presuppositions of his own dramatic world. So Seneca's complaint is subtler than "he mixed up subject and object." What survives in the anecdotal tradition is that Sabidienus lost control of the relationship between the different roles and stages of the narrative. A very Speranzian moral:  Sabidienus did not misspell a word; he misplaced a world. Seneca's inepte is the judgment that the declaimer forgot which conversational game his audience was already playing. [loebclassics.com] and why is Sabidienus in gens for gens S_I_bidienus? Thanks Because Sabidienus Paulus is, in effect, the only literary member of the gens that the compilers could find. The gens article is organized prosopographically: it collects everyone known to bear the nomen Sabidienus/Sibidienus, whether they are known from:  literary texts (Seneca, Cicero, Tacitus, etc.), or inscriptions (CIL, AE, etc.).  For the gens Sibidiena, most members come from inscriptions around Tuficum in Umbria. But Sabidienus Paulus is special because Seneca the Elder actually mentions him by name in the Controversiae. Hence he gets pride of place. There is also a spelling issue behind your question. The article itself notes:  The gens Septimuleia or Septumuleia... and for the Sibidieni: The nomen Sibidienus ... would seem to be derived from Sabidius...  In other words, we find both:  Sabidienus Sibidienus  in the manuscript and epigraphic tradition. The distinction between Sa- and Si- is not always stable. Roman names often survive through manuscript transmission, local pronunciation, stonecutters, copyists, and editors. The compilers therefore treat Sabidienus Paulus as belonging with the Sibidieni because the names are understood to be variant forms of the same nomen-family. So the inclusion is not because he was famous enough to found the gens. Rather:  The gens article needs at least one literary witness, and Seneca's Sabidienus Paulus happens to be the best-attested bearer of the name.  A Speranzian gloss: SABIDIENVS. Cur inter Sibidienos numeror? (Why am I counted among the Sibidieni?) GRAMMATICVS. Quia lapides "Sibidienus," libri "Sabidienus" tradunt. (Because the inscriptions transmit "Sibidienus" and the books transmit "Sabidienus".) GRICE. Same referent, variant form. +> The problem is orthographic rather than genealogical. And there is a tiny irony here: Sabidienus Paulus survives not because he was a great rhetorician, but because Seneca thought he made a memorable mistake. Without that inepte Sabidienus Paulus, the gens article would be almost entirely epigraphic.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sibidieno – Ossia: Grice e Sibidieno -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sibidieno A rival choice would be Lucius Sibidienus Sabinus, military tribune, curator of roads and bridges, and procurator of Africa. He is the most distinguished Sibidienus administratively.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Siciliani – Ossia: Grice e Siciliani: la ragione conversazionale e la critica della filosofia zoologica e la psico-genia di Vico. Note sul positivismo. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Pietro Siciliani (Galatina, Terra d’Otranto, Puglia): Grice: “La ragione conversazionale e la critica della filosofia zoologica e la psico-genia di Vico. Siciliani and Grice converge on the idea that reason is not an abstract faculty operating independently of human practices but is instead constituted and exercised within historically situated forms of interaction, yet they arrive there from different directions and with different emphases: Siciliani, working explicitly in the Vichian tradition, treats “ragione conversazionale” as an expression of a broader historical–civil rationality in which thought, language, institutions, and collective life develop organically together, so that meaning and normativity arise from psychogenetic and civic processes rather than from zoological or naturalistic reductions of the human mind; Grice, by contrast, reconstructs conversational reason analytically, not by appeal to national history or civil continuity, but by isolating the normative principles implicitly governing ordinary communicative practice, showing how meaning is generated and recognized through intentions, mutual attitudes, and rational expectations within conversation. Where Siciliani uses Vico to criticize philosophical zoology and globalized abstraction by insisting that rationality is inseparable from the lived historical identity of a people, Grice brackets such civil-historical commitments and asks how any rational agent, regardless of cultural provenance, can mean something by an utterance at all; yet the affinity is real, because Grice’s theory also rejects both biological psychologism and brute causal models of language, grounding meaning instead in a shared space of reasons that exists only through cooperative human action. In this sense, Siciliani’s Vichian conversational reason supplies a genealogical and cultural deepening of what Grice articulates in a formal, procedural key: for both, reason is neither zoological instinct nor detached logical calculus, but a normative achievement sustained by human interaction, with the difference that Siciliani locates its unity in the historical life of a civilization, while Grice locates it in the minimal rational structure presupposed by any genuine conversation. S.’s exploration of philosophical continuity via VICO  highlights a distinctive Italian trait: the  "historical-civil" method, which prioritises the organic development of a national culture over abstract globalist models. The Italian Philosophical Tradition Unlike many overseas "globalist" philosophical trends that favour universalism and ahistorical logic, S.'s approach emphasises several unique characteristics of the Italian tradition: Historical Realism: Rooted in VICO ’s scienza, this tradition views human truth (verum) as synonymous with what is made or done by humans (factum). S. seeks to reconcile positivism with this historical consciousness, arguing that scientific progress must align with a nation's specific historical identity rather than being imported as a generic template. Civil Continuity: S. identifies a lineage connecting VICO ’s "heroic age" to the contemporary Italian state, positioning philosophy as an instrument for civil education rather than just abstract speculation. Cultural Particularism: In globalist scenarios, local traditions are often viewed as obstacles to universal rationality. By contrast, S. uses VICO  to demonstrate that true progress occurs through the "creative transformation" of one's own national heritage.  Rare Trait vs. Globalist Scenarios Identity over Abstraction: While overseas globalist philosophies often seek a "view from nowhere," S.’s work suggests that philosophy is inextricably linked to the political and social reality of its people. la ragion teologica. psico-genia di Vico, ateneo felsineo, l’unita organica della filosofia, zoologia filosofica, psicogenia, “I principii metafisici di Vico. Grice: Caro Siciliani, permettimi una riflessione da “gentiluomo accademico”: Collingwood e Hampshire, là nella selvaggia Vadus Boum—come chiamiamo affettuosamente la nostra “università” (o meglio, il nostro “ateneo”)—hanno in qualche modo mantenuto vivo lo spirito di Vico. Se questo non è un ossimoro: lo spirito, per definizione, non può che essere vivo! Siciliani: Ah, Grice, mi colpisce come tu riesca sempre a cogliere il legame tra la tradizione e l’attualità. Vico, infatti, ci ha insegnato che la verità nasce dal “factum,” dall’azione umana, e proprio per questo la sua filosofia respira ancora tra noi, proprio negli atenei dove la storia si intreccia con la cultura. Grice: Vico, con la sua “psico-genia” e la civiltà organica, ha avuto una visione che va oltre l’abstract universale. In fondo, come direbbe un vecchio proverbio italiano, “ogni terra ha la sua storia”—e la filosofia vera si radica nell’identità culturale, non in modelli globalisti importati. Siciliani: Esatto, Grice! La filosofia italiana si distingue proprio per questa continuità storica e civile. Solo attraverso la “trasformazione creativa” della nostra eredità nazionale possiamo costruire un pensiero autentico. Del resto, come dicevano i nostri maestri: “la ragione teologica e la psico-genia sono il cuore pulsante della nostra tradizione.” Siciliani, Pietro (1859). Dissertazione. Sotto Cesare Studiati. Facolta di Medicina, Pisa.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sicinio – Ossia: Grice e Sicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia -- Sicinia Denarius of Quintus Sicinius, 49 BC. The obverse features a head of Fortuna. The reverse depicts a laurel wreath, a palm frond, and a caduceus, emblems of a triumph, indicating Sicinius' hope for a Pompeian victory. The gens Sicinia was a plebeian family at ancient Rome. Members of this gens occur throughout the history of the Republic, but only one of them obtained the consulship, Titus Sicinius Sabinus in 487 BC. Throughout the long Conflict of the Orders, the Sicinii were celebrated for their efforts on behalf of the plebeians.[1]  Origin The only hint as to the origin of the Sicinii comes from the surname Sabinus, applied to one of the first members of this family appearing in history. Sabinus belongs to a common class of surnames derived from the names of peoples or localities, and suggests that the Sicinii may have been of Sabine origin.[2] Although the earliest Sicinii occurring in history were plebeians, as were all of the later members of this gens, some scholars have concluded that Titus Sicinius Sabinus must have been a patrician, and the gens originally a patrician family, since the consulship was opened to the plebeians by the lex Licinia Sextia in 367 BC, a hundred and twenty years after Sabinus.[1] But more recent scholarship suggests that the consulship was not originally restricted to the patricians, and only became so in the years following the decemvirate, from 451 to 449 BC.[3]  Praenomina The main praenomina of the Sicinii were Lucius, Gaius, Gnaeus, Titus, and Quintus, all of which were common throughout Roman history. The early generations of the family may have used Spurius, but the nomen of this individual is uncertain, and he may not have been a member of the same family.  Branches and cognomina The Sicinii do not seem to have been divided into distinct branches, and most of those mentioned in history bore no cognomen.[1] Of those that do appear, Vellutus or Bellutus seems to be derived from vellus, wool, and must have designated someone with conspicuously abundant or wooly hair.[4] Sabinus referred to a Sabine, presumably referring either to a tradition that the Sicinii were of Sabine extraction, or that the individual to whom the surname was first applied had the characteristic habits or appearance of a Sabine.[2] Dentatus would have been applied to someone with prominent teeth.[5]  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Lucius Sicinius L. f. Bellutus or Vellutus, one of the plebeian leaders during the secession of the plebs to the Sacred Mount in 494 BC. He was subsequently elected one of the first tribunes of the plebs, and was aedile in 492. He was tribune a second time in 491, and opposed the harsh measures proposed by Coriolanus.[6][7][8] Spurius Sicinius Bellutus, tribune of the plebs in 492 BC, perhaps a brother of Lucius, although some scholars think him a mistake for Spurius Icilius, otherwise his colleague in the tribunate.[9][10] Titus Sicinius Sabinus,[i] consul in 487 BC, defeated the Volsci and received a triumph. He was a legate under the consul Manlius in 480.[11][12] Gaius Sicinius,[ii] tribune of the plebs in 470 BC, the first year that the tribunes were elected by the comitia tributa. Together with his colleague, Marcus Duilius, he attempted to prosecute Appius Claudius Sabinus, the consul of the preceding year, for opposing an agrarian law.[13] Lucius Sicinius Dentatus,[iii] tribune of the plebs in 454 BC, was a famous warrior, described by ancient historians as "the Roman Achilles", for his courage and martial prowess. Under the second decemvirate, he encouraged the people to secede again, and was assassinated by the decemvirs.[14][15][16][17][18][19][20] Gaius Sicinius L. f. L. n. (Bellutus), son of Lucius Sicinius, one of the first tribunes of the plebs in 493 BC, was elected to that office during the second secession in 449 BC. Together with his colleagues, he called for the election of new consuls to replace the decemvirs, to restore the right of appeal, and for there to be no retribution against the leaders of the secession.[21][22] Titus Sicinius, tribune of the plebs in 395 BC, he proposed the establishment of a substantial colony at Veii, the great Etruscan rival of Rome, which had been conquered by Camillus the previous year.[23][24] Lucius Sicinius, tribune of the plebs in 387 BC, proposed a law distributing arable land in the ager Pomptinus.[25][26] Gnaeus Sicinius, aedile in 185 BC, and praetor in 183, received the province of Sardinia. Praetor for the second time in 172, he spent his year of office forming alliances and raising troops for the Third Macedonian War, and was propraetor the following year, assigned the province of Macedonia.[27][28] Gnaeus Sicinius,[iv] tribune of the plebs in 76 BC, led the assault on the Sullan law, which deprived the tribunes of much of their power. He harshly criticized the aristocracy, but Cicero relates that he was a poor orator, his chief virtue being the ability to make his audience laugh.[29][30][31][32][33][34][35] Gaius Sicinius, a grandson of Quintus Pompeius, the consul of 141 BC, was quaestor circa 70 BC, but died before his career could advance further. Cicero mentions him among those Romans who had developed a talent for oratory.[36][37] Sicinius, mentioned in one of Cicero's letters to Titus Pomponius Atticus, dating to 51 BC.[38] Quintus Sicinius, triumvir monetalis in 49 BC, possibly the same as the man mentioned by Cicero in 51. A supporter of Pompeius, with whom he departed Rome ahead of Caesar's approach, but he continued to mint coins for Pompeius during their flight.[39] Sicinius Amicus, the first husband of Aemilia Pudentilla, and father of Sicinius Pontianus and Sicinius Pudens. After his death, his elder son encouraged a friend, the writer Apuleius, to marry Pudentilla, who was quite wealthy.[40] Sicinius Aemilianus, the brother of Sicinius Amicus and Sicinius Clarus, and uncle of Sicinius Pontianus and Sicinius Pudens, was persuaded by Herennius Rufus to join the accusation against Apuleius.[41] Sicinius Clarus, the brother of Sicinius Amicus and Sicinius Aemilianus, described by Apuleius as a feeble old country gentleman.[40] Sicinius Pontianus, a native of Oea (now Tripoli), and friend of Apuleius at Athens. He encouraged Apuleius to marry his mother, Pudentilla, a wealthy widow. However, Pontianus' father-in-law, Herennius Rufinus, eager to ensure that Prudentilla's money should remain in his family, induced Pontianus, his younger brother, Sicinius Pudens, and his uncle, Sicinius Aemilianus, to charge Apuleius with gaining Prudentilla's affections through witchcraft. Apuleius' spirited and ultimately successful defense formed the basis of his Apologia, or "Discourse on Magic".[42] Pontianus Pudens, the younger brother of Sicinius Pontianus, was only a boy when Herennius Rufus persuaded him to join the accusation against Apuleius.[40] Marcus Sicinius Philodamus, a boy buried at Rome, was the son of a vir egregius, a member of the equestrian nobility of the late second or early third centuries.[43] Quintus Sicinius Clarus, governor of Thrace circa AD 202.[44] Footnotes  Sicinius in Livy and Festus, but Siccius in Dionysius, Cassiodorus, and apparently the Fasti Capitolini.  Gnaeus Siccius in some manuscripts of Livy.  Siccius in some writers.  Lucius Sicinius in Sallust. See also List of Roman gentes References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. II, pp. 815, 816 ("Sicinia Gens").  Chase, pp. 113, 114.  Cornell, The Beginnings of Rome, pp. 252–256.  New College Latin & English Dictionary, s. v. vellutus.  Chase, p. 109.  Livy, ii. 32–34.  Dionysius, vi. 45, 70, vii. 14, 33–39.  Broughton, vol. I, pp. 15–18.  Dionysius, vii. 14, 17.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 17.  Dionysius, ix. 12.  Broughton, vol. I, pp. 19, 20 (note 1), 25.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 31.  Dionysius, x. 48–52, xi. 25–27.  Livy, iii. 43.  Aulus Gellius, ii. 11.  Pliny the Elder, vii. 27.  Valerius Maximus, ii. 3. § 24.  Niebuhr, History of Rome, vol. ii, p. 346.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 43.  Livy, iii. 54.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 48.  Livy, v. 24.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 89.  Livy, vi. 6.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 99.  Livy, xxxix. 39, 45, xli. 13, xlii. 9, 10, 27, xliii. 5.  Broughton, vol. I, pp. 372, 379, 411, 414 (note 1), 417.  Cicero, Brutus, 60.  Pseudo-Asconius, In Divinatio, p. 103 (ed. Orelli).  Quintilian, xi. 3. § 129.  Plutarch, "The Life of Crassus", 7.  Sallust, Historiae, iii. 22  Drumann, Geschichte Roms, vol. iv, p. 385.  Broughton, vol. II, pp. 93, 96 (note 2).  Cicero, Brutus, 76.  Broughton, vol. II, p. 128.  Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum, v. 4. § 3.  Crawford, Roman Republican Coinage, pp. 460-462.  Apuleius, Apologia, 68.  Apuleius, Apologia, 2, 28, 98.  Apuleius, Apologia, passim.  CIL VI, 1631.  PIR, vol. III, pp. 241, 242. Bibliography Marcus Tullius Cicero, Brutus, Epistulae ad Atticum. Gaius Sallustius Crispus (Sallust), Historiae (The Histories). Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Romaike Archaiologia (Roman Antiquities). Titus Livius (Livy), History of Rome. Valerius Maximus, Factorum ac Dictorum Memorabilium (Memorable Facts and Sayings). Pseudo-Asconius, Commentarius in Oratorio Ciceronis Divinatio in Quintum Caecilium (Commentary on Cicero's Divinatio in Quintum Caecilium). Gaius Plinius Secundus (Pliny the Elder), Historia Naturalis (Natural History). Marcus Fabius Quintilianus (Quintilian), Institutio Oratoria (Institutes of Oratory). Lucius Mestrius Plutarchus (Plutarch), Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans. Apuleius, Apologia. Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae (Attic Nights). Barthold Georg Niebuhr, The History of Rome, Julius Charles Hare and Connop Thirlwall, trans., John Smith, Cambridge (1828). Wilhelm Drumann, Geschichte Roms in seinem Übergang von der republikanischen zur monarchischen Verfassung, oder: Pompeius, Caesar, Cicero und ihre Zeitgenossen, Königsberg (1834–1844). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). T. Robert S. Broughton, The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, American Philological Association (1952–1986). Michael Crawford, Roman Republican Coinage, Cambridge University Press (1974, 2001). Timothy J. Cornell, The Beginnings of Rome: Italy and Rome from the Bronze Age to the Punic Wars (c. 1000–264 BC), Routledge, London (1995). Categories: SiciniiRoman gentesRoman gentes of Sabine origin And from THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sicinio – Ossia: Grice e Sicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia – Sicinia For the Sicinii, there are three irresistible candidates:  Lucius Sicinius Bellutus, one of the first tribunes after the secession to the Sacred Mount. Lucius Sicinius Dentatus, the "Roman Achilles," murdered by the decemvirs. Sicinius Pontianus, friend of Apuleius and a principal figure in the Apologia.  My first-best choice is Lucius Sicinius Dentatus. Not because he was the greatest soldier, but because his entire story concerns a Gricean problem:  What happens when an official explanation is offered and nobody believes it?  Dentatus was, according to the tradition, an outspoken opponent of the decemvirs. He was sent away on military service and killed. The authorities claimed he had died fighting enemies and that his death was accidental. The soldiers, however, inferred murder. That is almost a textbook case of the gap between:  what is said, what is meant, what is believed.  Grice e Sicinio Dentato: Mors Officialis DECEMVIRI. Dentatus in proelio cecidit. (Dentatus fell in battle.) +> The death is to be interpreted as an ordinary military casualty. MILES. Ubi hostes? (Where were the enemy?) +> The official account invites scrutiny. DECEMVIRI. Fuit in tumultu. (It happened in confusion.) +> Lack of detail is expected to satisfy inquiry. MILES. Confusio saepe nomen est fraudis. (Confusion is often the name of deceit.) +> Vagueness generates suspicion. DECEMVIRI. Hoc dicimus. (This is what we say.) MILES. Sed aliud significatis. (But you signify something else.) +> The hearer distinguishes explicit statement from probable intention. GRICE. Quando nemo recipit explicationem, communicatio deficit. (When nobody accepts the explanation, communication fails.) +> Uptake is essential. The beauty of the story is that the decemvirs' explanation may be grammatically impeccable, yet nobody accepts it because the surrounding circumstances destroy its credibility. A very Gricean lesson:  Meaning does not reside in the sentence alone.  The hearer asks:  Why was Dentatus isolated? Who benefited from his death? Why is the report so convenient?  The implicatures overwhelm the literal content. But Dentatus gives the deeper problem: the politics of testimony. Dry Speranzian formula  Most Roman heroes are remembered for victories. Sicinius Dentatus is remembered for a report. The decemvirs said he died in battle; Rome inferred murder. Grice would note that the sentence survived, but the credibility conditions did not. The official explanation was understood perfectly and believed not at all.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sicinio – Ossia: Grice e Sicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia – Sicinia A close second choice would be Gnaeus Sicinius, tribune in 76 BC, whom Cicero describes as a poor orator but an excellent comic speaker. That would give a delightful vignette about laughter versus persuasion. And what is the source for Gnaeus S, trib., as given in the wikipedia gens entry? Thanks Do we have the Latin. Would Cicero have used 'but' -- could 'comical' NOT be intentionally so? Thanks -- note the ambiguity of 'poor orator' -- poor and orator. Thanks 'Excellent' seems to suggest he INTENTIONALLY aimed at being a comic speaker. Thanks Yes, and your suspicion is exactly right. The Wikipedia entry is drawing primarily on Cicero, Brutus, together with later notices in Quintilian, Plutarch, Sallust, and the scholiasts. The crucial source for the characterization is Cicero's Brutus. The Oxford Classical Dictionary summary calls Gnaeus Sicinius "a witty orator" and cites Brutus as the source. [oxfordreference.com] The problem is that "poor orator" is already an interpretation. Cicero is not, so far as I know, saying anything as simple as:  malus orator erat.  Rather, the tradition emerging from Cicero is subtler. Sicinius was remembered for urbanitas, wit, laughter, comic force, and popular appeal. Cicero's point is closer to:  he could make people laugh,  than:  he could make them believe.  That is a very different criticism. Your observation about the ambiguity of poor orator is excellent. One can hear:  poor (as in deficient) orator poor (alas!) orator  and neither captures the Roman nuance. The real question is whether the laughter was intentional. I think the ancient evidence points to yes. Quintilian includes him among examples connected with wit and humorous delivery, not accidental absurdity. The Oxford notice's phrase "witty orator" likewise implies intentional humour. [oxfordreference.com] So we should distinguish two cases: Sabidienus Paulus Seneca laughs at him. The comic effect is accidental. He reverses the roles of Cicero and Popillius. Gnaeus Sicinius People laugh with him. The humour is part of the performance. The laughter is itself a rhetorical resource. A Gricean contrast: SABIDIENVS. Ridetur. (He is laughed at.) +> The speaker loses control of the communicative effect. SICINIVS. Ridet. (He makes people laugh.) +> The speaker controls the communicative effect. That is a profound difference. One of Grice's favorite distinctions is between:  what one intends the audience to recover; what the audience recovers despite one's intention.  Sabidienus belongs to the second category. Sicinius appears to belong to the first. So I would hesitate to call him a "poor orator" without qualification. A better formula might be:  a politically ineffective but brilliantly amusing speaker, or a wit whose comic success exceeded his persuasive success.  Dry Speranzian formula:  Sabidienus was funny by mistake; Sicinius was funny on purpose. The former committed a pragmatic blunder; the latter made a profession of one rhetorical effect. Cicero's complaint is not that Sicinius could not move an audience, but that he moved it chiefly toward laughter. Does this below help? Thanks In his work Brutus (or De claris oratoribus), Cicero actually mentions two different men named Sicinius: a Gnaeus Sicinius (at section 216-217) and a Gaius Sicinius (at section 263). [1, 2, 3] Because your query specifically asks about Gnaeus, it refers to the famous comic anecdote in section 216–217 where Sicinius uses his wit to mock two consuls. Both the original Latin text and its English translation for that section are provided below, followed by the text for Gaius Sicinius just in case. [1, 2] Gnaeus Sicinius (Brutus, 216–217) Cicero introduces Gnaeus Sicinius as a coarse but incredibly humorous man who used a memorable joke while serving as tribune of the plebs. [1, 2] Latin Text [216] ... Accedebat ut inveniebat hilare eodemque vultu; deinde ridebatur cum severe dixerat aliquid, tunc cum iocose; non solum insolentes, sed etiam boni scriptores putabantur. Ad eandem sententiam fuit etiam Cn. Sicini iocus, convicioris hominis probe, sed in illo genere dicendi multum tamen facetiarum; quod crimen solum commendabat illum ad dicendum oratorem. [217] Qui cum tribunus plebis consules Curionem et Octavium produxisset in contionem, et cum Curio multa dixisset sedente Cn. Octavio collega, qui erat palliatus et multis medicamentis propter dolorem artuum delinitus, 'numquam' inquit 'toti, Octavi, collegae tuo gratiam referes; qui nisi se hodie hic iactavisset, te hodie istic muscae comedissent.' [1, 2] English Translation [216] ...To the same purpose was the jest of Cn. Sicinius, a very vulgar sort of man, but exceedingly humorous, which was the only qualification he had to recommend him as an orator.[1] [217] When this man... had summoned Curio and Octavius... into the Forum... Sicinius said, turning to Octavius: "You can never thank your colleague enough, Octavius; for if he had not thrashed and flung himself about today... the flies would surely have eaten you alive right here and now." [1, 2] Alternative: Gaius Sicinius (Brutus, 263) [1] If your source or assignment mixed up the first names, Cicero also briefly profiles a highly technical contemporary orator named Gaius Sicinius. [1] Latin Text [263] C. Sicinius igitur Q. Pompei illius, qui censor fuit, ex filia nepos quaestorius mortuus est; probabilis orator, iam vero etiam probatus, ex hac inopi ad ornandum, sed ad inveniendum expedita Hermagorae disciplina... [1] English Translation In section 263, Cicero notes that C. Sicinius, grandson of the censor Q. Pompeius, was a orator of some merit who studied under Hermagoras. [1] If you are working on a specific text translation or research paper, let me know:Do you need grammatical breakdowns of any specific phrases from the Latin text?Would you like more historical context about the consuls Curio and Octavius? Yes, very much. In fact, your text sharpens the distinction I was drawing. The key passage is Cicero, Brutus 216–217. What Cicero actually says is not that Gnaeus Sicinius was a failed speaker who accidentally provoked laughter. Rather:  convicioris hominis probe, sed in illo genere dicendi multum tamen facetiarum; quod crimen solum commendabat illum ad dicendum oratorem. [archive.org]  The translation you provided renders this approximately as:  "a very vulgar sort of man, but exceedingly humorous ... the only qualification he had to recommend him as an orator."  That is quite different from saying he was unintentionally funny. Cicero's "sed" The sed ("but") is doing important work. Not:  poor orator, therefore funny.  But rather:  coarse fellow, yet possessed of considerable wit in that style of speaking.  The contrast is between social/rhetorical deficiencies and a genuine comic gift. "That was his only recommendation as an orator" The really delicious phrase is:  quod crimen solum commendabat illum ad dicendum oratorem  Literally, roughly:  "that one characteristic alone recommended him as a speaker."  The irony lies in solum. Cicero is saying something like:  He had one asset.   Unfortunately for him, it was almost his only asset.  So Sicinius is neither:  a great orator, nor merely a fool who made people laugh accidentally.  Rather he is a professional wit whose talent for humour exceeded his talent for persuasion. The Octavius joke The joke itself confirms intentional comic performance. Octavius is sitting there muffled in cloaks and ointments because of his bodily ailments. Sicinius tells him:  "You can never thank your colleague enough ... if he had not been throwing himself about today, the flies would have eaten you alive."  The audience is clearly meant to laugh at Octavius' motionlessness and invalidism. This is deliberate attack-humour, not accidental absurdity. Gricean reading A nice Grice-Speranza vignette would be: CICERO. Orator non magnus. (Not a great orator.) +> His persuasive powers were limited. SICINIVS. Sed ridebant. (But they laughed.) +> Humorous uptake was successfully achieved. CICERO. Immo nimis ridebant. (Indeed, they laughed too much.) +> Comic success displaced forensic success. GRICE. Ergo effectum consecutus est, sed non illum quem orator maxime quaerit. (So he achieved an effect, but not the one an orator chiefly seeks.) +> Persuasion and amusement are distinct communicative achievements. So I now think your evidence pushes us toward a more nuanced conclusion:  Sabidienus Paulus is funny by mistake. Gnaeus Sicinius is funny on purpose. Cicero's complaint is not that Sicinius lacked comic skill. It is that comic skill was almost the only oratorical skill he possessed.  And yes, "poor orator" is ambiguous in exactly the way you suggest. Cicero's point is closer to:  "a limited orator with an exceptional gift for wit"  than  "a bad speaker who happened to be amusing." and the source of humour -- faceticiae faetitious facetiarum-- parse that -- would be hyperbole in this case -- flies will eat you up? – Thanks Yes, and the Latin repays close reading. The phrase Cicero uses is:  sed in illo genere dicendi multum tamen facetiarum  Let's parse it:  sed = "but" in illo genere dicendi = "in that style/kind of speaking"  genere = ablative of genus dicendi = gerund, "of speaking"   multum = "a great deal" facetiarum = genitive plural of facetia  So literally:  "but in that style of speaking there was nevertheless a great deal of wit"  or  "he possessed a considerable amount of wit in that kind of oratory."  Facetia This is a favourite Roman word. Facetia is not merely "joke." It suggests:  wit, liveliness, social cleverness, urban humour, conversational sparkle.  Hence:  facetus = witty, elegant, socially amusing. English facetious comes from this word, though modern English has drifted. Today "facetious" often means "flippantly joking" or "not serious"; the Latin often carries a more positive sense.  So Cicero is not saying Sicinius was a clown. He is saying he had genuine facetae.  Where is the humour? The famous joke runs:  unless Curio had spent the day flinging himself about, the flies would have eaten Octavius alive.  Yes, hyperbole is a large part of it. The joke presupposes:  Octavius is sitting motionless. He is wrapped in cloaks and ointments because of illness. He looks almost corpse-like.  So Sicinius says, in effect:  "You should thank Curio. His frantic activity supplied enough movement for both of you. Otherwise the flies would have assumed you were dead."  The humour comes from several devices simultaneously: 1. Hyperbole The flies supposedly devour a living man. Obviously impossible. 2. Role contrast Curio = excessive motion. Octavius = no motion at all. The contrast creates the joke. 3. Mock compliment  "You should be grateful to your colleague."  It begins like praise. It ends as an insult. This is a classic Roman comic move. 4. Visual humour The audience can actually see Octavius sitting there bundled up and immobile. The joke depends on the visual scene.  A Gricean gloss might be: SICINIVS. Numquam collegae tuo satis gratiam referes. (You can never thank your colleague enough.) +> A compliment is apparently beginning. AUDITOR. Ergo laudat Curionem. (So he is praising Curio.) +> The hearer starts down the wrong interpretive path. SICINIVS. Nisi se iactavisset, muscae te comedissent. (If he had not been throwing himself about, the flies would have eaten you.) +> The compliment is reanalysed as an insult. The punchline depends on the audience revising its interpretation mid-course.  So I would say the source of the facetiae here is not merely hyperbole but a combination of:  hyperbole, visual comedy, mock praise, reversal of expectation.  Dry Speranzian formula:  Sicinius does not merely exaggerate. He invites the audience to hear a compliment and then forces them to reinterpret it as an insult. The flies are funny; the change of conversational direction is funnier. Grice would say that the punchline arrives when the hearer discovers that the opening implicature was the wrong one.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sighele – Ossia: Grice e Sighele: la ragione conversazionale e la ragione italiana. Note su La folla delinquente. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Scipione Sighele (Brescia, Lombardia): la ragione conversazionale e la ragione italiana. The comparison between Grice and Scipione Sighele brings into relief two complementary approaches to the problem of collective meaning, one micro-pragmatic and one macro-social, both grounded in reason rather than irrational fusion: Sighele, writing at the turn of the twentieth century as a psychologist, sociologist, and criminologist, analyzes crowds, criminal couples, sects, and political masses as rationally intelligible formations, where responsibility, complicity, and cooperation persist even when individuals act as a “we,” resisting the idea that collective action dissolves agency into blind contagion; Grice, from the opposite direction, builds his theory of conversational meaning on the irreducibility of rational norms governing even the smallest social unit—two speakers—showing how meaning emerges from shared intentions, mutual recognition, and rule-governed inference rather than from mere psychological association; where Sighele insists that a crowd or criminal pair does not abolish accountability but reorganizes it through patterns of influence and participation, Grice similarly argues that conversational understanding does not collapse into noise when speakers multiply, but is sustained by cooperative principles that scale from dyads to groups; both reject mystical explanations of the social mind, converging instead on the idea that Italian social life—whether in the café, the courtroom, the crowd, or the conversation—remains structured by reasoned expectations, negotiated responsibility, and the ever-present impulse to argue, respond, and infer. ApS. was an Italian philosopher, -- who was described as a  psychologist, sociologist, and criminologist, best known as a pioneer of ‘mass psychology’ – Grice: “What Searle, at his infamous institute, called ‘social ontology’!” – S. is primarily known for his early wok on CROWD behaviour – “Laurel and Hardy” – ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd” – and collective psychology – ‘the ‘we’ of my ‘Personal Identity’ – Grice --, particulary his debate with Tarde and Bon on the subject of CRIMINAL responsibility – “if he did it it was wrong” – Grice – within a crowd. His most famous work is “La folla delinquent, Saggio di psicologia colletiva” – La Teorica positive della complicita e la cooperativita – a work on the positive theory of complicity and cooperation (bedfellows) in crime. Le crime a DEUX – Mungojerry and Rumpelteazer, the dynamic duo – an essay on the psychology of a criminal couple Bob Hoksins and Cheryl Ascombe in Pennies from Heaven. Psychologie des sected – a study of Crotona, examining sects such as Pythagoras’s – as ‘a chronic form of the rowd.’ La donna e l’amore: a work dealing with women and love, exploring the legal and ideological constraints on wommen’s emancipation in the fin de siècle era. Contro il parlamentarismo: a book on the crituique of parliamentarism. Giachetti SCIPIO S. IL PENSIERO, IL CARATTERE. Conferenza detta alla “ Pro Cultura „ di Firenze nel trigesimo della morte Col ritratto di S. Muore a Firenze. -- è stato uno psicologo, sociologo, criminologo ed esponente importante del nazionalismo italiano. Nasce da Gualtiero e Angelica Pedrotti. Suo padre, di origine trentina, è un magistrato negli anni seguenti l'unità d'Italia alla procura del Re a Palermo, così come il nonno Scipione. Dopo il liceo studia con FERRERO  e ZERBOGLIO  -- seguaci del criminologo LOMBROSO  -- e si laurea a Roma con FERRI. Grice: Caro Sighele, ho sempre pensato che in Italia le folle siano così creative che persino la confusione diventa un’opera d’arte. Forse è per questo che la tua “psicologia collettiva” qui ci calza a pennello, come il cappello su una statua di Garibaldi a Carnevale! Sighele: Grice, hai proprio ragione! Da noi, tra cori da stadio e code all’ufficio postale, la folla è sempre protagonista. Forse dovrei scrivere un capitolo su “La folla che aspetta il 730”, dove la pazienza è più un mistero che una virtù. Grice: Eh, Sighele, ma ricorda: in Italia si dice “dove sono in tre nasce un partito”, ma basta il secondo per fondare una corrente dissidente! Così la vera complicità non è del crimine, ma del caffè condiviso al bar—al massimo con due bustine di zucchero e una polemica sul risultato della partita. Sighele: Ammirevole implicatura la tua, Grice! Con un solo colpo hai illustrato la mia teoria: qui il vero motore della collettività è la voglia di discutere, e il crimine peggiore è dimenticare chi paga il giro di espressi! As per passage below. G. and T. are preparing for a semnar in the philosophy of acction, and T. has brought 'La folla delinquente'' so they analyse the category mistake and G. is doubtful -- there may be one thing such as collective intentionality -- supopse: carrying a log of wood together -- I'm not doing, you're not doing -- WE are doing. Mutatis mutandis, folla delinquente. But T. objects and meaning? utterer, addressee, but "We mean" -- absurd -- "But we cooperate," G. argues -- how's that -- well, T. tries to reduce it to if B perceives that A wants that p, then B cooperates by adjusting his goal to that of A -- no necessity of la folla delinquete -- the 100-move conversation, no preamble no ps. thatnks G.: Thomson, your title is mischievous already. La folla delinquente. T.: It is Sighele’s, not mine, though I bring it with intent. G.: And the intent is to make me wonder whether “the delinquent crowd” is a category mistake. T.: Partly. Does a crowd commit? Or do only persons commit? G.: One must not answer too quickly. “Only persons act” has the sound of virtue and the smell of laziness. T.: You are thinking of collective intentionality. G.: I am thinking that there may be something between mystical group-mind nonsense and mere summation of individuals. Suppose we carry a log together. T.: A favourite philosopher’s burden. G.: Quite. I am not carrying it in the way I would if I took one end and forgot you. You are not carrying it in isolation either. We are carrying it. T.: Or rather, each of us is carrying his end under an intention to coordinate with the other. G.: That is one reduction, yes. But notice how thin it sounds compared with the ordinary fact. “We are carrying it” is not merely shorthand for “I am carrying my end while you carry yours.” It names a coordinated action with a shared shape. T.: Shared shape is not yet shared agent. G.: No, but neither is it nothing. T.: And now you want to transport that to la folla delinquente. G.: Not transport, exactly. Ask whether the very phrase presupposes an intelligible “we” in action. T.: Sighele thinks so. Or at least thinks responsibility is reorganised, not dissolved, once one acts in a crowd. G.: Yes. He wants to resist the mystical contagion theorists who make the crowd pure irrational vapor. T.: But also to resist the legal moralists who say, “Find the hand that struck, and the rest are scenery.” G.: Precisely. He wants complicity, influence, participation, and cooperation without an occult collective soul. T.: Which is nearly tolerable. G.: Nearly? You sound severe. T.: Because you are tempted by “we act,” and I am not sure that is anything more than a useful social idiom. G.: Let us go slowly. In conversation, I say that utterer-meaning requires an utterer and an addressee, with nested intentions and recognitions. T.: Yes. Speaker intends hearer to recognise that speaker intends hearer to form a belief, and so forth. G.: Quite. Now if one says “we mean,” you become suspicious. T.: Entirely. “We mean” sounds absurd unless it resolves into each of us meaning something sufficiently similar. G.: Yet “we cooperate” does not strike the ear as absurd. T.: No. But “cooperate” is already relational. “Mean” is not obviously collective in the same way. G.: Is that principle or habit? T.: Both, perhaps. Meaning, as you tell it, belongs to a purposive act of one utterer toward one audience, even if there are many hearers. G.: But committees issue statements. T.: Which means that some person or persons authorised the issuing, drafted, revised, approved, signed, or at any rate let it out under a collective description. G.: So “the committee means” is reducible? T.: I should say so. It means something like: enough members of the committee accepted this formulation under relevant procedures for us to ascribe the statement to the committee. G.: That is a fine bureaucratic paraphrase. But it still leaves intact that we do, in fact, ascribe agency to the committee. T.: Ascribe, yes. Reify, no. G.: Good. Let us keep that distinction visible. Now back to the log. When we carry it, what is the best analysis? T.: Each intends his own bodily movement, each perceives the other’s intentions sufficiently, each adjusts his action in light of the other’s, and together they produce the transportation of the log. G.: That sounds right enough, but I still feel that the “together” is doing more than bookkeeping. T.: It is doing coordination work, not metaphysical work. G.: But coordination may itself be a form of practical unity. T.: Practical unity, yes. Collective subject, no. G.: So you will grant me “we are doing X” as a practical description without granting “we” as a metaphysical person. T.: Happily. G.: Good. Now, mutatis mutandis, la folla delinquente. T.: I object at once. G.: Naturally. On what ground? T.: Because a criminal crowd is not like two men carrying a log. In the latter case coordination is transparent and purposive. In the former, the same outward event may contain leaders, imitators, cowards, enthusiasts, opportunists, onlookers, and one idiot who thought there was a parade. G.: Excellent. So the first problem is heterogeneity of role. T.: Yes. “The crowd did it” may conceal wildly different forms of participation. G.: That still does not prove the category mistake. T.: No, only the danger of easy collectivisation. G.: Sighele would agree. He wants a positive theory of complicity and cooperation, not a hymn to the communal soul. T.: Then he ought not to title the thing so temptingly. G.: Titles are usually the first crime of theorists. Let us be fairer. Suppose a crowd loots a shop. T.: A depressing but serviceable example. G.: Some break the window, some enter, some pass items outward, some keep watch, some cry encouragement, some prevent interference. T.: Yes. G.: Is it unintelligible to say the crowd looted the shop? T.: Not unintelligible. But analytically loose. It may be shorthand for a structured field of individual actions connected by mutual visibility, imitation, expectation, and opportunistic convergence. G.: Very good. And perhaps also by some shared practical orientation. T.: Perhaps, though “shared” there may mean only partially aligned under local cues. G.: So your thesis is that there need be no super-individual we-intention. T.: Exactly. B perceives that A wants that p, or wants to do X; B adjusts his goal or behaviour in the light of that; C perceives both and aligns similarly; and a pattern emerges. G.: A pattern of convergence without a robust we. T.: Yes. G.: Then what about “we mean”? T.: Even worse. “We mean” in the strict sense seems absurd because there is no single intending centre. G.: Unless one says the group means via its authorised procedures. T.: Which is again a reduction to individuals plus rules. G.: Rules plus mutual recognitions. T.: Precisely. G.: I wonder whether you are simply more comfortable with procedural than with practical unity. T.: Very likely. But that is because procedures can be individuated more clearly than collective inwardness. G.: Fair. Now let us see whether my own theory forces me to your side. Meaning for me involves utterer-intention, audience-recognition, and the audience’s taking that recognition as reason. T.: Yes. G.: Can there be a group utterer? T.: Only derivatively. A crowd chanting perhaps. G.: Ah. Good. Crowds chant. T.: They do. G.: “We want bread,” “Down with X,” “Death to Y.” There the utterance is collective in production and reception. T.: Production yes, though often still led by a few. Reception too, if outsiders hear it as the voice of the crowd. G.: And what of meaning there? Does the crowd mean what it chants? T.: In a loose sense, yes. But one can still analyse it as enough individuals intentionally participating in a common signal under mutual adjustment. G.: Again your “enough individuals.” T.: It is a sober phrase. G.: It is also a cowardly one. T.: Sober cowardice is a philosophical virtue. G.: Occasionally. Yet the chant seems to have a practical first-person plural built into it. T.: Grammatically, yes. Ontologically, not yet. G.: Let us try a cleaner case. Two conspirators agree to signal their victim by saying “The weather is improving.” T.: Very nice. G.: One says it, the other hears it, both know what it initiates. T.: In that case, one means and the other recognises. G.: But if both say it to reassure each other and to trigger the act, there is something almost like a plural utterer. T.: Almost like. But still analysable as parallel or interlocking singular intentions. G.: You dislike “interlocking” less than “collective.” T.: Naturally. Interlocking tells me how the thing works without making a ghostly subject. G.: Sighele might accept that, though he would insist the pair is not merely additive. T.: Yes. His Le crime à deux already suggests that the pair reorganises agency. G.: Exactly. The criminal couple is neither one person nor two isolated persons. It is a dyadic field with pressure, suggestion, imitation, and asymmetry. T.: That is all very well. But from there to la folla delinquente is a considerable leap. G.: Agreed. Scale changes the structure. T.: Greatly. In the crowd, reciprocal recognition often fragments. One may respond to immediate local cues without any grasp of the whole. G.: So the “we” may be perspectival and partial. T.: Precisely. G.: Yet many social actions are like that. A football crowd surges. A panic spreads. A queue dissolves. A riot forms. T.: And we describe them collectively, yes. G.: Because there is a level at which collective description tracks real coordination, even if no one surveys the whole. T.: That is closer to my view. Collective predicates may be legitimate without implying a group mind. G.: Good. Now responsibility. T.: Ah yes. G.: If the crowd acts, who is responsible? T.: The old question. Sighele wants to say responsibility persists but is redistributed. Not contagion without guilt, but transformed accountability. G.: Which I find sensible. “The crowd did it” is often a legal and moral evasion if it erases the role-structure. T.: Exactly. Some incited, some complied, some escalated, some merely failed to resist, some enjoyed anonymity. G.: And some became bolder because the crowd lowered the cost of expression. T.: Yes. That is perhaps Sighele’s most enduring point. G.: Then in our seminar on action, we might say that “the crowd acts” is not nonsense, but a compressed claim that a structured multiplicity produced an event under mutual responsiveness. T.: I could live with that, provided you do not start writing “the crowd intended” without qualifications. G.: Perhaps I shall say “the crowd’s action exhibited collective intentional structure.” T.: Hideous, but safer. G.: You wound me. T.: I refine you. G.: Very well. Now, back to conversation. If two or more people jointly mislead a third, do “we mean” anything? T.: In a derivative sense. We may mean to deceive him. But the analysis still proceeds through each participant’s recognition of the others’ intentions and adjustment thereto. G.: So B perceives that A wants the hearer to believe p; B aligns his own contribution accordingly; C does likewise; and the addressee receives a coordinated deception. T.: Exactly. No super-speaker needed. G.: Yet the hearer might perfectly well say “they meant me to think X.” T.: That is harmless enough. G.: And if the hearer says “they,” why may I not sometimes say “we” from the participants’ side? T.: Because first-person plural tempts philosophers into bad metaphysics more quickly than third-person plural. G.: A nice asymmetry. T.: A useful one. G.: Very well. Suppose a choir sings. Do they sing, or does each sing his part? T.: Both. But again, the collective predication does not generate a collective soul. G.: You are a great enemy of souls today. T.: Only of collective ones. G.: Fair. Suppose now a criminal crowd sets fire to a building. Some light, some cheer, some obstruct the brigade, some drag furniture into the blaze. T.: Yes. G.: Would you agree that “the crowd burned the building” is not a category mistake? T.: Not a category mistake. A dangerous convenience. G.: Which is a better line. T.: Thank you. G.: One must keep the danger and the convenience together. T.: Yes. Otherwise one either mystifies the collective or atomises it falsely. G.: Precisely Sighele’s terrain. T.: And yours, perhaps, when you try to let cooperative structures scale upward from dyads to groups. G.: Yes. I have never thought conversation ceases to be governed by rational norms once a third person enters the room. T.: No, but the form changes. With more parties, mutual recognition becomes layered, and not every participant need grasp the whole. G.: Which suggests that cooperative principles scale, but not simply. T.: Exactly. G.: That is useful for the seminar. “We” may be a practical category with variable density. T.: Good. Explain. G.: A two-person “we” carrying a log may be dense: each knows what the other is doing as part of the common act. A crowd “we” may be thin: partial mutual responsiveness plus shared direction without full reflective unity. T.: I like “variable density.” G.: Good. Keep it and make it seem yours. T.: It often is. G.: Insolent. Now, does this help with “la folla delinquente”? T.: It does. We can say the phrase is not absurd, but its propriety depends on what density of collective organisation and mutual responsiveness is present. G.: So an accidental gathering of pickpockets is different from a riot coordinated by shouted cues, visual signals, and escalating participation. T.: Yes. The first may be only aggregate coincidence; the second may exhibit a real, though thin, collective agency. G.: Thin collective agency. Very Oxonian and almost Italian. T.: That is the highest praise I shall get all week. G.: Enjoy it. Now, meaning again. If a crowd chants “Justice!” does the crowd mean justice? T.: It means many things, likely incompatible ones, and that is why the case is philosophically wicked. G.: Excellent. The slogan gathers divergent singular intentions under one public token. T.: Which is why “we mean” becomes especially unstable in crowds. The same utterance coordinates without unifying full content. G.: Splendid. So collective utterance may outrun individual agreement at the level of determinate meaning. T.: Exactly. G.: Then perhaps the crowd can mean thinly while its members mean thickly and differently. T.: That is very good. G.: Thank you. T.: Do not become pleased. G.: You have been reading me against myself. T.: It improves the afternoon. Now, if crowd-utterance means thinly, does crowd-action also intend thinly? G.: Perhaps. A crowd may intend to stop the convoy, to storm the gate, to punish the traitor, without every member sharing a full specification of why or what next. T.: So intention itself may be distributed and underdetermined. G.: Yes. Which is why reduction to singular intentions may become descriptively clumsy. T.: Clumsy perhaps, but still truer than a collective soul. G.: I do not want the soul. I want the action-category. T.: Good. Then we agree more than we disagree. G.: Usually a bad sign in seminars. T.: We can improve matters. I still think “we mean” in your strict speaker-meaning sense is almost always derivative. G.: I can grant “almost always.” T.: And I can grant that “the crowd acts” is not merely poetic. G.: Excellent. Now, Sighele versus Le Bon. T.: Sighele is rational where Le Bon is atmospheric. G.: Exactly. He wants complicity, pairings, sects, criminal couples, influence-patterns. He resists mystical fusion. T.: Which is why he remains interesting now. G.: Yes. He is an ancestor of sober social ontology, though I hesitate to use the phrase too cheerfully. T.: Quite. But he at least sees that social formations reorganise accountability without abolishing it. G.: That is his enduring philosophical value. The “we” of crime is not exculpatory vapor. T.: Nor is it a single wicked person writ large. G.: Precisely. It is a field of aligned and misaligned agencies. T.: Which is perhaps our best formula. G.: A field of aligned and misaligned agencies under conditions of mutual responsiveness. T.: Hideous, but strong. G.: That should be the subtitle of the seminar. T.: Along with “Carrying logs and burning shops.” G.: You have more theatre than judgment. T.: We need both. Now, what of your own “we” in personal identity? G.: Ah. The old communal temptations. Yes, there are cases where identity-talk itself presupposes social uptake. But I was not trying to invent a crowd-self. T.: No. But you were acknowledging that the first person singular lives among second persons and occasional plurals. G.: True enough. The self is never wholly without social conditions of intelligibility. T.: Then “we” may be philosophically prior to some uses of “I,” though not all. G.: Dangerous but tempting. Keep it for questions, not for the opening. T.: Very well. Then our opening says what? G.: It says that collective action is not a category mistake, but that its analysis requires us to distinguish aggregate coincidence, interlocking individual agency, thin collective intentional structure, and robust coordinated action. T.: And that “la folla delinquente” is therefore neither mystical nor innocent. G.: Excellent. T.: What of collective meaning? G.: It says that “we mean” is usually derivative from interlocking singular or procedural intentions, but that public tokens can coordinate action and uptake even where content remains only thinly shared. T.: Good. I can live with that. G.: You are becoming reasonable. Disturbing. T.: I brought Sighele precisely to avoid mystical rubbish and reductive rubbish alike. G.: Then he has done his work already. One last example? T.: Two thieves lift a chest together. G.: Better than a log. T.: One cannot do it alone. Each perceives the other’s aim, each adjusts force and timing, and together they remove it. G.: That is a criminal “we” of admirable simplicity. T.: Now scale up to ten men forcing a gate. G.: There the “we” is thinner, but still operative. T.: And to a thousand shouting for blood. G.: There the “we” becomes symbolically thick but motivationally thin and uneven. T.: Very good. We have our gradient. G.: And Sighele supplies the caution that responsibility does not vanish at any point merely because the pronoun broadens. T.: Excellent. Then the seminar can begin. G.: With the log or the crowd? T.: With the chest. G.: Criminality improves clarity. T.: It often does. G.: Dry enough? T.: Sufficiently Brescian, with one Oxford log still on the shoulder.Sighele, Scipione (1891). La folla delinquente. Torino: Bocca.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Signa – Ossia: Grice e Signa: la ragione conversazionale della ruota di Venere – la scuola di Signa. Note sulla Rhetorica. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Bon Compagno da Signa (Signa, Firenze, Toscana): la ragione conversazionale della ruota di Venere. The comparison between Grice and Boncompagno da Signa highlights a deep continuity between medieval rhetorical theory and modern pragmatics in treating meaning as a product of reason-governed social practice rather than purely semantic content: Boncompagno, teaching ars dictaminis at Bologna and Padua, conceives rhetoric as a disciplined art of managing expectations, roles, and effects within concrete communicative situations, where forms like the Rota Veneris deliberately guide the reader or addressee through patterned emotional and interpretive possibilities that depend on shared conventions rather than literal statement; similarly, Grice’s theory of conversational meaning rests on the idea that what speakers mean is anchored in rational cooperation, where inferential movement from what is said to what is understood is regulated by norms of relevance, propriety, and mutual intelligibility; Boncompagno’s playful treatment of love letters, friendship, and even erotic misalignment works precisely because sender and recipient know how such genres function and how their turns on the “wheel” license certain inferences and block others, just as Grice’s implicatures succeed only because conversationalists tacitly respect a common rational framework; in both cases, meaning is not encoded mechanically but generated through an economy of intentions, expectations, and shared craftsmanship, whether in medieval epistolography or modern ordinary conversation. Insegna retorica (“ars dictaminis”) a Bologna e Padova. Vive ad Ancona, Venezia, Bologna, Padova, e Firenze. Tra i saggi più significativi si ricordano il saggio storico “L’assedio d’Ancona” (Viella, Roma), il “Bon Compagno”; “Rethorica novissima”; “Scacchi e il “Libellus de malo senectutis et senis”, nel quale, con spirito arguto, prende in giro le affermazioni di Cicerone che idealizzano la vecchiaia”; la “Rota Veneris” (Salerno), un saggio di epistolo-grafia amorosa; “Liber de amicitia”; “Ysagoge Boncompagnus; “Tractatus virtutum”; “Palma Oliva Cedrum Mirra Quinque tabulae salutationum”;  “Bonus Socius e Civis Bononiae. Garbini, Roma, Salerno, Gabrielli, Le epistole di Cola di Rienzo e l'epistolografia, Archivio della Società romana di storia patria, Gaudenzi, Sulla cronologia delle opere dei dettatori bolognesi da S. a Bene da Lucca, Bullettino dell'Istituto storico italiano, G. Manacorda, Storia della scuola in Italia, Palermo, Tateo,  Enciclopedia dantesca,  Treccani Dizionario biografico degl’italiani, Istituto dell'Enciclopedia Italiana. S., su ALCUIN, Ratisbona.  Wight: S.'s charter doctrine (Bologna), in: Medieval Diplomatic and the 'ars dictandi', Scrineum. Keywords: Cicerone, “ars dictaminis” – o rettorica --. rota veneris – erotica – ermafrodita – erma: mercurio, afrodita, venere, afrodisiaco. Signa: Caro Grice, se mi chiedi della “ruota di Venere”, ti dirò che qui a Signa gira più la fantasia che le biciclette! Tra retorica ed epistole amorose, mi sa che la ruota si ferma spesso sul cuore...  Grice: Ah, Signa, a Firenze dicono che la ruota di Venere porta fortuna agli innamorati, ma a Bologna porta solo lettere d’amore sbagliate! Forse è la colpa dell’ars dictaminis, che fa girare la testa, non la ruota.  Grice: Del resto, se la ruota di Venere gira troppo, rischia di perdere un bullone... e magari Cupido finisce con l’arco storto! Ma se la ruota si ferma, allora è tempo di scrivere una lettera – magari una d’amicizia, che non si consuma come l’amore, ma dura più a lungo di una gomma nuova.  Signa: Meravigliosa implicatura, Grice! Hai girato intorno alla ruota senza mai fermarti, e ora capisco perché la retorica è davvero una questione di cuore... e di ruote ben oliate! Again re this rettorica by Signa, provide a 100-move conversation between G. and S. discussing how trivial the trivium is compared to the quadrivium -- which is quadrivial, rather, and that philosophy is no liberal art, but the philosophy student shoud start with the quadrivium and then proceed to the trivium, since summation is commutative and 3 + 4 = 4 + 3 so what gives. "I give" G. says. And S. wonders why there need to be so many treatises on retoric and not just one like the Vulgata, or teh ahtrhorised King James version, and G. objects: there are many conversational maxims, because prammatica is rettorica conversationale and Signa's implicatures are totally inconsistent with Cicero's which are hatefully boring and dreary in comparison, since they were not meant for the vernacular, since Cicero obviously thought that Latin would reamina Ciceronian, and it did until he was murdered by Marc'Antonio's sicario, etc --- no preamble or ps -- and you can use the passage below: G.: Let us begin with the arithmetic, because if one starts with arithmetic one may at least postpone theology. S.: A promising curriculum already. G.: The trivium is three, the quadrivium four, and the philosopher’s first temptation is to say that four comes after three for no very good reason, since 3+4=4+33 + 4 = 4 + 33+4=4+3. S.: Exactly. If summation is commutative, why should education not be? G.: Because curricula are not algebra, and because schoolmen liked roads better than equations. S.: Still, if the quadrivium looks nobler, why not begin there? Arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy first; grammar, dialectic, rhetoric afterward. G.: Because the child must first say before he may safely count, and must first hear before he may harmonise. Civilisation begins in address, not in number. S.: Yet the quadrivium has the dignity of measure. G.: It has the dignity of remoteness. The trivium has the indignity of necessity. S.: Then the trivium is called trivial only because it is too close to life to look sublime. G.: Precisely. Grammar, logic, rhetoric are despised because they cling to mouths, ears, and schoolrooms. S.: Whereas arithmetic and astronomy at least pretend to the stars. G.: Yes, and therefore seduce philosophers into thinking they are purer. But purity is often educationally useless. S.: Still, a philosophy student should start with the quadrivium. G.: Why? S.: Because philosophy likes abstraction, order, ratio, proportion, and the sense that things fit beyond chatter. G.: That is exactly the mistake. Philosophy is not one of the liberal arts at all. S.: Kierkegaard would agree. G.: He would say one may master all seven and still fail to exist. S.: So what gives? G.: I give. S.: That is not a curriculum. G.: It is the beginning of one. Philosophy receives from the liberal arts and then refuses to be filed among them. It is a parasite with principles. S.: Then if philosophy is not one of the seven, why does it keep behaving as if the seven were its vestibule? G.: Because it needs preparation but cannot be reduced to preparatory order. The trivium teaches one how language moves; the quadrivium teaches one how order seduces; philosophy begins when one suspects both. S.: Then perhaps the right order for the philosopher is not the old order at all. G.: Perhaps. But old orders are usually wiser than their descendants. The trivium comes first because humans must enter speech before they may admire number. S.: Yet if 3+4=4+33 + 4 = 4 + 33+4=4+3, why should the order matter? G.: Because education is not addition but dependence. One may count to seven either way, but one cannot speak well by astronomy. S.: Some moderns have tried. G.: And that is why nobody reads them. Now, Simoneschi. S.: At last. The Venetian of rhetoric. G.: Yes. Or rettorica, with the doubled t, which already sounds more proper and less modernly flattened. S.: Does the double t matter philosophically? G.: Everything matters if one is old enough. Rettorica feels heavier, more scholastic, more inherited, more like a discipline and less like a newspaper sneer. S.: So retorica sounds modern and vaguely pejorative; rettorica sounds craft-bound and institutional. G.: Exactly. Orthography as memory. The doubled consonant carries the schoolroom in its teeth. S.: Then Boncompagno da Signa—or Signa, as you prefer to abbreviate him—is already fighting on behalf of rhetoric as an art, not a mere social vice. G.: Precisely. And that is why there are so many treatises on rhetoric. S.: Why indeed? Why not one authorised text, one Vulgate of persuasion, one King James of the tongue? G.: Because there are many conversational maxims, many climates of speech, many audiences, many courts, many cities, many masks, and no single authorised version of prudence. S.: That sounds like a Venetian answer. G.: It is. Simoneschi’s Venice would laugh a universal rhetoric off the quay. S.: Yet Cicero nearly tried to provide one. G.: Cicero provided a magnificent Roman rhetoric for a Roman language under Roman conditions, and then died under the illusion that Latin would remain Ciceronian forever. S.: Until Marc’Antonio’s sicario corrected the assumption. G.: Quite. Once you are murdered for politics, your syntax ceases to govern posterity. S.: Harsh. G.: Historical. Cicero wrote as if the city and the language were still one body. Medieval and vernacular rhetorics arise because that body dies and multiplies. S.: So there cannot be one authorised rhetoric because there is no one authorised social world. G.: Exactly. The very plurality of rhetorical treatises is evidence that meaning is local, tactical, genre-bound, institution-bound, and not reducible to a single universal manual. S.: Which means your pragmatics, if it is conversational rhetoric, also cannot be entirely universal. G.: That is the difficulty. I can formulate general principles, but the realization of those principles is always local, and Simoneschi’s Venice insists on that. S.: Then what you call maxims are perhaps only the thinnest skeleton of what Signa calls rettorica. G.: Yes. A useful skeleton, but a skeleton still. S.: And Signa would complain that skeletons do not write letters. G.: Very likely. Or seduce. Which brings us to the ruota di Venere. S.: Ah yes, the erotic wheel. G.: A wheel of patterned expectation. A little machine of genre, role, tone, and implication. Very civilised, if one does not ask too many moral questions before supper. S.: Then his rhetoric is already a pragmatics of emotional uptake. G.: Exactly. It teaches not only what to say, but how the saying licenses certain inferences and blocks others. S.: Which sounds rather like your own insistence that what is meant outruns what is said. G.: It is structurally the same territory, though mapped under older names and with much better prose. S.: Better than Cicero? G.: In the vernacular, yes. Cicero is admirable but dreary if worshipped too long. He writes for a world that thought Latin would remain itself. Signa writes for a world in which language has already escaped into life. S.: So Cicero is the rhetoric of the republic; Signa the rhetoric of the living aftermath. G.: Very good. And the aftermath is always more pragmatically interesting than the original constitution. S.: Because people now have to infer across variety. G.: Precisely. Cicero may still imagine that educated Latin carries its own authority. Signa knows that meaning has to navigate local expectations, regional styles, emotional codings, and the vernacular body. S.: Then the many treatises arise because no one rhetoric can survive the multiplication of contexts. G.: Yes. Treatises proliferate because speech proliferates socially. One text might suffice if mankind spoke under one sky and to one senate. But once you have Bologna, Venice, courts, communes, chancelleries, love letters, diplomatic letters, episcopal letters, petitions, consolations, and all the rest, rhetoric becomes plural by necessity. S.: So there is no authorised King James of persuasion because persuasion has no authorised crown. G.: Excellent. Keep that. S.: Thank you. G.: Do not become pleased. Now, back to the trivium and its triviality. S.: You still owe me an answer. Which is most trivial? G.: If by trivial you mean most despised, rhetoric. If you mean most invisible, grammar. If you mean most self-important, logic. S.: And least dispensable? G.: In actual human affairs, rhetoric. S.: Then the most trivial of the trivium is the one civilisation pretends it can do without while secretly relying on it. G.: Exactly. People think grammar merely mechanical, rhetoric merely ornamental, and logic the only honourable one. In practice grammar keeps the floor from collapsing and rhetoric keeps the guests from leaving. S.: While logic keeps the philosopher busy. G.: Usually with furniture. Now, the quadrivium again. What if we did begin there? S.: We would have more proportion and less address. G.: More astronomy and worse quarrels. S.: Better music, perhaps. G.: Worse sermons certainly. S.: Bologna would be a university of calculators. G.: And Oxford a place of instruments without college jokes. Intolerable. S.: Yet the philosopher might be more mathematically disciplined. G.: And socially useless. Philosophy that begins in the quadrivium alone becomes seduced by order before it has learned the trouble of persons. S.: So the old order—trivium first—is a concession to politics. G.: To humanity. Speech first, measure second. One must first know how humans actually mismanage sense before one is allowed the stars. S.: That sounds anti-Platonic. G.: It is anti-idolatrous. One may still admire number later. S.: Then why do so many philosophers secretly wish the quadrivium came first? G.: Because number and proportion flatter the fantasy that thought may escape rhetoric. S.: Which is false. G.: Utterly. Even the philosopher of mathematics must ask, suggest, omit, contrast, concede, and direct attention. In other words, he must do rhetoric while pretending not to. S.: Hence your suspicion that pragmatics is rhetoric recovered under an anaesthetic. G.: Very much so. And Signa proves it because he teaches under other names what we later claim as a discovery. S.: Such as? G.: Audience design, inferential expectation, generic cues, tactful omission, strategic excess, role-sensitive address, calibrations of intimacy, all the old arts. S.: All in medieval epistolography? G.: Especially there. Letters are laboratories of managed implication. S.: Then Signa is formulating conversational maxims. G.: In effect, yes. Not in four neat headings perhaps, but in practical doctrines of how one should speak under this or that role, relation, occasion, and desired effect. S.: So your maxim of Quantity becomes his rule about how much to say in a petition or a love-letter. G.: Exactly. Relevance becomes fitness to occasion. Manner becomes decorum plus clarity plus tact. Quality becomes not only truthfulness but genre-suitability. It is all there, just distributed differently. S.: Then what does Venice add? G.: Venice adds local complication. A maritime republic with masks, commerce, patrician hierarchies, and civic indirectness does not speak like Cicero’s senate-house or a Tuscan court. S.: So Signa’s implicatures are Venetian. G.: At least in flavour, yes. Maritime metaphors, social calibrations, local expectations, a whole rhetorical climate. S.: Which means Cicero’s maxims would be intolerably dry there. G.: More than dry—misaligned. Cicero’s art was built for Latin as a public political instrument under republican oratory. Signa writes for a world where letters move among shifting social roles and the vernacular has entered the room. S.: Then to imitate Cicero too closely in Venice would be like wearing a consul’s toga into a canal. G.: Splendid. Keep that too. S.: I seem to be collecting these. G.: That is the right appetite in rhetoric. Now, you asked why there need be so many rhetorical treatises. Let us answer plainly. S.: Because there are many communities of implication. G.: Excellent. And because no single rhetorical scripture can legislate for all of them. The Vulgate and the King James translate one revealed text. Rhetoric does not translate revelation; it manages circumstances. S.: So revelation may have one authorised text, but prudence needs libraries. G.: Perfectly done. S.: Thank you. G.: Do not become bibliolatrous. Now, what of philosophy’s place relative to the seven liberal arts? S.: If philosophy is no liberal art, then perhaps it begins where the seven prove insufficient. G.: Yes. The arts prepare capacities; philosophy reflects on their conditions, limits, and seductions. S.: Then the philosopher should perhaps indeed begin with the quadrivium and then proceed to the trivium, not because 4+34 + 34+3 equals 3+43 + 43+4, but because order must first be admired and then speech mistrusted. G.: Ingenious, but wrong. One must first be taught how talk works badly, or one will treat order itself as a rhetoric-free miracle. S.: So the trivium must still come first because philosophy needs to know the disorders of saying before it can assess the temptations of measure. G.: Precisely. The philosopher who begins with geometry may become too quickly enamoured of clean deduction. The philosopher who begins with rhetoric knows earlier that human meaning is muddy. S.: Which is almost an argument for beginning with rhetoric itself. G.: It is. And perhaps one day a sane university will. S.: Then grammar and logic become servants of rhetoric? G.: Not servants, but companions in a dangerous hierarchy. Grammar furnishes the forms, logic disciplines consequence, rhetoric governs uptake. In practice, rhetoric often rules because without uptake the others remain private excellences. S.: Then the trivium is not three equal roads, but one little republic of unequal powers. G.: Very good. Grammar is the law, logic the bench, rhetoric the street. S.: And the quadrivium? G.: The observatory, the counting-house, the chapel choir, and the geometer’s room. S.: You make it sound positively habitable. G.: Only after one has learned to speak in the street. Now, Signa’s title. Rhetorica, not ars dictaminis narrowly, though he teaches that too. S.: So he wants the larger dignity. G.: Yes, but in a vernacularly elastic world. He takes the old classical inheritance and bends it toward actual social writing. S.: Which again is where you think your pragmatics meets him. G.: Exactly. He knows that meanings are not mechanically encoded. They are produced through patterned expectations, role recognitions, and shared craftsmanship. S.: Shared craftsmanship is a lovely phrase. G.: It is also accurate. Conversation is more artisanal than philosophers like to admit. S.: Then the wheel of Venus is really a wheel of inferential permissions. G.: Very good. A marvellous phrase, and obscene enough to be medieval. S.: I shall cherish it. G.: Briefly. Now, one last return to the order of arts. Suppose we did invert them. What would philosophy lose? S.: It would lose its early contact with living linguistic practice. G.: Exactly. It would become proportion before address, harmony before disagreement, astronomy before irony. S.: And gain? G.: A dangerous premature confidence in structure. S.: Which is why 3+4=4+33 + 4 = 4 + 33+4=4+3 is not the right analogy after all. G.: Yes. Educational sequence is not commutative because dependence is not additive. I give, as I said. S.: A very English solution. G.: A very exact one. Number is commutative; formation is not. S.: Then the old order survives. G.: Under protest, but yes. The trivial road remains prior because it is the road of mouths and ears. S.: And Signa, by writing on rhetoric, proves that the least respectable of the arts is often the one nearest to actual philosophy. G.: Precisely. He teaches how thought enters civic life through address, and that is a philosophically deeper matter than many quadrivial purities. S.: So the final judgment on rhetoric? G.: Not the decoration of thought, but the management of shared inferential life among persons. S.: And on Cicero? G.: Magnificent, but written under the illusion that Latin would remain his forever. S.: And on Signa? G.: Wiser about decay, plurality, local implication, and the vernacular afterlife of intelligence. S.: And on philosophy? G.: No liberal art, but a tyrannical dependent of them all. S.: Dry enough? G.: Sufficiently Florentine, with one Venetian letter still undelivered.Signa, Bon Compagno da (1215). Rhetorica. Bologna.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silicio – Ossia: Grice e Silicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silicia The gens Silicia, possibly the same as Selicia, was an obscure plebeian family at ancient Rome. Hardly any members of this gens are mentioned in history, but a number are known from inscriptions, many of them from Roman Africa.[1]  Origin The nomen Silicius belongs to a class of gentilicia derived from words ending in -ex. The apparent root, silex, refers to flint.[2][3]  Praenomina The Silicii used a variety of praenomina, including Lucius, Gaius, Marcus, Publius, Quintus, Titus, and Aulus, all of which were amongst the most common names throughout all periods of Roman history. At least one of the family bore the praenomen Spurius, an old name that had all but vanished by imperial times.  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Publius Silicius Coronas,[i] one of the judges who voted to acquit Brutus for his part in the murder of Caesar. He was proscribed and put to death by the triumvirs.[4][5][6] Quintus Silicius Pausia, named in an inscription from Rome, dating to the first half of the first century.[7] Silicius Rufus, named in a dedicatory inscription from Tergeste in Venetia and Histria, dating to the late first or early second century.[8] Silicia Viola, buried at Julia Concordia in Venetia and Histria, in a tomb dating to the late first or early second century, together with Lucius Calventius Atticus.[9] Lucius Silicius Nicon, dedicated a tomb at Rome, dating to the early second century, to his son, Lucius Silicius Nicon.[10] Lucius Silicius L. f. Nicon, a young man buried at Rome, aged twenty-two years, six months, and twenty days, with a monument from his father, Lucius Silicius Nicon, dating to the early second century.[10] Titus Silicius Fortunatus, a standard-bearer in the third legion at Lambaesis in AD 141.[11] Lucius Silicius Fortunatus, a native of Puteoli in Campania, was a soldier in the Praetorian Guard, serving in the century of Firmus, in AD 143.[12] Marcus Silicius Verus, a native of Urbinum in Umbria, was an officer in the Praetorian Guard, in AD 144.[12] Lucius Silicius, named in a second-century funerary inscription from Rome.[13] Silicius Longus, a soldier in the Praetorian Guard, was buried at his native Misenum, aged forty, having served for twenty-one years, with a tomb built by Claudius Longinus, dating to the latter part of the second century.[14] Gaius Silicius Januarius, a soldier serving in the third legion at Lambaesis in Numidia, in AD 173.[15] Silicius Urbanus, a soldier serving in the third legion in Africa Proconsularis during the reign of Septimius Severus, in the century of Valerius Proculus.[16] Silicius Quartus, a soldier serving in the third legion in Africa Proconsularis during the reign of Septimius Severus, in the century of Domitius Maximus.[16] Lucius Silicius Firmus Mandrogenes, a native of Magnesia on the Maeander, was the winner of the pankration at the 248th Olympiad, in AD 208. Philostratus mentions that he was descended from an aristocratic family on his mother's side.[17][18] Quintus Silicius Victor, together with Gaius Tadius Fortunatus, dedicated a statue in honor of Julia Domna at Pagus Mercurialis in Africa Proconsularis, dating between AD 209 and 211.[19] Titus Silicius Januarius, one of the officers in charge of the arsenal of the fifth cohort of the vigiles in AD 210.[20] Titus Silicius Rutilianus, a prefect exempted from menial duties, serving in the fifth cohort of the vigiles in AD 210.[20] Lucius Silicius Augustalis, one of the officers of the day for a century in the fifth cohort of the vigiles in AD 210.[20] Gaius Silicius Crescentianus, a soldier in the fifth cohort of the vigiles in AD 210.[20] Lucius Silicius Rufus, one of the municipal duumvirs at Lambaesis, named in an inscription dating between AD 379 and 383.[21] Undated Silicii Silicia, named in a funerary inscription from Ad Aquas Caesaris in Africa Proconsularis.[22] Silicia L. f., the daughter of Lucius Silicius Praenestinus, buried at Madauros in Africa Proconsularis, aged forty.[23] Marcus Silicius, the husband of Valeria and father of Marcus Silicius Catus.[24] Lucius Silicius [...]ninus, buried at Lambaesis, aged forty, with a monument from his heir, Lucius Sextilius Felix.[25] Silicia Agatha, the wife of Marcus Acutius Aegipas, a freedman named in an inscription from Puteoli.[26] Gaius Silicius C. f. Argutus, named in an inscription from Thabraca in Africa Proconsularis.[27] Gaius Silicius Campus, one of the magistrates at Castellum Medianum in Mauretania Caesariensis.[28] Quintus Silicius Q. f. Castus, buried at Thibilis in Numidia, aged thirty-five.[29] Marcus Silicius M. f. Catus, the son of Marcus Silicius and Valeria, was a soldier buried at Portus Magnus in Numidia, aged twenty-four, having served for two years.[24] Lucius Silicius L. f. Celer, buried at Aquileia in Venetia and Histria, along with Publius Avillius.[30] Silicius Donatus, one of the Sodales Augustales, was buried at Tarraco in Hispania Citerior, aged twenty-five years and nine days, with a monument from Marinius Catinianus.[31] Silicia Euphrosyne, dedicated a monument at Rome to her daughter, Suatica, daughter of Heortenus.[32] Gaius Silicius Exories, named in an inscription from Rome.[33] Silicia Faustina, a little girl buried at Rome, aged four years, five months, and one day.[34] Silicia Q. f. Felicula, the daughter of Quintus Silicius Hera, buried in a family sepulchre at Rome.[35] Silicius Felix, the son of Silicius Secundus and Antilia Victorica, was buried at Thagura in Africa Proconsularis, aged twenty-five, in a tomb built by his mother.[36] Silicius L. f. Felix, the son of Lucius Silicius and Rerricha, and grandson of Rusticius Romanus, dedicated a monument at Leptis Parva in Africa Proconsularis to his mother and brother, Lucius Silicius Saturninus.[37] Quintus Silicius Felix, buried at Lamasba in Numidia, aged eighty-eight, along with his wife, Julia Rogatina.[38] Quintus Silicius Q. f. Felix, the son of Quintus Silicius Hera, buried in a family sepulchre at Rome.[35] Gaius Silicius Fellis, buried at Thibilis.[39] Titus Silicius T. f. Firmus, the son of Titus Silicius Teleius and Ulpia Daphne, buried at Salona in Dalmatia, aged seven years, five months, and sixteen days.[40] Silicia Fortunata, buried at Mustis in Africa Proconsularis, aged forty-seven.[41] Lucius Silicius Fronto, buried at Rome, in a tomb built by his wife, Athenia Amanda.[42] Titus Silicius Gorgia, a freedman named in an inscription from Buthrotum in Macedonia, together with Titus Silicius Suavis.[43] Silicius Gudus, buried in Numidia, aged twenty-five.[44] Quintus Silicius Hera, buried in a family sepulchre at Rome, together with his mother, Silicia Prima, and children, Quintus Silicius Felix and Silicia Felicula.[35] Aulus Silicius Hilaris, probably a freedman, named in an inscription from Castellum Dimmidi in Numidia.[45] Silicia Honorata, buried at Thibilis, aged fifty-five.[46] Lucius Silicius Honoratus, buried at Thibaris in Africa Proconsularis, aged sixty-five.[47] Silicia Hospitalis, buried at Rusicade in Numidia, aged twenty-one.[48] Gaius Silicius Ivennonius, buried at Thibilis, aged seventy-five.[49] Silicia Januaria, buried at Thuburnica in Africa Proconsularis, aged seventy.[50] Silicius Januarius, buried at Madauros, aged seventy.[51] Lucius Silicius Julianus, buried at Castellum Celtianum in Numidia, aged forty.[52] Silicia C. f. Lucilla, buried at Thibilis, aged seventy-six.[53] Marcus Silicius Marianus, buried at the present site of Oum Ladjoul, formerly part of Numidia, aged fifty.[54] Quintus Silicius Martialus, built a tomb at Hippo Regius in Africa Proconsularis for his wife, Clavacina.[55] Silicia Matutina, buried at Sigus in Numidia, aged fifty.[56] Gaia Silicia Matutina, buried at Lambaesis, aged sixty-five.[57] Silicius Messor, buried at Thibilis, aged three.[58] Silicia Namgidde, a native of Africa, buried at Fanum Martis in Gallia Lugdunensis, aged sixty-five, with a monument from her son, Gaius Flavius Januarius.[59] Silicia Nampame, buried at Thibilis, aged forty-six.[60] Lucius Silicius Optatus, a veteran buried at Simitthus in Africa Proconsularis, aged fifty.[61] Silicia C. f. Placida, dedicated a monument at Forum Julii in Gallia Narbonensis to her son, Gaius Valerius Placidus, a soldier in the fourteenth legion.[62] Silicia Prima, the mother of Quintus Silicius Hera, buried in a family sepulchre at Rome.[35] Silicius Primus, made an offering to Saturn in Africa Proconsularis.[63] Gaius Silicius Primus, a little boy buried at Lambaesis, aged three.[64] Silicia Recepta, buried at Ausafa in Africa Proconsularis, aged twenty-five.[65] Gaius Silicius Romanus Thacorensis, made an offering to the gods at Rome, together Frucia Victoria.[66] Silicia P. f. Rustica, buried at Calama in Numidia, aged sixty.[67] Lucius Silicius L. f. Saturninus, the son of Lucius Silicius and Rerricha, and grandson of Rusticius Romanus, was a soldier in the third legion, serving in the century of Julius Ligur. He died in battle while serving under the centurion Lucilius, and was buried at Leptis Parva, aged forty, having served for nineteen years, with a monument from his brother, Silicius Felix.[37] Quintus Silicius Saturninus, buried at Mustis, aged seventy-five.[68] Silicius Secundus, the husband of Antilia Victorica, and father of Silicius Felix, was buried at Thagura, in a tomb built by his wife.[36] Silicius Silicianus, a flamen at Lambaesis.[69] Quintus Silicius Silvanus,[ii] a native of Africa, and a soldier in the Praetorian Guard, was buried at Misenum, aged sixty, with a monument dedicated by his wife, Messea Januaria, and son, Quintus Silicius Silvanus.[70] Quintus Silicius Q. f. Silvanus, son of Quintus Silicius Silvanus and Messea Januaria.[70] Silicus Solutor, buried at Thibilis, aged seventy-five.[71] Titus Silicius Suavis, a freedman named in an inscription from Buthrotum, together with Titus Silicius Gorgia.[43] Spurius Silicius Successus, buried at Curculum in Numidia, aged sixty.[72] Titus Silicius Teleius, the husband of Ulpia Daphne, and father of Titus Silicius Firmus, a boy buried at Salona.[40] Silicius Victor, a soldier buried at Misenum, aged twenty-eight years, having served for eight years, seven months, and five days.[73] Gaius Silicius Victor, a priest mentioned in a devotional inscription from Numidia.[74] Quintus Silicius L. f. Victorinus Cornelianus Honoratianus, was flamen, duumvir, and aedile at Bulla Regia in Africa Proconsularis.[75] Silicia P. Ɔ. l. Zosime, a freedwoman named in an inscription from Rome.[76] See also List of Roman gentes Footnotes  Icilius in Appian.  Silbanus in the inscription. References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. III, p. 823 ("Publius Silicius").  Chase, p. 126.  New College Latin & English Dictionary, s. v. silex.  Cassius Dio, xlvi. 49.  Plutarch, "The Life of Brutus", 27.  Appian, Bellum Civile, iv. 27.  CIL VI, 5923.  AE 1959, 44.  CIL V, 8682.  AE 1984, 82  CIL VIII, 18067.  CIL VI, 2379.  AE 2004, 229.  CIL X, 3629.  CIL VIII, 18068.  AE 1922, 54.  Philostratus, Gymnasticus, 23.  Lynch, The Ancient Olympiads.  CIL VIII, 885.  CIL VI, 1057.  CIL VIII, 18328.  ILAlg, i. 2960.  ILAlg, i. 2700.  CIL VIII, 21619.  CIL VIII, 4066.  CIL X, 1996.  ILAfr, 603, 32.  AE 1920, 46b.  ILAlg, ii. 2, 5841.  InscrAqu, ii. 2483.  CIL II, 6109.  CIL VI, 26891.  CIL VI, 7163.  CIL VI, 26555.  CIL VI, 26553.  CIL VIII, 16855.  CIL VIII, 22899.  CIL VIII, 4460.  ILAlg, ii. 2. 5842.  ILJug, ii. 715.  CIL VIII, 1608.  CIL VI, 26552.  CIA, 261.  RAA, p. 176.  CIL VIII, 8800.  CIL VIII, 19050.  CIL VIII, 15444.  CIL VIII, 8152.  ILAlg, ii. 2. 5843.  CIL VIII, 25783.  ILAlg, i. 2699.  ILAlg, ii. 1. 3237.  CIL VIII, 5621.  ILAlg, ii. 3, 7533.  CIL VIII, 5244.  ILAlg, ii. 2, 6763.  CIL VIII, 18457.  ILAlg, ii. 2. 5844.  CIL XIII, 3147.  ILAlg, ii. 2, 5847.  CIL VIII, 14608.  CIL XII, 265.  ILAfr, 443.  CIL VIII, 4065.  CIL VIII, 11973.  CIL VI, 26554.  ILAlg, i. 404.  CIL VIII, 16427.  CIL VIII, 2723.  CIL X, 3630.  ILAlg, ii. 2. 5845.  ILAlg, ii. 3, 8178.  CIL X, 3631.  ILAlg, ii. 2, 6348.  AE 1960, 167.  CIL VI, 5869. Bibliography Lucius Mestrius Plutarchus (Plutarch), Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans. Appianus Alexandrinus (Appian), Bellum Civile (The Civil War). Lucius Cassius Dio Cocceianus (Cassius Dio), Roman History. Lucius Flavius Philostratus, Gymnasticus. Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). Gustav Wilmanns, Inscriptiones Africae Latinae (Latin Inscriptions from Africa, abbreviated ILAfr), Georg Reimer, Berlin (1881). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). Stéphane Gsell, Recherches Archéologiques en Algérie (Archaeological Investigations in Algeria, abbreviated RAA), Paris (1893); Inscriptions Latines de L'Algérie (Latin Inscriptions from Algeria, abbreviated ILAlg), Edouard Champion, Paris (1922–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Anna and Jaroslav Šašel, Inscriptiones Latinae quae in Iugoslavia inter annos MCMXL et MCMLX repertae et editae sunt (Inscriptions from Yugoslavia Found and Published between 1940 and 1960, abbreviated ILJug), Ljubljana (1963–1986). Giovanni Battista Brusin, Inscriptiones Aquileiae (Inscriptions of Aquileia, abbreviated InscrAqu), Udine (1991–1993). John C. Traupman, The New College Latin & English Dictionary, Bantam Books, New York (1995). Skender Anamali, Hasan Ceka, and Élisabeth Deniaux, Corpus des Inscriptions Latines d'Albanie (The Body of Latin Inscriptions of Albania, abbreviated CIA), École Française de Rome, Rome (2009). James Lynch, The Ancient Olympiads: 776 BC to 393 AD, Warwick Press (2015). Category: Roman gentes And for THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silicio – Ossia: Grice e Silicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silicia For the Silicii, my first-best choice is neither the Olympian pankratiast nor the praetorians. It is Publius Silicius Coronas, the judge who voted to acquit Brutus after Caesar's assassination and was later proscribed by the triumvirs. Why? Because he gives a beautifully Gricean problem:  What does a vote mean?  Is a judicial vote merely an assessment of guilt or innocence? Or is it also a political signal? The triumvirs evidently treated it as the latter. Grice e Silicio Coronas: Sententia an Signum? CORONAS. Brutum absolvo. (I acquit Brutus.) +> My judgment concerns the legal case before me. TRIVMVIR. Immo Brutum sequeris. (On the contrary, you are following Brutus.) +> The vote is interpreted as political allegiance. CORONAS. De causa iudico. (I judge the case.) +> The act is presented as judicial. TRIVMVIR. De republica quoque iudicas. (You judge the republic as well.) +> Every legal judgment simultaneously communicates a political stance. CORONAS. Aliud est absolvĕre, aliud approbare. (It is one thing to acquit, another to approve.) +> Legal decision and moral endorsement are distinguished. TRIVMVIR. Roma distinctiones non semper audit. (Rome does not always hear distinctions.) +> Public uptake may collapse carefully maintained differences. This feels extraordinarily Gricean because the problem is exactly the gap between:  what the act conventionally says, what observers infer from it.  Coronas' vote may have literally meant:  "The charge does not justify conviction."  But others may have heard:  "I support Brutus."  The vote acquires implicatures that outrun its formal content. Coronas gives a richer problem of meaning, interpretation, and political consequence. But Coronas remains stronger.  Dry Speranzian formula  The Silicii derive their name from silex, flint. Publius Silicius Coronas discovered that votes can be harder than flint. He cast a legal judgment; Rome interpreted a political declaration. Grice would ask whether acquittal entails approval. The triumvirs seem to have thought so.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silicio – Ossia: Grice e Silicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silicia Why not the Olympian? Lucius Silicius Firmus Mandrogenes, the Olympic pankration champion of AD 208, is attractive, especially since Philostratus discusses him. But the story is essentially athletic glory.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silio – Ossia: Grice e Silio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silio The gens Silia was a plebeian family at ancient Rome. Members of this gens are mentioned as early as the fifth century BC, but first to hold the consulship was Publius Silius Nerva, in the time of Augustus.[1] The Silii remained prominent until the time of the Severan dynasty, in the early third century.  Origin The nomen Silius is derived from the cognomen Silus, originally designating someone with an upturned nose. It was one of a large class of cognomina derived from the physical characteristics of an individual.[2][3][4][5] Chase classifies Silius among those gentilicia that either originated at Rome, or cannot be shown to have come from anywhere else.[6]  Praenomina The main praenomina of the Silii were Aulus, Publius, and Gaius, all of which were common throughout Roman history. Other common praenomina were used occasionally.  Branches and cognomina Nerva, originally applied to someone described as "sinewy", was the cognomen of the most prominent family of the Silii, and the only surname of this gens that occurs on coins.[7][1] This family was prominent from the age of Cicero to the time of Nero. One branch of this family was descended from a member who was adopted by Aulus Licinius Nerva; but as the two families shared a surname prior to this adoption, they may perhaps have been related.  Other surnames of the Silii that did not become hereditary included Bassus, "stout" or "sturdy";[7] Italicus, referring to someone from "Italy", originally describing the region of Bruttium, before it came to describe the rest of the peninsula;[8] and Messala or Messalla, a surname usually associated with the ancient Valeria gens. This name was derived from the city of Messana in Sicily, which was rescued from a Carthaginian naval blockade by Manius Valerius Maximus during the Second Punic War; the name was passed down to his descendants, perhaps including Marcus Silius Messala.  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Quintus Silius was one of the first plebeians elected quaestor, in 409 BC, a century after the founding of the Republic.[9][10] Publius Silius and Marcus Silius were both tribunes of the plebs in 204 BC and cited by Sextus Pompeius Festus[11] for regulating public weights. Titus Silius, one of Caesar's officers during the Gallic Wars, was sent as an emissary to buy grain from the Veneti in 56 BC, but taken captive by them.[12][13] Aulus Silius, a friend of Cicero, who mentions him in several of his letters to Atticus.[14] Publius Silius, propraetor of Bithynia and Pontus in 51 BC, and a friend of both Atticus and Cicero. He was probably the father of Publius Silius Nerva, consul in 20 BC.[15][16][17] Publius Silius P. f. Nerva, consul in 20 BC, subsequently sent against the Camunni and the Vennones, whom he defeated.[18][19] Publius Silius P. f. P. n. Nerva, consul suffectus in AD 3, had been a moneyer, and commanded several legions prior to his consulship.[20][21][22] Aulus Silius P. f. P. n. Nerva, consul in AD 7, was adopted by Aulus Licinius Nerva, becoming Aulus Licinius Nerva Silianus. He had been a moneyer, and fought with distinction in the Illyrian War in the year before he was named consul. He was a personal friend of Augustus, who highly praised his various qualities, but died without realizing his full potential.[23][24][25] Gaius Silius P. f. P. n. Nerva,[i] consul in AD 13, and subsequently governor of Germania Superior. He and his friend, Germanicus, fought with great success against the Chatti and Treveri. After Germanicus' death, Silius put down a revolt of the Aedui. In AD 24, he was falsely accused of repetundae and maiestas, and took his own life rather than face condemnation.[26][27][28][29][30][31] Publius Silius P. f. P. n. Nerva, consul in AD 28.[32][33][34] Silius Bassus, an orator mentioned by Seneca the Elder.[35] Gaius Silius C. f. P. n. Nerva, a Roman senator, was induced by the empress Messalina, who was infatuated by his beauty, to divorce his wife, Junia Silana, and enter into a bigamous marriage with her in AD 48. Informed of his wife's treachery, Claudius ordered them both put to death. Silius had been designated to hold the consulship in the following year.[36][37][38][39][40][41] Aulus Licinius Nerva Silianus, grandson of Aulus Licinius Nerva Silianus, the consul of AD 7, was consul in AD 65.[42][43][44][45] Silia, the wife of a senator, was party to the debauchery of Nero; but unable to avoid repeating what she had seen, she was sent into exile.[46][47] Tiberius Catius Asconius Silius Italicus, consul in AD 68, had acquired some fame as an orator, and a member of the centumviri, and was the last surviving member of Nero's inner circle. He was a prolific writer of heroic verse, and the composer of the Punica, an account of the Second Punic War in seventeen books, and the longest surviving poem from antiquity written in Latin.[48][49] Silius, a writer of satires in the time of Juvenal.[50] Silius Proculus, a friend of Pliny the Younger, might be the same as the satirist mentioned by Juvenal.[51][52] Lucius Silius Decianus, consul suffectus from the Kalends of September in AD 94.[53][54] Silius Tertullus, a senator who served as curator of the colony of Tunisia.[55][56] Marcus Silius Messala, consul suffectus for the months of May and June in AD 193, announced the deposition of Didius Julianus, and the accession of Septimius Severus. He was subsequently governor of Bithynia and Pontus. Either he or another senator of this name, perhaps his son, was put to death by Elagabalus in 218.[57][58] See also List of Roman gentes Notes  Erroneously called "Gaius Silius Aulus Caecina Largus" in many sources, based on an ambiguous inscription; Aulus Caecina Largus has been shown to have been his colleague. References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. III, p. 823 ("Silia Gens").  Festus, s.v. Silus.  Cicero, De Natura Deorum, i. 29.  Chase, pp. 109, 131.  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. III, p. 827 ("Silus").  Chase, p. 131.  Chase, p. 110.  Strabo, Geographica.  Livy, iv. 54.  Broughton, vol. I, p. 78.  Sextus Pompeius Festus, De verborum significatione, vol. VII, PUBLICA PONDERA  Caesar, De Bello Gallico, iii. 7.  Broughton, vol. II, p. 211.  Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum, x. 13, xii. 18a, 22, 24, 25, xiii. 50.  Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum, vi. 1. § 13, vii. 1. § 8, xv. 23, 24; Epistulae ad Familiares, vii. 21.  Huschke, De Causa Siliana, Studien des Römischen Rechts.  Broughton, vol. II, pp. 234, 242, 250.  Cassius Dio, liv. 7, 20.  PIR, S. 512.  Velleius Paterculus, ii. 101.  PIR, S. 506.  Syme, The Augustan Aristocracy, pp. 52, 101 (note 51), 458.  Velleius Paterculus, ii. 116.  Cassius Dio, lv. 30.  Syme, The Augustan Aristocracy, p. 425.  Fasti Capitolini.  Cassius Dio, lvi. 28, lx. 31.  Suetonius, "The Life of Augustus", 101.  Frontinus, De Aquaeductu, 102.  Tacitus, Annales, i. 31, ii. 6, 7, 25, iii. 42–45, iv. 18, 19.  PIR, S. 507.  Tacitus, Annales, iv. 68.  Pliny the Elder, Historia Naturalis, viii. 40.  PIR, S. 513.  Seneca, Controversiae, iii. 16, 17, 20–22.  Tacitus, Annales, xi. 5, 12, 26–35.  Cassius Dio, lx. 31.  Suetonius, "The Life of Claudius", 26.  Juvenal, Satirae, x. 331 ff.  CIL VI, 32325.  PIR, S. 505.  CIL III, 7368.  AE 1946, 124.  Inscriptiones Latinae in Graecia Repertae, 251.  PIR, S. 511a.  Tacitus, Annales, xvi. 20.  PIR, S. 516.  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. III, pp. 824, 825 ("C. Silius Italicus").  PIR, S. 509.  PIR, S. 504.  Pliny the Younger, Epistulae, iii. 15.  PIR, S. 514.  Fasti Ostienses.  PIR, S. 508.  CIL VIII, 1183.  PIR, S. 515.  Cassius Dio, lxxiii. 17, lxxix. 5.  PIR, S. 510, 511. Bibliography Gaius Julius Caesar, Commentarii de Bello Gallico (Commentaries on the Gallic War). Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Natura Deorum, Epistulae ad Atticum. Titus Livius (Livy), History of Rome. Fasti Capitolini, AE 1927, 101; 1940, 59, 60. Strabo, Geographica. Marcus Velleius Paterculus, Roman History. Lucius Annaeus Seneca (Seneca the Elder), Controversiae. Gaius Plinius Secundus (Pliny the Elder), Historia Naturalis (Natural History). Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus (Pliny the Younger), Epistulae (Letters). Sextus Julius Frontinus, De Aquaeductu (On Aqueducts). Decimus Junius Juvenalis, Satirae (Satires). Publius Cornelius Tacitus, Annales. Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, De Vita Caesarum (Lives of the Caesars, or The Twelve Caesars). Fasti Ostienses, CIL XIV, 244. Sextus Pompeius Festus, Epitome de M. Verrio Flacco de Verborum Significatu (Epitome of Marcus Verrius Flaccus' On the Meaning of Words). Lucius Cassius Dio Cocceianus (Cassius Dio), Roman History. Philipp Eduard Huschke, De Causa Siliana, Rostock (1824); Studien des Römischen Rechts, Breslau (1830). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). T. Robert S. Broughton, The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, American Philological Association (1952–1986). Marjeta Šašel Kos, Inscriptiones Latinae in Graecia Repertae: Additamenta ad CIL III (Latin Inscriptions Discovered in Greece: Additions to CIL III), Fratelli Lega, Faenza (1979). Ronald Syme, The Augustan Aristocracy, Clarendon Press, Oxford (1989). Categories: SiliiRoman gentes And for THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silio – Ossia: Grice e Silio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silio For the Silii, my first-best Grice-Speranza choice is not the consul, nor even the unfortunate lover of Messalina, but Tiberius Catius Asconius Silius Italicus, the poet of the Punica. Why? Because he sits exactly at the intersection of:  rhetoric, poetry, history, memory,  which is where Gricean questions about "what is said" versus "what is conveyed" become particularly interesting. Grice e Silio Italico: Historia an Poesis? SILIVS. Bellum Punicum scribo. (I am writing the Punic War.) +> The audience initially expects history. LECTOR. Ergo historiam? (Therefore, history?) +> A factual genre is anticipated. SILIVS. Poema. (A poem.) +> The mode of presentation is disclosed. LECTOR. Sed Hannibal idem est? (But is Hannibal still the same?) +> The characters are historical. SILIVS. Idem homo, alia significatio. (The same man, a different significance.) +> Poetry reinterprets historical material. GRICE. Non quaero tantum quid narratur, sed quid per narrationem communicatur. (I ask not merely what is narrated, but what is communicated through the narration.)  Silius Italicus writes about real events, yet the Punica is not merely a chronicle. Like Virgil before him, he is constantly turning history into meaning. A Gricean would ask:  Is the poem saying that Rome defeated Carthage?  Of course. But also:  What is the poem inviting us to admire?   What ideals are being celebrated?   What conception of Rome is being implied?  Those are implicatures of a literary sort.  There is another reason Silius is attractive. He was known both as an orator and as a poet. The Romans themselves often worried about the boundary between the two. A little dialogue: ORATOR. Persuadere volo. (I wish to persuade.) POETA. Ostendere volo. (I wish to show.) GRICE. Ambo tamen significare volunt. (Yet both wish to mean something.) +> Different genres share intentional communication. Dry Speranzian formula  The Sicinii teach Grice about political suspicion; the Silii teach him about literary meaning. Silius Italicus writes seventeen books on the Punic War. The events are historical, but the significance is poetic. Grice would say that Hannibal is what is described; Rome is what is meant. And the Punica is in hexametres--what's the opening set we can scan? thank or parse, thank Yes. The Punica is written in dactylic hexameters, and Silius deliberately opens in a Virgilian register. The beginning of Book I is: [topostext.org]  Ordior arma, quibus caelo se gloria tollit Aeneadum, patiturque ferox Oenotria iura Carthago... [topostext.org]  A rough translation:  I begin the wars by which the glory of the descendants of Aeneas rises to heaven, and proud Carthage submits to the rule of Italy... [topostext.org]  You can immediately hear the rivalry with Virgil's:  Arma virumque cano...  Silius begins not with cano ("I sing") but ordior ("I begin"), yet arma remains the very first substantial word. [topostext.org] Parsing the first line Ordior  1st person singular deponent "I begin"  arma  accusative plural object of ordior "the wars", "arms"  quibus  ablative plural relative pronoun "by which"  caelo  dative "to heaven"  se tollit  "raises itself"  gloria  nominative singular subject of tollit  Aeneadum  genitive plural "of the descendants of Aeneas"  So literally:  "I begin the wars by which the glory of the descendants of Aeneas raises itself to heaven."  Scansion (first line) One standard scansion is:  Ōr | diŏr ār | mă quĭ | bŭs cae | lō sē glŏ | rĭă tōllĭt  with the expected hexameter pattern and a strong central caesura after arma. (As always with Latin epic, elisions and quantity make the exact metrical analysis more technical than the printed word divisions suggest.) A Gricean aside Silius' very first word, ordior, carries an implicature different from Virgil's cano. VERGILIVS. Arma virumque cano. (I sing of arms and the man.) +> Epic authority belongs to the poet-singer. SILIVS. Ordior arma... (I begin the wars...) +> The narrative is presented almost as an undertaking or enterprise already known to the audience. Dry Speranzian formula:  Virgil sings; Silius begins. Virgil gives us a man (virum); Silius gives us a war (arma) at once. The Punica announces itself as not merely epic narrative but Roman historical memory in hexameters.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silio – Ossia: Grice e Silio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silio A close second choice would be Silius Bassus, the rhetorician mentioned by Seneca the Elder. But unlike Sabidienus Paulus, we are told very little about him. and what does Seneca say about the rhetorician in Latin Eng? Thank and what source does the gens entry for Silia gens gives for Seneca on Silius Bassus the rhetorician -- Latin Eng? Thanks any title of publication? Thanks There is a small trap here. The gens Silia entry cites:  Seneca, Controversiae iii. 16, 17, 20–22 for Silius Bassus, an orator. [loebclassics.com]  However, in the surviving Senecan material around those sections, another figure named Sepullius Bassus appears prominently in anecdotes involving Cassius Severus and the declaimer Cestius. [villaspera...ogspot.com] So one must be careful not to confuse:  Silius Bassus (the member of the gens Silia in the prosopographical tradition), Sepullius Bassus (the wealthy young man in Seneca's anecdotes). [villaspera...ogspot.com]  As for Silius Bassus, I have found the citation trail showing that the gens article derives him from Seneca's Controversiae, but I have not found a passage in the retrieved sources giving a speech, quotation, or title of any work by him. [loebclassics.com] So, on present evidence:  Source: Seneca the Elder, Controversiae. [loebclassics.com] Description: an orator/rhetorician. [loebclassics.com] Surviving publication title: none found in the sources I retrieved. Surviving quotation: none found in the sources I retrieved.  This differs from, say:  Silius Italicus, whose Punica survives; or Quintus Septimius Romanus, to whom a translation of Dictys Cretensis is attributed.  For Silius Bassus, the prosopographical evidence appears to be that he is remembered as a declaimer/orator mentioned in Seneca, not as the author of an extant work. [loebclassics.com] One interesting Gricean irony is that the gens entry preserves his name, but not his speeches. We know that he spoke; we do not know what he said.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silio – Ossia: Grice e Silio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silio The third candidate, Gaius Silius, husband of Messalina, gives a fascinating problem of public versus private meaning. Everybody knows what Messalina's "marriage" implied politically even before anyone stated it explicitly. But that story belongs more to Tacitus than to Grice.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silio – Ossia: Grice e Silio: la ragione conversazionale a Roma – la maledizione di Dione – Scipione come Ercole – il sacrificio dell’eroe. Note su Punica. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Tiberio Cazio Asconio Silio Italico (Padova, Veneto): la ragione conversazionale a Roma – la maledizione di Dione – Scipione come Ercole – il sacrificio dell’eroe. The comparison between Grice and Silius Italicus brings out, across very different genres, a shared reliance on reason-governed practices to generate meaning beyond what is explicitly stated: Silius, a lawyer, consul, and later poet of the Roman principate, writes the Punica as an epic that openly depends on rhetorical, civic, and cultural reason, where Scipio is deliberately framed as a new Hercules, Dion’s curse functions less as literal doom than as a narratively managed signal, and heroism emerges through patterns of sacrifice, endurance, and exemplarity that an informed Roman audience is expected to recognize and complete; likewise, Grice’s theory of conversational meaning insists that understanding arises from rational cooperation, where what is meant cannot be reduced to what is said but depends on shared assumptions about relevance, intention, and intelligibility; in Silius, calling Scipio “Herculean” is not mere ornament but a controlled invitation to the audience to draw licensed inferences about virtue, labor, and mortal cost, just as in Grice an utterance achieves its force by relying on norms that guide hearers to move from literal content to justified implications; both figures, one in epic and one in philosophy, thus treat meaning as something governed by rational practices embedded in social life—whether the Roman forum and literary tradition or ordinary conversation—where form, context, and audience reasoning do the decisive work. Avvocato, console, pro-console de principato romano. Muore in Campania. Figli: Lucio Silio Deciano. Console, Proconsole in Asia. Noto semplicemente come S. Italico è anche un poeta, avvocato e politico romano, autore dei Punicorum libri XVII, il più lungo poema epico latino pervenutoci. Abbiamo notizie di lui da una lettera di PLINIO il Giovane a Caninio RUFO, nella quale parla della sua morte. Il nome ‘Asconio’ porta a ritenere che e legato alla gens patavine. Altre brevi informazioni ci vengono da TACITO e da Marziale. Di Marziale, S. è il patrono e sappiamo che opera nel foro come avvocato difensore, probabilmente già al principato di CLAUDIO. Secondo Plinio, nel principato di Nerone, dove esercitare anche l'avvocatura d'accusa, ovvero la delazione vera e falsa per il favore del principe. Il beneficio che ne tratta e il consolato ordinario. Con la caduta e morte di Nerone, in quanto amico di Vitellio, S. partecipa alle trattative di questi con il fratello di Vespasiano, Tito Flavio Sabino, che è a Roma con il figlio di Vespasiano, Domiziano.  S. è pro-console in Asia Minore agl’ordini di VESPASIANO. Testimonianza è un'epigrafe ad Afrodisia, che riporta il suo nome completo. Allo scadere del mandato pro-consolare S. si ritira dalla vita politica attiva dedicandosi agli studi e alla stesura del suo “Punicorum libri”.  Nel Libro III vi è un riferimento al titolo di "Germanico" assunto da Domiziano e Marziale saluta l'opera nel IV libro degl’epigrammi. Anche a causa dello stato di salute aggiorna a Campania, dove compra la villa di CICERONE, il suo modello di oratoria, e la terra che custodia la tomba di VIRGILIO, di cui è un estimatore e ai cui stilemi si rifà abbondantemente nel corso dei Punica. SCIPIONE, l’eroe nudo. Silio, and the labours of Ercole. Tiberio Cazio Asconio Silio Italico.  GRICEVS: Salvē, Silī! Audīvī tē Rōmae Scīpiōnem tamquam Herculēm canere, et Dionis maledictionem quasi condimentum carminis addere. Num etiam in foro versūs tuī causās vincunt? SILIVS: Salvē, Grice. In foro verba iūrantur, in carmine volant. Sed Scīpiō—ille vere laborāvit; ego tantum labōrēs eius numerō et in hexametrōs compingō. GRICEVS: Ita est. (Sed mirum quam saepe apud nōs, dum de factīs disserimus, ipsa ratio narrandī rem vincat: nam ubi “Herculem” nominās, audītōr iam ante triumphat, et maledictiō ipsa, quae terrēre posset, fit quasi titulus ad recitandum.) Dic ergo: cum “Scīpiōnem-Herculēm” pingis, sacrificiumne magis ostendis an gloriam? SILIVS: O inplicatūram dīvīnam, Grice! Nam intellegō quid subesset: nōn tantum quid dicāmus, sed quō modō dicāmus facit ut vir paulatim deus videātur; et maledictiō, quae olim pondus habuit, in carmine saepe tantum sonet—Dionēm verberante, sed Scīpiōne rīdente. Re passage below. again at CLifton, a higher class they analyse -- please provide 100 move conversation between Master, G. and Shorpshire, they analyse Enea Aeneas as stoic hero -- not meaning that he was instilled with Veterum Fragmenta Stoicorum but something else and then they go to la maledizione di Didone and Silio and Scipione as Ercole and the Punica and back to the philosophical stoicism, or porch, as the master prefers -- with G. getting interested and Shrosphire not knowing his Aeneas from his Scipion, etc. no preamble or ps -- thanks Master.: Very well, gentlemen, we are in the higher class now, and if we are to survive Silius Italicus we must first distinguish our heroes before we begin admiring them. G.: Aeneas and Scipio, sir. Shropshire.: I had thought they were much the same once one had stripped them to armour and duty. Master.: That is exactly the kind of confusion for which schools were invented. Aeneas is Virgil’s Trojan in Italy. Scipio, in Silius, is Roman, anti-Carthaginian, and occasionally dressed up as Hercules by the poet for patriotic enlargement. Shropshire.: So one is a founder and the other a finisher. G.: Better, sir, one is a bearer of fate, the other a fulfiller of Roman vengeance. Master.: Good. Grice may remain. Shropshire may listen. Now, the question before us is whether Aeneas may be called a Stoic hero. Shropshire.: Without having read the Stoic fragments, sir? Master.: Very good. Exactly so. No one imagines Aeneas turning pages of Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta under a tree. G.: Then “Stoic” must mean a type of moral posture rather than a doctrinal subscription. Master.: Precisely. Endurance, submission to a larger order, command over passion when passion would be easier, and the carrying of burden without theatrical collapse. Shropshire.: That sounds unpleasantly admirable. Master.: It is Roman, which is worse. Now, why might someone call Aeneas Stoic? G.: Because he acts under fatum, sir, but not as a puppet. He is compelled and yet still responsible for how he bears the compulsion. Master.: Excellent. That is the first point. Stoicism is not laziness before necessity. It is conduct under necessity. Shropshire.: So when he leaves Dido, he is not cold but obedient. Master.: That is at least the intended line, yes. G.: Though the poem takes care to make the obedience costly. Master.: Exactly. Otherwise he would be merely hard, not heroic. The cost is part of the ethical shape. Shropshire.: And Dido’s curse? Master.: Ah yes, the malediction. One of the great moments in which personal injury is made to bear historical destiny. G.: The curse is not merely private rage, sir. It retroactively feeds the logic of the Punic Wars. Master.: Very good. That is why Silius matters. He inherits the Virgilian curse as a usable prehistory for Rome and Carthage. Shropshire.: So one woman’s anger becomes an imperial footnote. Master.: More than a footnote, though your insolence is serviceable. The curse is the poetic mechanism by which love’s breach becomes history’s enmity. G.: Which already sounds rather un-Stoic. Master.: On Dido’s side, yes. She is passion moving into historical vengeance. Aeneas, by contrast, is the one who must leave passion behind in order to obey the larger command. Shropshire.: Then he is Stoic because he hurts correctly. Master.: That is coarse, but not wholly false. G.: There is also pietas, sir. Master.: Of course. Never omit pietas in a Roman room. Aeneas is Stoic-like not because he lectures on apatheia but because pietas orders him beyond appetite and private delight. Shropshire.: Is pietas the same as Stoic virtue, sir? Master.: Not the same. Overlap, not identity. Pietas is Roman relational duty to gods, father, family, destiny, city-to-come. Stoicism supplies the later philosophical language in which endurance under order becomes legible as virtue. One must not flatten the two, but one may let them illuminate one another. G.: Then Aeneas is Stoic by retrospective moral type, not by doctrinal pedigree. Master.: Exactly. That is the sentence I wanted and was too tired to form. Shropshire.: May I write it down as if I had said it? Master.: No. Grice may. You may borrow it at your peril. Now, Silius and Scipio. G.: Silius makes Scipio Herculean, sir. Master.: Yes. Not only victorious, but laborious. Hercules is the ancient shorthand for burdened virtue that civilises through ordeal. Shropshire.: So Scipio inherits monsters instead of cattle. Master.: Better. He inherits Hannibal instead of Geryon, if one is willing to be impertinent in Latin. G.: The comparison to Hercules also enlarges Scipio beyond mere strategy. Master.: Precisely. He becomes not just a successful general but a morally legible labouring hero. Shropshire.: And still Roman, not Greek? Master.: Entirely Roman in destination, though poetry will steal from wherever it pleases. The Herculean comparison is not Hellenising surrender but Roman appropriation. G.: Then in Silius the heroic ideal is doubled: Aeneas as Stoic-pietistic founder in Virgilian retrospect, Scipio as Herculean fulfiller in national epic. Master.: Very good. Shropshire.: I begin to see why one should not confuse them. Master.: Begin is the right word. Do not yet congratulate yourself. Now, what of the phrase “stoic hero” itself? Is it not slightly vulgar? G.: It risks anachronism, sir. Master.: Yes. And yet it may still be heuristically useful if one says exactly what one means: not school membership, but moral physiognomy under fate. Shropshire.: Physiognomy again. Master.: Everything returns if one teaches long enough. Now, Aeneas and the porch. G.: You prefer “porch,” sir, to “Stoicism.” Master.: I do, because “Stoicism” sounds finished and doctrinal in a way the living image of the stoa resists. The porch is a place of endurance, public speech, rational composure, and a certain architectural exposure. It suits Rome better than a footnote to Chrysippus. Shropshire.: So Aeneas belongs at the porch because he is seen by others carrying himself under burden. Master.: Very good. You are getting less useless. G.: There is also the matter of speech, sir. Aeneas often says less than he feels. Master.: Yes. Which is Roman and, if one likes, proto-Stoic. Passion is not denied, but governed in manifestation. Shropshire.: Honest dissimulation? Master.: That is for another day and another Italian. But yes, disciplined manifestation. A hero who narrates every tremor is no use to an empire. G.: Then Dido is the counter-example. Master.: In one sense, yes. She speaks from wound, curse, abandonment, passion, royal injury. She is magnificent, but not porch-like. Shropshire.: Which is why boys remember her better. Master.: Naturally. Schools are always crowded with secret Carthaginians. Now, how does Silius use all this? G.: He takes the old curse and lets it reverberate through the Punica as explanatory pressure. Master.: Exactly. Dido’s malediction becomes not a magical mechanism but a narratively managed sign that the conflict is larger than ordinary policy. Shropshire.: Like a family quarrel continued by naval means. Master.: Coarse again, but useful. Epic loves to make state conflict look like prolonged personal memory. G.: Then Scipio as Hercules answers not only Hannibal, but the curse itself. Master.: Very good. He becomes the laboring counter-force to inherited enmity. Shropshire.: And where is philosophy in all this, sir? Other than in Grice’s face. Master.: The philosophy lies in the moral grammar of heroism. What counts as admirable under necessity? How does one act when the course is fixed but the bearing remains one’s own? That is the point at which epic and the porch shake hands. G.: So fate does not abolish agency; it sharpens the style of agency. Master.: Excellent. That is nearly Marcus Aurelius, though better dressed. Shropshire.: Then Aeneas as Stoic hero means not “Aeneas subscribes to a doctrine,” but “Aeneas exemplifies conduct under an intelligible order greater than private desire.” Master.: Good. Grice, write that down before he loses it. G.: Already done, sir. Shropshire.: This is why nobody likes him. Master.: On the contrary, this is why masters do. Now, fatum. Does the existence of fatum make Aeneas less heroic? G.: No, sir, because the heroism lies not in inventing the end but in consenting to it at cost. Master.: Yes. One may even say that if the path were merely chosen among pleasures, there would be less heroism, not more. Shropshire.: So freedom is not selecting the destination but governing the self on the road. Master.: Better than I expected. G.: Then this also explains why the curse matters. It turns history into burden rather than mere sequence. Master.: Exactly. The curse makes the later Roman-Carthaginian struggle feel morally and affectively charged from the beginning. Shropshire.: Which means Silius inherits not just events but emotional capital. Master.: Good. You may keep that phrase for once. Epic history is always emotional capital under metre. G.: And Silius, being lawyer enough and poet enough, knows how to convert inherited emotion into civic exemplarity. Master.: Splendid. That is exactly what he does with Scipio. He does not merely narrate campaigns; he furnishes Rome with an exemplum under literary enlargement. Shropshire.: Why Hercules, though? Why not simply leave him as Scipio? Master.: Because “Scipio” names a Roman man; “Hercules” names a transhistorical grammar of labour, suffering, monster-clearing, and reward. To call Scipio Herculean is not decoration; it is a controlled invitation to draw the right inferences. G.: About toil, endurance, civil service through suffering. Master.: Yes. Epic works by licensed overmeaning. The hearer is expected to complete the significance. Shropshire.: That sounds like your word, Grice. G.: It often does where good literature is concerned. Master.: Let us not have the philosophy boy become insufferable. Now, what of Scipio as “the naked hero,” as some later note has it? G.: Naked in the sense of stripped to virtue, sir, not merely to anatomy. Shropshire.: Disappointing. Master.: You are what Virgil called a lower appetite. Yes, naked in the sense that heroic identity is exposed through labour rather than ornament. G.: Which again supports the Herculean frame. Master.: Entirely. Hercules is admirable not because he is dressed well but because he carries, suffers, and persists. Shropshire.: Like a prefect under bad weather. Master.: If prefects killed lions, perhaps. Now, back to Aeneas. Could one call him Stoic without Didonic residue? G.: I do not think so, sir. The cost of leaving Dido is part of what makes the obedience morally interesting rather than merely administrative. Master.: Very good. The wound in the private sphere gives depth to the public destiny. Shropshire.: So if he had left her cheerfully, he would be less stoic and more monstrous. Master.: Precisely. The porch is not made of indifference but of governed pain. G.: Then there is a danger in saying “Aeneas as Stoic hero” too quickly. One may make him sound bloodless. Master.: Yes, and that is why schools should prefer the porch. It lets one speak of discipline without suggesting a machine of serenity. Shropshire.: I rather like the machine of serenity. Master.: Of course you do. You have never governed anything but your own laziness. Now, how does Scipio differ philosophically from Aeneas? G.: Aeneas is the bearer of founding fate; Scipio is the executor of national rescue. Aeneas carries a future city; Scipio restores an existing commonwealth under external threat. Master.: Excellent. And therefore? G.: Therefore Scipio’s labour can more readily be figured Herculean, while Aeneas’s can more readily be figured Stoic-pietistic. Master.: Exactly. Hercules suits public toil against monsters and enemies. The porch suits inward composure under command and burden. Shropshire.: Then if one swapped them—Aeneas as Hercules and Scipio as Stoic—it would not quite work. Master.: It would work only clumsily. Aeneas does have Herculean moments of burden, but his essence in the poem is pious endurance under destiny. Scipio may be prudent and restrained, but Silius wants enlarged labour and exemplarity. The poetic economies differ. G.: There is also the Virgilian background, sir. Silius is reading through Virgil. Master.: Entirely. He buys Virgil’s tomb, if you please, and behaves like a devout inheritor of epic authority. He cannot write Scipio without hearing Aeneas behind him. Shropshire.: So Scipio is in part a Roman correction of Trojan melancholy. Master.: That is very good indeed. G.: Thank you, sir—though it was Shropshire. Master.: Then a miracle has occurred. We shall record it. Now, what of Dido’s curse as philosophical rather than merely poetic? G.: It shows how personal speech can become historical force within epic causality, sir, without ceasing to be legible as pain. Master.: Yes. The curse is not merely magical doom. It is a narrative concentration of memory, grievance, and future hostility. Shropshire.: So Carthage remembers through her. Master.: In poetic logic, yes. The private voice becomes public inheritance. G.: Which is why later Rome must answer not only Hannibal but an old injustice felt as still alive. Master.: Exactly. That gives the Punic struggle moral temperature beyond strategy. Shropshire.: Then philosophy of history and poetry become awkward neighbours. Master.: They often are. Epic makes history intelligible by moral and symbolic patterns that no archive alone could supply. G.: And Stoicism, in the broad sense, gives one a way of reading heroic suffering as rationally ordered without reducing it to mere obedience. Master.: Very good. That is the real gain of the comparison. Shropshire.: I think I finally know my Aeneas from my Scipio. Master.: Then the class has not been wasted. State the difference. Shropshire.: Aeneas is Stoic-like because he bears fate under pietas and leaves private desire at cost. Scipio is Herculean because Silius makes him the labouring solver of Rome’s inherited enmity, under epic enlargement. Master.: Excellent. G.: And Dido’s curse? Master.: Go on, since you have begun well. Shropshire.: Dido’s curse turns injured passion into historical momentum, which Silius inherits as part of the meaning of the Punic wars. Master.: Better than many printed books. Grice, your final addition? G.: Only that “Stoic hero” should be heard as retrospective moral type, not doctrinal subscription; otherwise we teach the fragments where we ought to teach the poem. Master.: Precisely. Clifton is not a seminary for anachronism. Shropshire.: Though it resembles one at meals. Master.: Silence. One final sentence each. Grice? G.: Aeneas is heroic because fate does not spare him the need to govern himself. Master.: Shropshire? Shropshire.: Scipio is heroic because labour in Silius is made to look like a Roman answer to myth. Master.: And mine: the porch matters because it gives us a language for conduct under burden, while epic gives us the burden. That will do. Now you may go, and if either of you confuses Aeneas with Scipio again, I shall assign the whole of the Punica and call it kindness. Why does this goes by Tiberio Cazio Asconio Silio Italico -- that sounds for Grice like quinta nomina not tria nomina -- but the gens is Silia, right? The full name is not evidence against his belonging to the gens Silia. On the contrary, the last element, Silius, is exactly what identifies the gens. What troubles the eye is not the gentilician, but the accumulation before it. In the standard Roman pattern, one expects the tria nomina: praenomen, nomen, cognomen. In his case, the inscriptional form Tiberius Catius Asconius Silius Italicus is longer because it preserves additional gentilicial or family-linking elements that had become socially and politically meaningful in the early empire. That does not make Silius any less the nomen gentilicium. It means only that the man is carrying more ancestry on his back than the tidy schoolbook formula allows. So yes: if one asks, “what is the gens?”, the safest answer is Silia, or in the masculine form for the individual, Silius. Italicus is the cognomen by which he is commonly known. The difficulty lies in Catius and Asconius. These look like names preserving connections by descent, adoption, or maternal/familial transmission. In other words, what you are seeing is not a refutation of the tria nomina system so much as one of the many imperial-period ways in which it gets crowded by inherited status-markers. That is why Grice’s joke about “quinta nomina” is apt as a joke but not quite as analysis. The problem is not that the Romans suddenly ceased to have a nomen. It is that elite naming, especially under the empire, often became accumulative. A man might retain or display several family affiliations at once. The result is a name that looks over-furnished to anyone trained on the cleaner republican pattern. Asconius is particularly suggestive. As your note already senses, it is often taken to point toward a connection with the Asconii, and in Silius’s case it has long encouraged the thought of a northern or Patavine linkage, or at least some inherited connection worth displaying. Catius likewise may preserve another family tie. But neither of these dislodges Silius from the central gentilicial place. They precede it; they do not replace it. So the compact answer is this. Tiberius is the praenomen. Silius is the nomen and marks the gens Silia. Italicus is the cognomen. Catius and Asconius are additional inherited name-elements, very likely preserving family connections of the sort the imperial aristocracy increasingly liked to parade. The name is therefore not anti-Roman, only late-Roman in the socially ambitious sense. If you like, I can next give you a very short Roman-law-and-epigraphy paragraph in the same dry register, suitable for keeping in chat as a gloss on why Silius Italicus can look like more than tria nomina without ceasing to be a Silius. What puzzles Grice is not so much the Catius, although Catia may be the name of a gens -- but the Asconius, because apparently Asconia IS the name of the gens -- and Grice wonders if in conversation or being introduced Silio would have to explain: "My gens is Silia, not Asconia, or Catia -- if you need to know, dear." Was there a rank, Grice wonders, via implicature, that the gens Asconia or the gens Catia may trump in rank Silia, and explain why Silio kept them? Yes, that is a very plausible line of thought, but one has to phrase it with some caution. The short answer is that Asconius and Catius may well have been worth keeping because they carried prestige, alliances, inheritance, or recognisable ancestry, but that does not mean they “outranked” Silius in any fixed constitutional sense. Roman naming was not a heraldic table with a stable rule that one gens simply trumped another and therefore displaced it in the name. It was more fluid, and more socially tactical, than that. The first thing to keep firm is this. If the full form is Tiberius Catius Asconius Silius Italicus, Silius still looks like the operative nomen in the final Roman sense, the one under which he is conventionally classed. That is why he is Silius Italicus. No ancient reader, so far as our evidence suggests, felt compelled to “correct” that by saying, “No, really he is an Asconius,” or “No, really he is a Catius.” So in ordinary literary circulation the problem did not become disabling. But Grice’s puzzle is good because it notices what the full inscriptional form is doing socially. Names like Catius and Asconius are unlikely to be there for mere decoration. They usually signal that one is preserving family capital of some kind: maternal descent, testamentary transmission, adoption-like continuity, or the prestige of another line that one does not wish to lose. In the early empire especially, elite names often become archives of affiliation. One displays not only who one is in the simplest juridical sense, but who one is connected to in the larger aristocratic sense. So could Asconia or Catia have had higher standing, or at least greater local usefulness, than Silia? Yes, certainly in the loose social sense. One family connection may have been older, richer, more municipally distinguished, more useful in a given region, or more worth advertising. That is entirely possible. Indeed, that is one of the best explanations for why such names are retained. A Roman did not carry extra gentilicial matter out of pure philological scruple. He carried it because it did work. But “rank” here should not be understood too rigidly. It is better to think in terms of symbolic capital rather than legal precedence. An Asconian connection might have implied old municipal prominence, landed respectability, or a desirable ancestral tie; a Catian one might have done the same. If so, keeping those names would let the bearer implicate, without spelling it out, “I come to you not from one line only.” In Gricean language, the full name says more than the minimal identification says. It conversationally overdetermines the man. Would he have had to explain it in conversation? Probably not very often. Roman elite society was good at living with overfull names. People regularly used shortened forms in ordinary reference. “Silius Italicus” is exactly that sort of socially workable reduction. Full ceremonial or inscriptional naming preserved the archive; ordinary usage selected the memorable tail end. So the explanation was built into the formality of the full name and did not need to be repeated at every introduction. As for Asconius specifically, your instinct is acute. Because Asconius itself looks like a nomen, it creates the impression of a competing gens-claim. But that is precisely what imperial naming often does: it layers what had once been cleanly separable categories. The result is a name that looks as if several nomina have been stacked together. That stacking is usually the sign of status-preservation, not confusion. The bearer is not saying, “I do not know my gens.” He is saying, “I decline to travel with only one banner.” So the best answer to Grice would be something like this. No, Silius does not cease to mark the gens. But yes, Asconius and Catius may well have been retained because those connections carried enough prestige, inheritance-value, or municipal distinction that dropping them would have meant surrendering useful ancestry. The issue is not formal rank in a table of gentes, but aristocratic display through accumulated affiliation. In that sense the extra names do indeed implicate superiority somewhere, though not necessarily superiority over the Silian line itself; rather, superiority in breadth of lineage, social reach, or commemorated connection. If you want, I can next give you the answer in a more epigraphic register, almost as if for a footnote: one paragraph on why multiple gentilicial elements in an imperial Roman name are best read as preserved family capital rather than as a crisis of nomenclature. And another Grice wonders is written records. When Herbert Paul Grice was born in March 26 1913, the name was registered in the Town Hall at Harborne -- born of Mother Mabel Fulton of Lordsfield Road -- and in the church when baptised. But what about this quintuply named Ancient Roman? When Silio went to vote, they would check: Address: 37 Main Road, Palatine -- Gens: Silia -- "Yes, you can vote here, sir" Grice's question is general, not just applied to Silio. Thanks. The short answer is no: Roman public life did not run on anything very like a modern town-hall register with address, surname, mother’s maiden name, and a clerk checking one against a master roll. The nearest Roman equivalents were multiple and scattered. Identity was established through status, family, locality, and public recognition, but not usually through one single documentary file of the sort Grice had in mind from Harborne. The Romans had records, certainly, but they were not unified in that modern bureaucratic way. The most important thing to start with is that a Roman citizen was known politically first by status and civic placement, not by “address” in the modern sense. A man’s formal political identity depended on whether he was a citizen, what tribe he belonged to, and, in some contexts, what voting century or local registration he fell under. That mattered more than the exact street number of his house. Rome did not have “37 Main Road, Palatine” as a normal identity marker in the way a modern municipality would. The closest institution to a civic master-record was the census. At the census, a Roman citizen would present himself before the censors and declare his name, family relations, property, and other socially relevant facts. This was not simply a tax register, though it certainly had fiscal implications. It also located him within the civic body. In that sense, if one asks, “where did the Romans keep track of who a man was as a political being?”, the answer is: above all in the census and in the classification systems attached to it. So if Silius Italicus, or any similarly over-named Roman, appeared in a voting context, the key question would not be “what is your postal address?” but something more like “who are you, to what civic category do you belong, and are you registered where you claim to be?” His tribe and citizen standing mattered. Public reputation and recognisability mattered too, especially for elite men. Rome was not anonymous in the modern urban way, at least not at the top. A consul or ex-consul did not need to explain himself to a polling clerk as though he were an obscure lodger. That said, written records certainly existed. The Romans recorded births imperfectly and not in one universal civil office. In the Republic, there was nothing exactly like the universal birth registration system Grice knew. Family memory, household records, and public reputation carried much of the burden. Under the Empire, especially from Augustus onward, there was increasing registration of citizens, including declarations connected with births in some contexts, but not a universal modern birth certificate regime in the British sense. Religious record-keeping, too, differed sharply from Grice’s baptism example. Temples and priestly colleges kept records relevant to cult, office, and ceremony, but there was no general church registry for the population because there was no church in the Christian parish sense. Roman religion was public and institutional, but not parochially documentary in that way. As for voting itself, one must remember that Roman voting was organized by tribe and century, not by local ward in the modern municipal sense. So the practical identity question at the point of voting was bound up with those structures. A citizen belonged to a voting tribe, and that was a formal political location, even if he lived elsewhere. In other words, political belonging was not simply where you slept. It was juridical and historical. That helps with the names too. A very long name did not necessarily create bureaucratic chaos, because in practice Romans used reduced forms constantly. The full, archive-like name was available when solemnity, inscription, inheritance, office, or legal precision required it. Ordinary public reference often worked with a shorter form. “Silius Italicus” is exactly the kind of usable reduction one would expect. The full name was there when needed, but daily life did not require every nominative flourish every time one showed up in public. So to answer Grice’s general question: the Romans had written records, but not one centralised identity system equivalent to a birth certificate plus address register plus church baptism book. Instead, identity was distributed across census declarations, tribal and civic classification, family memory, legal documents, inscriptions, patronal and social recognition, and, for the elite, sheer public visibility. A Roman citizen was verified less by producing one definitive document than by inhabiting a recognised place within a web of civic and social relations. If one wanted to put it in slightly Gricean terms, Roman identity was less file-based and more inference-based. The state knew you through categories, declarations, and standing; society knew you through name, house, lineage, and face; and the two overlapped without becoming one neat municipal dossier. If you like, I can next give you a very compact comparison table in prose, still in chat and still without bulleting: modern birth registration versus Roman census, modern address versus Roman tribe, modern church baptism book versus Roman family and cultic record. But at some point, Grice wonders, there must have been a deictic element: "This is my son, Tiberio Cazio Asconio Silio" (not yet Italico). He was trusted 'on his word.' Are there cases in Ancient Roman history where there was a possibility of 'lying' in order to be allowed to vote, or fake identities -- in which case, more than one's word -- some record of a census (again however based on the utterer's word) mattered? Just asking for Grice. Yes. There certainly was room for lying, impersonation, false status-claims, and strategic concealment in Roman civic life, and that is exactly why one should not imagine Roman identity as resting on mere gentlemanly self-ascription. Your deictic scene is right in spirit. At some point someone had to say, in effect, this is my son. Roman society always depended heavily on face-to-face recognition, patronal networks, household memory, and local knowledge. But that did not mean that “one’s word” was the whole system. Rather, speech operated inside a thicker framework of social and civic verification. The key institution here is again the census. A Roman citizen’s place in the civic body was not simply a private anecdote about his birth; it was periodically declared before magistrates, above all the censors in the republican scheme. The citizen gave an account of himself, his family, and his property. So yes, self-declaration mattered. But it mattered in a public and magistrate-supervised context, with consequences attached. The Romans were perfectly aware that people might misrepresent themselves, especially where status, taxation, military obligation, or political privilege were concerned. That means Grice’s instinct is sound. The census was indeed based in part on what the utterer said, but it was not therefore a pure trust-game. It was a civic speech-act under authority. The declaration could be checked against reputation, neighbours, family standing, property visibility, prior records, and the knowledge of magistrates and local communities. The Roman state was not modernly bureaucratic, but neither was it naïve. As for voting specifically, fraud and irregularity were certainly possible. The Roman voting assemblies were not pristine machines. We hear often enough of corruption, bribery, pressure, manipulated procedures, dubious enrollments, and political struggles over citizen status. The most obvious high-level example is not a man pretending to be someone else in a queue, but the vast and recurring Roman anxiety over who counted as a citizen and who did not. That anxiety alone shows that political identity was contestable and could be exploited. The Social War, for instance, turned in large part on the extension and recognition of citizenship; once citizenship could be granted, disputed, or strategically claimed, the possibility of false or opportunistic claims was built into the system. There were also specific concerns over false registration, wrongful enrollment in tribes, and the manipulation of civic rolls. Since voting depended on proper placement within the civic order, being entered where one should not be, or being omitted where one should be, had political consequences. That is why the Romans cared so much about tribal assignment, census classification, and legal status. A man did not simply walk in and say, I am Tiberius whoever, trust me. He belonged, or claimed to belong, to a registered civic category. One should also remember that Roman law was acutely status-conscious. Freeborn versus freedman, citizen versus non-citizen, legitimate birth versus dubious lineage, paternal authority, adoption, emancipation: all these could affect a person’s legal and political place. Precisely because status mattered, forgery, false claims, and identity disputes mattered too. Roman jurists and magistrates did not live in a world innocent of imposture. They lived in a world saturated with status and therefore with incentives to manipulate it. But the Roman remedy was not a modern passport. It was cumulative recognisability. Family testimony mattered. Household continuity mattered. Public record mattered where available. Census declaration mattered. Social standing mattered. Local knowledge mattered. Documentary traces existed, but they were only one layer among others. A Roman identity was therefore neither purely oral nor purely archival. It was socially ratified and periodically formalised. So yes, Grice is right to suspect that the possibility of lying is one of the best clues to how the system actually worked. Institutions become visible where fraud is possible. The Roman answer was not to eliminate trust, but to embed trust within public forms, magistracies, and shared knowledge. In that sense, one’s word counted, but one’s word counted as part of a civic performance under witnesses, categories, and remembered affiliations. The census mattered precisely because speech alone was not enough. A neat way to put it would be this. Roman identity was deictic at the edges, institutional at the centre, and social all the way through. A father could say this is my son, but for that son to become a political person, the claim had to survive the larger machinery of recognition, declaration, and status. If you like, I can next answer the narrower question: what actual Roman evidence we have for false claims to citizenship, false enrollment, or imposture in legal and political life, with a few concrete cases rather than the general structure. And again asking for Grice -- were the cases of such? Such as: "I recognised he was a slave from Naples by his Hellenic twang -- and he wished to vote like a citizen" -- Grice assumes that classicists -- "who have nothing better to do" should study this -- especially as a misapplication of his principle of conversational helfpulness, as he calls it. Was there a punishment for perjury, in the republic -- "I am blind, so I cannot fight" -- or "No, those vineyards are not really mine -- they are my wife's uncle" -- and "No, I was never a slave." etc. Yes, there were certainly Roman anxieties about false status-claims, false declarations, and the abuse of civic procedures, but the evidence is usually less like a neat police report and more like scattered legal, rhetorical, and historical signs that the problem was real. The first thing to say is that Rome was a status society, and therefore a society full of incentives to lie about status. If citizenship, free birth, property, military eligibility, tax burden, tribal enrollment, inheritance, and office all depend on what sort of person one is, then there will inevitably be false claims. A man may claim to be freeborn when he is not, claim a father he should not, conceal property, evade service, or try to pass under a more advantageous civic description than the one he truly bears. That is not a defect of Rome in particular; it is a standing feature of any legal order built on rank and classification. On the voting side, the problem would most often appear not as a picturesque case of “a slave from Naples with a Greek accent sneaking into the assembly,” though something like that is imaginable, but as disputed citizen status, fraudulent enrollment, wrongful tribal registration, or manipulation of the civic rolls. Roman politics was repeatedly convulsed by disputes over who counted as a citizen and who had been enrolled where. Once voting depends on one’s proper civic registration, then improper registration is already a kind of political fraud. Grice’s accent example is not silly, however. Romans did indeed make practical social judgments from speech, dress, manner, patronage, and local recognisability. Accent could mark origin, education, or status, though not with perfect reliability. A Greek accent, a servile association, or unfamiliarity with Roman forms might arouse suspicion. But that would still not amount to a formal identity check in the modern sense. It would be part of the larger social process by which someone’s claim could be challenged. In other words, the Romans often detected imposture socially before they proved it juridically. As to punishments, one must distinguish several things that a modern person might too quickly bundle together under “perjury.” The Romans certainly condemned false testimony and false declarations, but their legal categories were not arranged exactly as in modern common law. There was no single simple all-purpose offense that maps neatly onto every modern case of lying to the state. Instead, one finds sanctions attached to specific contexts: false witness, forgery, fraudulent status-claim, electoral corruption, census misrepresentation, and so on. In the census context, lying mattered because the census was tied to property, military duty, taxation, and civic rank. If a man understated his property to lighten burdens, or falsely shifted assets to relatives, he could be censured, degraded in status, or otherwise penalised. Here the censors were crucial. Their office was not only enumerative but moral and political. They could punish dishonourable conduct by nota censoria, and though this was not always a criminal sentence in the modern sense, it could have serious consequences for rank and standing. So Grice’s vineyard example, “those vineyards are not mine, they are my wife’s uncle’s,” belongs very much to the sort of thing Roman magistrates would have understood as an attempt to manipulate one’s civic obligations. Likewise military evasion was a real concern. If a man lied about age, property, capacity, or status to avoid service, that was not merely a conversational infelicity. It struck at the state’s claim on him. Physical incapacity, of course, could be genuine, but fraudulent excuse-making was precisely the kind of thing Roman moralists and magistrates distrusted. The system depended on declarations, but it did not therefore bless them. It treated them as claims exposed to public scrutiny and magistrate judgment. False claims about slave or free status were especially serious. Roman law cared enormously whether one was freeborn, freed, or servile. Litigation over status was common enough that jurists discuss it at length. A person pretending never to have been a slave, if challenged, might face formal inquiry. The issue mattered for marriage, inheritance, office, dignity, and citizenship itself. This is one of the clearest areas where Roman society’s obsession with status generated both deception and legal machinery for sorting it out. So yes, classicists really should study this more, and Grice’s angle is not frivolous. One could put it this way. Roman civic life depended on a massive background assumption of sincere self-presentation, but also on a permanent readiness to suspect strategic departures from it. That is almost a textbook case of a social order built on what Grice would call cooperative expectations, yet continually threatened by interested violations of them. The census, the courts, the assemblies, and the hierarchy of statuses all presupposed that people would say who they were and what they had; at the same time, the Romans knew perfectly well that men lie where privilege, burden, and danger are at stake. The result is a world in which one’s word mattered greatly, but never in isolation. Speech was always shadowed by witnesses, reputation, household memory, documents where available, social recognisability, and the authority of magistrates. The possibility of lying did not reveal the weakness of the Roman system; it revealed its true form. It was not a paperwork state, but neither was it a paradise of trust. It was a civic order in which claims about identity were performative, contestable, and consequential. If you like, I can now give you a more concrete next step: a short set of actual Roman examples or legal loci for false citizenship claims, false witness, census fraud, and status litigation.Silio Italico, Tiberio Cazio Asconio (a. u. c. DCCCXL). Punica. Roma.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silla – Ossia: Grice e Silla: la ragione conversazionale. Note sugl’Osservationi sopra il Petrarca. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Antonio Silla (Scanno, L’Aquila, Abruzzo): la ragione conversazionale. Grice’s theory of reason‑governed conversational meaning conceives dialogue as a fundamentally rational, cooperative practice in which speakers intend their interlocutors to recognize those intentions as reasons for belief or response, so that even polemic, legal argument, or indirection remain intelligible because they are embedded in shared norms of relevance, sincerity, and argumentative accountability. Antonio Silla, by contrast, though deeply immersed in the learned and fiercely argumentative culture of Enlightenment Naples, exemplifies a more adversarial and rhetorical conception of conversational reason: his polemics against Martorelli, his interventions in the debate on punishment, and his anonymous publications show conversation and textual exchange functioning less as a cooperative search for mutual understanding than as a juridical or forensic arena in which reason is wielded strategically to defeat opponents, expose imposture, and assert authority. Where Grice insists that implicature and indirectness presuppose a background commitment to fair conversational play, Silla operates within a culture in which erudition, anonymity, and sharp vis polemica are integral to persuasion, and where meaning may be deliberately sharpened, obscured, or weaponized without undermining the legitimacy of the exchange. Thus Grice theorizes conversation as a civil, rule‑structured medium of shared rationality, while Silla’s practice reflects an early modern mode of conversational reason grounded in controversy, advocacy, and rhetorical combat, anticipating legal and moral debates in which understanding and victory are closely entwined rather than clearly separated. Nasce da Giovanni, un ricco armentario. Inizia i suoi studi a Chieti per poi trasferirsi a Napoli, dove studia diritto e lingue orientali. Napoli è, all’epoca, attraversata da un grande fermento culturale, e ospita personalità di spicco come GENOVESI , Galiani, Galanti. S. partecipa attivamente a questo mondo, si fa notare per la sua erudizione e per alcune precise prese di posizione, segnate da una robusta vis polemica. Ri-entra a Scanno dove prende moglie e comincia a esercitare la professione di avvocato. Fa ritorno a Napoli ed entra nella Real Accademia delle scienze e belle arti. Nella capitale pubblica La fondazione di Partenope, in cui confuta la tesi, espressa da Maciucca -- che la attribuiva a sua volta a Martorelli --, che individua nei fenici i fondatori della città, attribuendola invece ai greci abitanti di Cuma, già compagni della sirena Partenope -- Soria. S. offre una copia dell’opera al suo illustre conterraneo Antinori, accompagnandola da una lettera in cui ne sollecita un parere, seguita da una in cui motiva la sua presa di posizione contro Martorelli, e risponde ad alcuni rilievi dello stesso Antinori. Sempre a Napoli, pubblica una seconda opera, firmandola con le sole iniziali, La Teogonia commentata, sorta di prodromo, secondo Soria, alla Storia sacra de’ Gentili, pubblicata a Napoli. Intanto, prende posizione in un dibattito che anda segnando l’Italia e l’Europa dei lumi, sull’abolizione della tortura e della pena di morte, coagulatosi attorno alla pubblicazione di Dei delitti e delle pene di Beccaria -- apparso in forma anonima a Livorno. Fermamente contrario alla posizione espressa da Beccaria, e in sintonia invece con Facchinei che pubblica le Note ed osservazioni sul libro intitolato Dei delitti e delle pene, tacciando il suo autore di impostura, sfacciataggine e indegnità, S. scrive e pubblica, senza firmarlo, presso lo stampatore napoletano Raimondi, Il dritto di punire – cf. Lucas and the Oxford ordinary-language philosophers on ‘The Justification of Punishment’ in Philosophy.  S., dunque, da un lato riprende la linea polemica di Facchinei.  Grice: Caro Silla, ho letto della tua polemica contro Martorelli e la questione sulla fondazione di Partenope: tra fenici e greci, direi che a Napoli le origini sono sempre più complicate della ricetta della pastiera!  Silla: Grice, tu sai bene che qui a Napoli la verità si trova tra le pieghe di storia e folclore: come dire, tra la sirena Partenope e una buona dose di polemica, tutto diventa più saporito—e se serve, ci metto anche un pizzico di avvocatura!  Grice: Certamente, Silla! E parlando di avvocati... non sarà che, quando si tratta di tortura e pena di morte, invece di abolire, qualcuno preferisce solo cambiare il nome sulle porte del tribunale? Chissà che “giustificazione” si trova tra le righe.  Silla: La più tipicamente ingegnosa implicatura, Grice! Sei riuscito a dire tutto senz a dire nulla, come solo gli inglesi e i napoletani sanno fare. Ti offro una copia del mio “Dritto di punire”—ma senza firma, così potrai implicare anche tu!  In base of this passage below -- please provide a 100-move conversation between G. and S. as they regret that Oxford never had her Petrarca -- and they analyse all the efforts Petrarca took, even outside Oxford, Bologna, and what have you -- about the recovery of the classics, the editorial things, and never mention ONE poem, which is left at Oxford for students of Italian literature -- a minor art, since he needs to go to varsity to study letters, never mind italian ones -- but the textual apparatus, and the manuscript tradition, and the idea that everyting old is new again in the renaissance is all that matters to G. and S. as they propose to give a seminar on Petracar's implicatures and why they cannot be cancelled -- no preamble or ps -- G.: Let us begin with a complaint. Oxford never had her Petrarca. S.: You mean no one at Oxford ever made the recovery of antiquity into a vocation rather than an inheritance. G.: Precisely. Oxford inherited Latin, cited Cicero, mumbled Virgil, and mislaid manuscripts by the civilised dozen. But she never had a Petrarca in the strong sense: no hunter of codices who made the old world new by seeking it out again. S.: Bologna did not quite have him either, though she had better excuses. G.: Yes. Bologna had law, gloss, comment, authority, university habit. Petrarca belongs to a different restlessness. He is not a man of institutional custody, but of recovery. S.: Which is why you insist we never mention the poems. G.: Quite. The poems are for students of Italian literature, a minor art sustained by departments. We are after something nobler: the textual apparatus, the manuscript chase, the editorial conscience, the recovery of the classics as an intellectual act. S.: So Petrarca matters because he turned antiquity into work. G.: Exactly. He does not merely admire the ancients; he labours for them. He collates, copies, searches, writes to the dead, restores, compares, complains, and in the process teaches Europe that the old world is not simply there but must be rewon. S.: Which is already philosophical for you. G.: Entirely. The recovery of texts is the recovery of reasons once spoken, and therefore of possibilities of thought once alive. S.: Then Oxford’s failure was not lack of Latinity but lack of urgency. G.: Very good. Oxford had enough Latin to pass examinations and enough Aristotle to produce schools. What she lacked was Petrarchan hunger. S.: No mountain-climbing for codices. G.: Exactly. No letters announcing ecstatic discovery of neglected books. No sense that every manuscript found is a civilisation partially restored. S.: Whereas Petrarca acts as if antiquity were half-buried and morally recoverable. G.: Yes. And that is where the Renaissance really begins—not in styles of ornament, but in the conviction that old books are not dead authorities but recoverable voices. S.: Which is why “everything old is new again” is not mere slogan. G.: Quite. It is a philological programme. The newness lies not in novelty of composition but in renewed access. A forgotten text, once restored, becomes intellectually new by being old again. S.: Then Petrarca is less a poet than a technology of recollection. G.: Better. A human technology of recollection. He makes memory active, mobile, acquisitive, editorial. S.: And for you that belongs directly to philosophy. G.: Naturally. Philosophy depends on texts not merely as containers of doctrine but as occasions of rational conversation across time. S.: Hence the seminar you want to give on Petrarca’s implicatures. G.: Exactly. For once the codex is found and the text restored, the old author can begin meaning again. And those meanings are not exhausted by what lies on the surface of the page. S.: So even textual criticism is a condition of implicature. G.: Entirely. If the line is corrupt, the implicature may be mangled. If the manuscript tradition is mismanaged, the shades of emphasis, irony, allusion, withheld judgment, and rhetorical pressure may vanish. S.: Then the apparatus criticus is not mere scholastic plumbing. G.: No. It is one of civilisation’s main moral instruments. S.: You should put that on the seminar notice. G.: I probably shall. It will ensure poor attendance and good memory. S.: Then let us say why Oxford lacked a Petrarca. Was it because Oxford never had to lose Rome in the same way? G.: That is part of it. Petrarca feels the distance from the ancients as a wound to be healed. Oxford more often felt antiquity as curriculum. S.: So for Petrarca the classics are missing; for Oxford they are assigned. G.: Excellent. Assigned antiquity never quite generates the same ardour as recovered antiquity. S.: Which is why the Grand Tour mattered later. G.: Yes, though by then the whole thing had become more social and less urgent. The Grand Tour sends young Englishmen to Italy to acquire polish, ruins, marbles, and corrected vowels. Petrarca had already taught Europe that Italy housed not only stones but sleeping books. S.: So the Grand Tour consumer arrives after the Petrarchan producer. G.: Exactly. The one consumes visible antiquity; the other recovers textual antiquity. S.: Then the post-Grand Tour inherits both: Italy as aesthetic correction and Italy as archive. G.: Very good. And by our own time, Oxford enjoys the results while forgetting the labour. S.: Which is why you sound aggrieved. G.: Only historically aggrieved. I am quite happy to let Italy keep Petrarca, so long as Oxford admits the debt. S.: Then what specific efforts of Petrarca matter most to your seminar? G.: The search for manuscripts, certainly. The recovery of Ciceronian material, the cultivation of letters as living commerce with antiquity, the insistence on textual correctness, the consciousness that scribal transmission can deform understanding and must be repaired. S.: So the editorial thing, as you call it, is central. G.: Absolutely. One does not begin with theories of literature. One begins with the codex, the hand, the variant, the lacuna, the false reading, the true restoration. S.: Which sounds nearly monastic. G.: Better than nearly. It is monastic labour repurposed by humanist hunger. S.: And that repurposing is what Oxford lacked. G.: Yes. Oxford had custodians. Petrarca is not a custodian but an awakener. S.: Then what is philosophically at stake in the manuscript tradition? G.: Continuity of rational possibility. A corrupted text may narrow or falsify what an old author can be taken to have meant. A restored text reopens meanings otherwise inaccessible. S.: So your “Petrarca’s implicatures” are not whimsical after all. G.: Of course not. Once the text is legible, one can ask what is implied, alluded, sharpened, softened, withheld, or obliquely managed in the revived speech of antiquity. S.: And why they cannot be cancelled. G.: Yes. Because certain implicatures in learned humanist writing are not ad hoc frills but structurally bound to the very act of recovery. To restore Cicero is already to imply that one’s own age has fallen short. To write to the ancients as living interlocutors is to imply that contemporary institutions are not enough. S.: So the recovery itself is an implicature. G.: Splendid. Keep that. S.: Thank you. G.: Do not become pleased with yourself. S.: Only archivally. G.: Better. Now, when you say “cannot be cancelled,” what do you mean precisely? S.: That there are consequences of Petrarca’s textual posture which no explicit disclaimer can entirely remove. If he says, “I merely edit,” the very labour of editing still implies a valuation of the past over the present, or at least a present deficiency to be remedied by the past. G.: Exactly. The implicature is woven into the practice. He can deny nostalgia, but the recovery still means more than retrieval. S.: So the whole philological act carries a non-cancellable comparative judgment. G.: Very good. And there is another. By preferring original sources, by chasing older witnesses, by distrusting inherited compilations, he implies that authority is not the same as transmission. S.: Which is devastating for lazy scholasticism. G.: Precisely. The oldest book may be less available than the most cited one, and yet more authoritative. That is a revolution in learned conscience. S.: Which again Oxford later receives as method without reliving its drama. G.: Yes. Our dons cite critical editions the way people use taps, forgetting the aqueduct. S.: Then your seminar ought really to be on the aqueduct. G.: On Petrarch as aqueduct-builder, yes. S.: Not a bad subtitle. G.: Better than most. Now, what of Bologna? S.: Bologna had text and commentary, but in a juristic and scholastic mode. Petrarca’s relation to antiquity is less institutional, more elective, almost erotic in the textual sense. G.: Quite. He pursues old books not because the curriculum demands them, but because his own sense of civil and intellectual life does. S.: So if Oxford never had her Petrarca, Bologna had perhaps too much apparatus and too little yearning. G.: That is unkind, but not wholly false. S.: Unkindness is sometimes required by comparison. G.: Very likely. Then the later English relation to Italy becomes doubly derivative: first from Petrarca’s recovery, then from the Grand Tour’s consumption. S.: Which is why Pater and others matter later. G.: Yes, but let us not drift into visual culture. Here we stay with codices, editors, letters, apparatus. S.: Very well. Then one might say Petrarca made antiquity newly legible by refusing to trust the available text as the final text. G.: Excellent. And that refusal is philosophical in the deepest sense, because it is a refusal of second-handness. S.: So the humanist is a critic of transmission before he is a stylist. G.: Precisely. Style comes later, or at least second. First comes textual conscience. S.: Which is what departments of Italian literature often forget when they rush to lyric inwardness. G.: Departments forget many things, but yes. The poems may dazzle, but the editorial labour civilises. S.: Then your anti-poetic restriction is itself a Petrarchan severity. G.: I prefer to think so. Now, let us consider how a manuscript tradition creates implicature. S.: Through variants, certainly. A reading in one witness may sharpen irony; another may flatten it. Marginalia may expose a reception; punctuation may create or dissolve pressure. G.: Exactly. Humanists know that what is said depends on what is actually there, and what is meant often depends on tiny textual decisions. S.: So one could say that textual criticism is the precondition of pragmatic criticism. G.: Very good. Without a stable text there is no responsible account of what the author might have made available to a competent reader. S.: Then why “cannot be cancelled”? G.: Because once Petrarca undertakes recovery, the act itself implicates a theory of culture: namely that the present must re-enter conversation with the past, and that the past speaks with a freshness the present has partly lost. S.: Even if Petrarca were to say, “I do not mean to rebuke my age.” G.: Exactly. The rebuke is structurally there. To recover Cicero is already to imply that your own prose world has been badly housed. S.: To recover Livy is to imply a deficiency of civic memory. G.: Yes. And to edit attentively is to imply that careless transmission is a civil failure. S.: Which makes philology look almost moral. G.: It is moral. Exactness about texts is exactness about inherited reason. S.: Then Oxford’s lack of a Petrarca means that Oxford entered humanism already after its founding labour had been done elsewhere. G.: Precisely. Oxford becomes heir rather than initiator. She can teach, gloss, admire, and later examine, but she does not invent the hunger. S.: That is quite a loss. G.: It is. Though every university loses something by being founded too securely. S.: So Petrarca belongs to that rare class of figures who make a university possible without being of one. G.: Very well put. S.: Thank you. G.: Again, do not become pleased. S.: I am only codicologically content. G.: Better. Now, what of the seminar itself? How shall we describe Petrarca’s implicatures? S.: First, the implicature of recovery: that the ancient author is worth more direct hearing than the intervening summaries. G.: Good. S.: Second, the implicature of correction: that current learning has become careless enough to require philological repair. G.: Excellent. S.: Third, the implicature of companionship: that the dead are to be treated as interlocutors, not relics. G.: Splendid. That one will please me personally. S.: Fourth, the implicature of rebuke: that one’s age is judged by its fidelity to its textual inheritance. G.: Very good. S.: Fifth, the implicature of renewal: that oldness, once recovered, becomes a species of intellectual newness. G.: Exactly. “Everything old is new again” is not decorative; it is methodological. S.: Because the new lies not in novelty but in renewed access. G.: Perfect. That should go in the opening paragraph. S.: Then perhaps the seminar title is “Petrarchan Recovery and the Non-Cancellability of Humanist Implicature.” G.: Hideous enough to attract the right people. S.: Which are? G.: Those with bad shoes and decent Latin. S.: Oxford will provide some. G.: Fewer than one would hope. Now, what do we say about the editorial apparatus? S.: That it is not appendage but argument. The apparatus criticus shows the labour by which a reading is secured, and therefore the labour by which an old voice becomes newly available. G.: Very good. The apparatus is a visible conscience. S.: Which again Oxford uses while pretending not to notice. G.: Like electricity. One only notices the apparatus when it fails. S.: Then Petrarca’s greatness lies partly in making failure visible. G.: Exactly. He teaches Europe to see that texts have fallen, that they may be restored, and that restoration is not mechanical but judgment-laden. S.: Which is philosophical because judgment under uncertainty is philosophical. G.: Entirely. Philology is one of philosophy’s elder practical cousins. S.: One seldom hears that in faculty meetings. G.: Faculty meetings are designed to conceal family resemblance. Now, why leave the poems aside? S.: Because they have monopolised Petrarca’s reception too often, and because the seminar aims at recovery as intellectual practice rather than lyric prestige. G.: Exactly. Poetry has already received more than its ration of undergraduates. We are interested in the making of antiquity available. S.: Which is perhaps the most un-Englishly Italian thing about Petrarca. G.: Yes. He turns old letters into living pressure. S.: And this is what Oxford never quite did for herself. G.: No. Oxford could preserve, but Petrarca recovered. There is a difference between keeping a key and deciding to open the door. S.: That is nearly too neat. G.: It is exact enough to survive. S.: Then one last question. Does Petrarca also imply a theory of the editor? G.: Certainly. The editor is not a neutral clerk but a responsible mediator between the dead and the living. S.: Which again makes the work philosophical. G.: Profoundly so. Mediation, judgment, fidelity, restoration, intelligibility—these are not mere technicalities. S.: Then the anti-poetic seminar is in fact a seminar on intellectual ethics. G.: That is well said. S.: Thank you. G.: Do not become ethically inflated. Now, the final contrast with the Grand Tour. S.: The Grand Tour collects visible antiquity as experience. Petrarca recovers textual antiquity as interlocution. G.: Excellent. The tourist returns with objects; the humanist returns with restored speech. S.: And the post-Grand Tour inherits both, but often prefers the object. G.: Which is why we must rebalance the thing. S.: In favour of manuscripts, collations, variants, letters, and the living dead. G.: Exactly. Those are the true souvenirs of civilisation. S.: Then the final word on Oxford and Petrarca? G.: Oxford never had her Petrarca because she received antiquity too securely and too institutionally. Petrarca had to recover what Oxford later presumed. That is why we owe him more than admiration: we owe him the very conditions under which old texts can speak again. S.: And their implicatures? G.: Once recovered, they cannot be cancelled because the act of recovery itself means more than it says: it implies loss, judgment, renewal, and a standing claim of the past upon the present. S.: Dry enough? G.: Sufficiently Paduan, with one Oxford library key still unused.Silla, Antonio (1550). Osservationi sopra il Petrarca. Venezia: Valgrisi.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silvio – Ossia: Grice e Silvio - Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silvio The gens Silvia was a minor plebeian family at ancient Rome. According to legend, the Silvii were the royal dynasty of Alba Longa, Rome's mother city, and presumably came to Rome when that city was destroyed by Tullus Hostilius in the seventh century BC. Notwithstanding their connection with Rome's foundation myths, the Silvii were plebeians, and hardly any members of this gens played a significant role in history.[1] However, from inscriptions, several Silvii appear to have had distinguished military careers, and Silvius Silvanus was governor of Moesia Inferior in the time of Diocletian.  Origin Both Livy and Dionysius of Halicarnassus[i] relate the tradition that the Silvii were descended from Silvius, the second king of Alba Longa, who was so called because he was born in the woods.[ii] His descendants took the "cognomen"[iii] Silvius, which was then passed down to his descendants until the time of Numitor, the grandfather of Romulus and Remus.[2][3][4] When Alba was destroyed by Tullus Hostilius, and its populus transferred to Rome, members of its leading families were enrolled in the Roman Senate, but the Silvii are not mentioned among them. Nowhere are Numitor's immediate successors named, nor is it stated whether they were descended from the Silvii; in the time of the war with Tullus Hostilius they were ruled by Gaius Cluilius, who died in the course of the war, and was replaced by a dictator, Mettius Fufetius. Unlike the Silvii, the Cluilii, presumably the royal house that succeeded them,[iv] are included in the list of Alban families accorded senatorial rank.[5][6]  Praenomina The main praenomina of the Silvii were Lucius, Gaius, and Quintus, which were among the most common names at all periods of Roman history. The inscriptions of this gens also afford examples of other common praenomina, including Marcus, Sextus, Publius, and Titus, as well as one instance of the rare praenomen Appius.  Branches and cognomina The nomenclature of Appius Silvius Junius Silanus would seem to indicate that he was a descendant of the noble house of the Junii Silani, though whether Silvius was his paternal nomen, or came in through his mother's side, is not readily apparent.  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Legendary Silvii Silvius, the son, or brother, of Ascanius, was born in the woods, and raised by herdsmen in the mountains, according to Dionysius, who relates that he reigned for twenty-nine years. In Diodorus, he reigned for forty-nine years. In Ovid, his original name was Postumus, with Silvius being given him as an epithet. Aeneas Silvius, the first to affix his father's name, Silvius to his own, to distinguish himself from his ancestor, reigned thirty-one years, according to Dionysius, and thirty in Diodorus; he is omitted by Ovid. Latinus Silvius, established a number of colonies, later known as the Prisci Latini, or "Old Latins".[v] Dionysius assigns him a reign of fifty-one years, Diodorus fifty. The latter adds that he was a martial king, who founded colonies to repopulate the region that he had destroyed by war. Alba Silvius, reigned for thirty-nine years in Dionysius, thirty eight in Diodorus. He is omitted by Cassius Dio. Atys (Silvius), called Capetus by Dionysius, Epitus by Diodorus, and Epytus by Ovid, reigned twenty-six years. Capys Silvius, ruled over Alba for twenty-eight years. Capetus (Silvius), called Calpetus by Diodorus, and in the Fasti, reigned thirteen years. He is omitted by Cassius Dio. Tiberinus (Silvius), drowned in the river then known as the Albula, but subsequently called Tiber after him. Dionysius says that he reigned for eight years, and was slain in a battle near the Albula, his body being carried off by the river; Diodorus that he was swept away by the river while leading his army against the Etruscans. Agrippa (Silvius), assigned a reign of forty-one years. In the Fasti, he is the father of Remulus, but in Metamorphoses, Ovid calls him "Acrota", and makes him the younger brother of Remulus, fierce, but less rash. Romulus Silvius, struck by lightning. He is called Alladius by Dionysius, who makes him a terrible tyrant, contemptuous of the gods, who contrived to imitate thunder and lightning to intimidate his subjects; his death, after a reign of nineteen years, was thus an ironic punishment. Diodorus calls him Aramulius, and says that when thunder and lightning threatened the harvest, he bade his soldiers to beat upon their shields with their swords to drown out the noise, and thus he was struck down for his impiety. Ovid calls him Remulus, and mentions him rashly imitating lightning, but says nothing else of him except that he was killed by lightning, and succeeded by his younger brother. Cassius Dio relates his impiety, but says that he drowned when the Alban Lake overflowed.[vi] Both Dionysius and Diodorus mention that the ruins of his house could be seen beneath the waters of the Alban Lake. Aventinus (Silvius), commemorated by a shrine on the Aventine Hill, reigned thirty-seven years. Diodorus relates that during a war, he and his army retreated to the Aventine as a redoubt. Cassius Dio states that he perished in war. Ovid describes the hill as his seat of power, and the site of his tomb—perhaps implying that he was slain there, during the war alluded to by Diodorus and Cassius Dio. Proca (Silvius), called Procas by Dionysius, and Palatinus by Ovid, ruled for twenty-three years, bequeathing his throne to his elder son, Numitor. Cassius Dio relates that in one account, Aventinus, not Proca, was the father of Numitor and Amulius. Ovid has Palatinus ruling from the Palatine Hill, as a parallel to his father, Aventinus. Numitor (Silvius), the elder son of Proca, was deposed and exiled by his younger brother, his sons killed, and his daughter made a Vestal Virgin. Amulius (Silvius), the younger son of Proca, deposed his brother, and attempted to extinguish his line; Dionysius relates that he ruled for forty-two years; Diodorus, forty-three. Aegestus (Silvius), the son of Numitor, according to Dionysius and Cassius Dio, was ambushed and slain while on a hunt arranged by his uncle, Amulius. In Ovid, his name is Lausus. Livy does not name Numitor's sons, but refers to them in the plural. Rhea Silvia, also called Ilia, the daughter of Numitor, was made a Vestal when her father was deposed; when violated, she gave birth to the twins Romulus and Remus, and named Mars as their father. Amulius threw her into prison,[vii] and ordered the boys thrown into the Tiber. Antho (Silvia), the daughter of Amulius, pleaded with her father to spare the life of her cousin, Rhea Silvia. She is mentioned, but not named, by Dionysius, but named only in Plutarch.[8][9][10][11][12][13] Historical Silvii Silvia L. f. Apricula, buried at Casilinum in Campania during the first half of the first century, with a monument from her husband, Aulus Tatius Ampliatus.[14] Appius Silvius Junius Silanus, named on a lead water pipe found at Rome.[15][16][17] Silvius Vindilius, buried in a family sepulchre at Noreia in Noricum, dating to the first century, or the first half of the second, along with his wife, Secunda, and daughter, Silvia Vindilla.[18] Silvia Vindilla, buried at Noreia, along with her parents, Silvius Vindilius and Secunda.[18] Silvia Sex. s., a slave-woman belonging to Sextus Arellius Ursus, buried at Petelia in Bruttium, aged thirty, with a monument from Dionysius, her fellow slave, dating between AD 70 and 130.[19] Silvia M. f. Severiana, made an offering to Jupiter Optimus Maximus at Anticaria in Hispania Baetica, dating to the first or second century.[20] Aulus Silvius Divixto, buried at Burdigala in Gallia Aquitania, between the first and third centuries.[21] Silvia T. f. Maternina, named in an inscription from Augusta Vindelicorum in Raetia, dating between the first and third centuries.[22] Quintus Silvius Perennis, a tabellarius, or courier, from the lands of the Sequani, who made an offering to Jupiter Poeninus at Summus Poeninus in the Alpine province of Alpes Poeninae, at some point between the first and third centuries.[23] Silvius, buried in a second-century tomb at Telesia in Samnium, aged nine years, ten months, and twenty-seven days, with a monument from his mother, Silvana.[24] Marcus Silvius Sabinus, buried at Massilia in Gallia Narbonensis, in a second-century tomb dedicated by Silvius Sabinianus, probably his son.[25] Silvius Sabinianus, dedicated a second-century tomb at Massilia to Marcus Silvius Sabinianus, probably his father.[25] Quintus Silvius Speratus, centurion of the first cohort of Belgian soldiers, who made an offering to a local goddess at Brattia in Dalmatia, dating to the second century.[26] Silvia Primigenia, buried at Rome in the latter half of the second century, aged forty-nine years, eight months, with a monument from her husband, Lucius Aurelius Fortunatus, a freedman of the emperor.[27] Silvius Gentus, dedicated a tomb at Divodurum for his parents, Publius Silvius Gentus and Venustia Martia, dating to the second century, or the first half of the third.[28] Publius Silvius Gentus, buried at Divodurum, along with his wife, Venustia Martia, in a tomb dedicated by their son, Silvius Gentus, dating to the second century, or the first half of the third.[28] Albillius Silvius Albilli f., made an offering to the divine emperors found at modern Saint-Honoré-les-Bains, formerly part of Gallia Lugdunensis, dating between AD 150 and 300.[29] Silvius Aestivus, buried at Doclea in Dalmatia between AD 150 and 300, in a tomb dedicated by his colleagues, Pompeius Julius Acedinus and Flavius Gierasimus.[30] Lucius Silvius Victor, made an offering to Nehalennia at Ganventa in Gallia Belgica, dating between AD 150 and 250.[31] Gaius Silvius Auspex, prefect of the second cohort of Tungrian soldiers, who made offerings to Mars, Minerva, Victoria, and Viridecthis at Blatobulgium in Britannia, dating between AD 158 and 161.[32] Gaius Silvius Senecio, one of several individuals identified as platiodanni in an inscription from Mogontiacum in Germania Superior, dating between AD 170 and 230.[33] Silvia, named in a votive inscription from the site of modern Blažuj, formerly part of Dalmatia, dating between AD 170 and 300.[34] Silvius Candidus, the father of sixteen children, was granted a remittance from his civic obligations by Pertinax, that he might devote his time and resources to bringing up his family.[35][36] Silvius Pat[...] Ursicinus, buried at the site of modern Castroverde de Cerrato, formerly part of Hispania Citerior, aged twenty-nine, between AD 201 and 235.[37] Silvia Ursula, buried at Virunum in Noricum, aged forty, in a tomb dedicated by her husband, Publius Albius Calandinus, for himself and his wife, dating to the first half of the third century.[38] Gaius Silvius Praeceptor, the father of Lucius Silvius, and grandfather of Lucius Silvius Italicus, who dedicated a third-century tomb at Gabuleum in Moesia Superior to his father.[39] Lucius Silvius C. f., the son of Gaius Silvius Praeceptor, was buried in a third-century tomb at Gabuleum, dedicated by his son, Lucius Silvius Italicus, along with his wife, Andia.[39] Lucius Silvius L. f. C. n. Italicus, dedicated a third-century tomb at Gabuleum to his parents, Lucius Silvius and Andia.[39] Quintus Silvius Anatellon, a prefect in the fifth cohort of the vigiles at Rome in AD 210. Between 212 and 214 he was optio beneficarius, the chief lieutenant of Quintus Marcius Dioga, prefect of the vigiles at Ostia.[40] Silvius Silvanus, governor of Moesia Inferior under Diocletian, made an offering to Jupiter Optimus Maximus and Juno Regina at Durostorum.[41] Silvius, buried in a fourth-century tomb at Rome, along with his wife, Fortunula, the daughter of Ladicenus.[42] Silvia, a woman of a senatorial family, was buried at Vienna in Gallia Narbonensis, on the seventh day before the Ides of March, in the thirty-ninth year after the consulship of Anicius Faustus Albinus Basilius (March 9, AD 579), at the age of seventy-eight. She had several sons serving in religious orders, one of whom, Celsus, predeceased her.[43][44] Silvia, buried in a sixth-century tomb at Augusta Emerita in Lusitania, in the five hundred and ninety-second year of the colony, about AD 567.[45] Silvia, the wife of Gordianus, and mother of Pope Gregory I, had a sister, Pateria.[44] Undated Silvii Silvia, buried at the present site of La Flamengrie, Nord, formerly part of Gallia Belgica, along with her husband, Caupius Virilis.[46] Silvia, probably the wife of Martyrius, with whom she dedicated a tomb at Augusta Treverorum in Gallia Belgica for Galla, probably their daughter, aged ten years and thirty days.[47] Silvia, buried at Vienna, aged four.[48] Silvius, one of the magistrates of Olisipo in Lusitania.[49] Gaius Silvius, a potter whose work is documented from various locations in Gallia Aquitania and Narbonensis.[50][51] Gaius Silvius Annianus, perhaps the son of Silvia Calvina, was buried at the site of modern Miranda do Douro, formerly part of Hispania Citerior, with a monument from his grandfather, Silvius Calvus.[52] Silvia Annula, buried at modern Miranda do Douro, aged seventy.[53] Silvia Calvina, buried at modern Miranda do Douro, aged twenty-eight, along with Gaius Silvius Annianus, perhaps her son, with a monument from her father, Silvius Calvinus.[52] Silvius Calvus, dedicated a monument at modern Miranda do Douro to his brother, Silvius Silvanus, and another to his daughter, Silvia Calvina, and grandson, Gaius Silvius Annianus.[54][52] Quintus Silvius Felix, buried at Althiburos in Africa Proconsularis, aged thirteen years and five months.[55] Lucius Silvius Paternus, dedicated a tomb at the modern site of Saint-Privat, Ardèche, formerly part of Gallia Narbonensis, to his wife of thirty-two years, whose name has not been preserved.[56] Silvia Primigenia, along with her son, Tiberius Claudius Primigenius, dedicated a tomb at Philippopolis in Thracia to her other son, Tiberius Claudius Martialis.[57] Silvius Silvanus, buried at modern Miranda do Douro, aged twenty-five, with a monument from his brother, Silvius Calvus.[54] Sextus Silvius Silvester Iccianus, made an offering to Mercury at Vasio in Gallia Narbonensis.[58] Silvius Spartus, made an offering to Sucellus at Augusta Raurica in Germania Superior.[59] Silvius Stephanus, buried at Rome, in a tomb dedicated by the actor Theseus.[60] See also List of Roman gentes Silvius Brabo Notes  Neither Livy nor Dionysius identify a specific source for their accounts of the Alban kings. Plutarch, who mentions but does not list them, attributes his knowledge of them to Quintus Fabius Pictor and his source, Diocles of Peparethus, both of whom wrote centuries earlier. Unfortunately, Diocles' works are entirely lost, and Fabius Pictor's history survives only in quotations by later writers.  According to Livy, Silvius was the son of Ascanius, the founder and first king of Alba, and thus the grandson of Aeneas and Lavinia. Livy does not know the circumstances that caused Silvius to be born in the woods. Dionysius relates that Silvius was the son of Aeneas and Lavinia, and thus the half-brother of Ascanius, whom Dionysius makes the son of Aeneas by his first wife, Creüsa, and explains the circumstances of his birth thusly: after the death of Aeneas, Lavinia, who was then with child, was obliged to take shelter in the woods so that her stepson, who succeeded his father as King of the Latins, would not have her son put to death, as a threat to his power. Nevertheless, on the death of Ascanius, Silvius followed him on the throne—although according to Dionysius, only after the people of Alba chose him over Iulus, the son of Ascanius, whose descendants were the Julii. Diodorus Siculus provides the same account in Dionysius, with a few additional details, while Cassius Dio relates both versions. In Livy, Iulus was the son of Aeneas, but Livy is not certain whether Iulus and Ascanius were different persons, or which of them was the son of Lavinia. In this version, Ascanius was too young to rule when his father died, so Lavina ruled as regent, thus leaving the circumstances behind Silvius' birth—and name—unclear. Ovid, who lists the Alban kings in the Metamorphoses, mentions Iulus and Ascanius in separate passages, but does not address whether they were the same person, or how they were related to Silvius; but in his Fasti, Ovid says that Silvius was the son of Iulus, and that his original name was Postumus, with Silvius being given to him as a nickname, because he was born in the woods.  Literally, "surname", an "extra" name used to distinguish an individual or a related group of individuals. The Romans would have regarded Silvius as a nomen gentilicium, or "gentile name", inherited by everyone descended from the same family through the male line, reserving the word "cognomen" for additional names that might or might not be hereditary; but in this instance Livy uses the word to describe the original acquisition of the name at a period before gentilicia were in widespread use, which the Romans supposed occurred centuries later. Most of the other figures associated with Rome's foundation myths have only one name, until the time of Romulus; but everyone mentioned after the legendary founding of the city has a nomen gentilicium.  Livy calls Cluilius the Alban king, although he then refers to him as their general; Dionysius describes both as military leaders, and says nothing about the Alban royal house after Numitor.  Listed in Diodorus Siculus as Tibur, Praeneste, Gabii, Tusculum, Cora, Pometia, Lanuvium, Labici, Scaptia, Satricum, Aricia, Tenellae, Crustumerium, Caenina, Fregellae, Camerium, Medullia, and Boilum or Bola.  Here Cassius Dio may be confusing Romulus' downfall with a sudden flood of the Alban Lake that occurred without warning in 406 BC,[7] perhaps due to the legend relating that the ruins of Romulus' palace were submerged in the lake.  Lify says nothing further about her; Dionysius says that his sources vary as to whether Rhea was put to death, or saved by the intercession of her cousin, the daughter of Amulius, and kept in prison; and if the latter, whether she was still alive, and freed upon the death of Amulius. References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. III, p. 827 ("Silvius").  Livy, i. 3.  Dionysius, i. 70, 71.  Cf. Plutarch, "The Life of Romulus", 3. Plutarch only alludes to the name, in mentioning "Silvia" as a name assigned to the mother of Romulus and Remus; but unlike Livy and Dionysius, he mentions his sources for the myths concerning their ancestry.  Livy, i. 29, 30.  Dionysius, iii. 29.  Plutarch, "The Life of Camillus", 3.  Livy, i. 3, 4.  Dionysius, i. 70, 71, 76–79.  Diodorus Siculus, vii. 5.  Cassius Dio, i. 1–5.  Plutarch, "The Life of Romulus", 3.  Ovid, Fasti, iv. 19 ff., Metamorphoses, xiv. 609 ff.  AE 1977, 193.  CIL XV, 7539.  PW, Silvius No. 3.  PIR, S. 524.  CIL III, 4767.  AE 1984, 270.  CIL II, 180a.  CIL XIII, 854.  CIL III, 5827.  CIL V, 6887.  CIL IX, 2302.  AE 2005, 982.  CIL III, 3096.  CIL VI, 26598.  AE 1976, 483.  CIL XIII, 2813.  CIL III, 12704.  AE 1973, 373.  CIL VII, 1068, CIL VII, 1071, CIL VII, 1073.  CIL XIII, 6776.  AHB, p. 145.  Callistratus, in Digesta, 50. tit. 6, s. 6, § 5 (2).  PIR, S. 523.  AE 1997, 877.  CIL III, 5407.  ILJug, iii. 1441.  CIL VI, 1057, CIL XIV, 4389.  AE 1980, 793a.  ICUR, ix. 24010.  CIL XII, 2094.  PLRE, vol. III, p. 1152.  HEp, 1999, 113.  AE 1986, 509.  CIL XIII, 3832.  CIL XII, 2142.  CIL II, 5007.  CIL XII, 4686,0844d.  CAG, 12, p. 425; 13-2, pp. 385, 387; 13-4, p. 345; 13-5, p. 667; 30-3, p. 414; 34-1, p. 263; 52-2, p. 148; 63-1, pp. 185, 252; 66, p. 469; 83-2, p. 796; 83-3, p. 252; 84-3, p. 295.  CIL II, 5659.  ILRE, 2302.  CIL II, 5658.  CIL VIII, 27806.  CIL XII, 2983.  CIL III, 7410.  CIL XII, 1319.  AE 1925, 5.  CIL VI, 9126. Bibliography Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca Historica (Library of History). Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Romaike Archaiologia. Titus Livius (Livy), History of Rome. Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid), Fasti, Metamorphoses. Lucius Mestrius Plutarchus (Plutarch), Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans. Lucius Cassius Dio Cocceianus (Cassius Dio), Roman History. Digesta, or Pandectae (The Digest). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). Giovanni Battista de Rossi, Inscriptiones Christianae Urbis Romanae Septimo Saeculo Antiquiores (Christian Inscriptions from Rome of the First Seven Centuries, abbreviated ICUR), Vatican Library, Rome (1857–1861, 1888). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). August Pauly, Georg Wissowa, et alii, Realencyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Scientific Encyclopedia of the Knowledge of Classical Antiquities, abbreviated RE or PW), J. B. Metzler, Stuttgart (1894–1980). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). La Carte Archéologique de la Gaule (Archaeological Map of Gaul, abbreviated CAG), Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (1931–present). Anna and Jaroslav Šašel, Inscriptiones Latinae quae in Iugoslavia inter annos MCMXL et MCMLX repertae et editae sunt (Inscriptions from Yugoslavia Found and Published between 1940 and 1960, abbreviated ILJug), Ljubljana (1963–1986). José Vives, Inscripciones latinas de la España romana (Latin Inscriptions from Roman Spain, abbreviated ILER), Barcelona (1971–1972). A. H. M. Jones & J. R. Martindale, The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire (abbreviated PLRE), Cambridge University Press (1971–1992). Hispania Epigraphica (Epigraphy of Spain, abbreviated HEp), Madrid (1989–present). Salmedin Mesihović, Antiqui homines Bosnae (Ancient People of Bosnia, abbreviated AHB), Sarajevo (2011). Category: Roman gentes And for THIS gens? thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silvio – Ossia: Grice e Silvio - Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silvio For the Silvii, there are two quite different candidates:  the legendary Alban kings, descendants of Silvius and ancestors of Romulus; the historical Silvii of the inscriptions.  For a Grice-Speranza vignette, I would choose Rhea Silvia without hesitation. Why? Because she stands at the centre of one of the most famous communicative acts in Roman mythology:  "Who is the father?"  The entire story turns on testimony, credibility, and competing explanations. Grice e Rea Silvia: Quis pater est? AMVLIVS. Quis pater est geminorum? (Who is the father of the twins?) RHEA SILVIA. Mars. (Mars.) +> A divine paternity is being asserted. AMVLIVS. Deum nominas; hominem quaero. (You name a god; I ask for a man.) +> The hearer seeks an ordinary explanation. RHEA. Hoc nomen habeo. (That is the name I give.) +> The speaker stands by her account. AMVLIVS. Credisne? (Do you believe it?) +> Sincerity is now at issue. RHEA. Narratio eadem est, sive creditur sive non. (The story is the same whether it is believed or not.) +> Assertion and acceptance are distinct. GRICE. Quaestio non est tantum quid dictum sit, sed utrum accipiatur. (The question is not merely what was said, but whether it is accepted.)  This is almost a textbook Gricean case. Rhea Silvia says:  "Mars is the father."  The difficulty is not understanding the sentence. Everyone understands the sentence perfectly. The difficulty is:  Is this to be taken literally? Symbolically? Politically? As a protective fiction? As genuine religious testimony?  The Romans themselves never stopped debating those alternatives. But Rhea Silvia remains better because she is closer to Grice's central concerns:  assertion, belief, testimony, audience uptake. Before Rome has laws, magistrates, rhetoric, or philosophy, it already has a problem about meaning:  a woman says a god fathered her children.  Everything afterwards depends on how that utterance is received. Dry Speranzian formula  The Sicinii teach Grice about political credibility; the Silvii teach him about mythic credibility. Rhea Silvia's sentence is perfectly clear Latin. The challenge is not understanding what she said. It is deciding what she meant, and whether Rome should believe her.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silvio – Ossia: Grice e Silvio - Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silvio A close second choice is Romulus Silvius (called Alladius by some sources), the king who allegedly imitated thunder and lightning and was then destroyed by lightning. That gives a splendid pragmatic problem: ROMVLVS SILVIVS. Ego tono. (I thunder.) +> I claim divine-like authority. IVPPITER. Non, ego tono. (No, I thunder.) +> Competing claims to the same sign. The story becomes one of counterfeit signalling.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Silvio – Ossia: Grice e Silvio - Grex griceiana – verbalia: Silvio A tiny etymological Speranza There is also a nice irony. The whole dynasty begins with Silvius, "the man of the woods" (silva).

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simbolo – Ossia: Grice e Simbolo: la ragione conversazionale della filosofia di Giuliano. Note su Dicta. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Simbolo (Roma, Lazio): la ragione conversazionale della filosofia di Giuliano. Grice’s theory of reason‑governed conversational meaning treats dialogue as a public, normatively disciplined activity in which what a speaker means is anchored in intentions that are openly recoverable by rational interlocutors through shared principles such as cooperation, relevance, and mutual recognition, so that even play, irony, or artifice presuppose an underlying commitment to intelligibility and accountability. The legendary figure of Simbolo, by contrast, ascribed to the circle around Julian and associated with symbolic or quasi‑mythical interventions rather than systematic argument, represents conversation less as a rule‑guided inferential practice than as an emblematic or ritual medium in which signs act prior to, or independently of, explicit rational agency. In the dialogue imagined between Grice and Simbolo, this contrast is sharpened by the grammatical distinction between Symbolus as a speaking person and symbolum as an impersonal sign: Grice insists that meaning ultimately resides in what agents rationally intend others to grasp, even when formal systems or artificial languages are introduced, whereas Simbolo appears to accept that meaning may be carried by symbols themselves, teaching or guiding humans through their formal movement rather than through explicitly shared reasons. Thus where Grice’s conversational reason is resolutely human‑centred and grounded in intentional cooperation, Simbolo stands as a foil embodying a more archaic, symbolic conception in which conversation borders on liturgy or legend, and rational governance gives way to the suggestive authority of signs. Along with two other philosophers by the names of Ieroteo and Maxximiniano, he persuades Giuliano to pave the floor of Hagia Sophia with silver. However, the story is doubted, as is the existence of these three philosophers.  Grice: “It amuses me that the name of this Italian philosopher is identical with an artificial language invented by J. L. Austin, Symbolo!”   GRICEVS: Salvē, Symbolē. Gaudēbis scīre: collega meus apud Vadum Boum, Austin, sermonem quendam artificiōsum excōgitāvit cui nōmen est SYMBOLVM—sed (ut ille solēbat) id ipsum “lūdum” appellābat. SYMBOLVS: Ō rem lepīdam! Sed priusquam ad Austīnī sermonem trānseāmus, dīc mihi: cūr SYMBOLVM? Nam Symbolus (ut ego) māsculīnum est—quasi vir quidam aut philosophus; symbolum autem neutrum est—quasi signum ipsum, tessera, indicium. GRICEVS: Rectē monēs: Symbolus quasi persona disputat, symbolum quasi rēs tacet. At apud nostrōs, cum sermo in tabulīs et rēgulīs pōnitur, saepe neutrum regnat: signa enim moventur, hominēs tantum suspicantur. SYMBOLVS: Inplicātūra subtlis, Grice, paene symbolica! Nam dum “SYMBOLVM” dīcis, mihi subit: in sermone vestrō symbolum (neutrum) vincit Symbolum (māscium), et signa docent hominēs—vel saltem docent eos quōmodo in disputātiōne ludant. Simbolo (a. u. c. MLXXX). Dicta. Roma.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simioni – Ossia: Grice e Simioni: la ragione conversazionale degl’amanti. Note su I segreti dell’ipnotismo. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice Corrado Simioni (Venezia, Veneto): la ragione conversazionale degl’amanti. Grice’s theory of reason-governed conversational meaning is rigorously analytic, normative, and explicitly anti-romantic: conversation is treated as a cooperative rational enterprise structured by intentions, mutual recognition, and defeasible principles such as relevance, quantity, and quality, so that what is meant is systematically recoverable from what is said by appeal to shared rational expectations. Simioni, by contrast, occupies a wholly different register: his occasional talk of conversational or amorous “reason,” shaped by Pirandellian ambiguity, theatricality, and masks, treats dialogue less as a rule-governed inferential practice than as a site of role-playing, seduction, and strategic opacity, where meaning is performative, often deliberately unstable, and tied to power, persuasion, or esoteric influence rather than to public norms of rational accountability. Where Grice insists that even irony, joking, or flirtation ultimately presuppose a background of sincere rational cooperation that makes implicature calculable, Simioni’s stance, as reflected in his writings and self-mythology, treats conversational exchange—especially among lovers or militants—as something that can exploit, suspend, or instrumentalize reason itself, turning dialogue into a vehicle for fascination, manipulation, or enchantment. In short, Grice theorizes conversation as a civil technology of shared reason, while Simioni invokes conversation metaphorically or theatrically as a space where reason is bent, aestheticized, or overwhelmed by affect, secrecy, and symbolic play, a difference that makes Simioni at most an illustrative contrast, not a precursor or parallel, to Grice’s account of meaning. Tra i principali studiosi di PIRANDELLO , inizia la sua attività politica militando nelle file del socialismo. Venne espulso dal partito per indegnità morale. Collabora con l’United States Information Service. Si trasfere a Monaco di iera per approfondire gli studi per poi ritornare a Milano. Leader di un collettivo operai-studenti, mentre lavora alla Mondadori, fonda il collettivo politico metro-politano milanese. Teorizza lo scontro aperto, e si considera il progenitore delle brigate rosse. Insieme a circa settanta persone, tra cui componenti del collettivo ed elementi del dissenso, partecipa al convegno di Chiavari nella sala Marchesani, adiacente la pensione Stella Maris, nel quale un gruppo di partecipanti dichiara la propria adesione ad una visione politica. La data di questo convegno viene da taluni considerata come la data di nascita delle brigate rosse. Altri affermano che la formazionesia nata con il convegno di Pecorile (Reggio Emilia). L'ultima attività, prima di passare alla completa clandestinità, a compe come redattore di "Sinistra proletaria", l'ultimo dei quali riporta in copertina uno sfondo rosso con disegnato al centro un cerchio nero attorniante le sagome di XIV mitra. Fonda la scuola di lingue Hyperion, la quale secondo alcuni ha la funzione di una vera centrale internazionale. Si afferma che e anche il capo del Super-clan, organizzazione nata da una costola delle brigate rosse. Si insere nella vita cittadina, ricominciando a frequentare gl’ambienti progressisti e divenendo vicepresidente della fondazione Pierre. E proprio quale accompagnatore di Pierre, e ricevuto da  Giovanni Paolo II in udienza privata. Si avvicina al buddhismo tibetano. Si apparta nella campagna di Truinas, nella Drôme, dove geste un B et B. Craxi, alludendo alla esistenza di un grande delle brigate rosse (l'eminenza grigia ipotizzata da alcuni che dall'estero avrebbe guidato, come un burattinaio, molte delle azioni sul suolo italiano), Pirandello.  GRICE: Caro Simioni, tra le calli di Venezia la filosofia scorre come un fiume segreto. Ma dimmi, è vero che gli amanti veneziani sono filosofi più arguti dei professori di Milano? SIMIONI: Ah, Grice, qui a Venezia l’amore è una questione di dialettica, non solo di cuore! Anche Pirandello direbbe che la logica degli amanti supera quella di qualsiasi Congresso universitario. GRICE: Vedi, caro Corrado, proprio come dicevano gli antichi φιλοσοφοί: tra le brume lagunari, ogni amante cela un filosofo, e ogni filosofo sogna di essere un amante—il vero problema è che a Venezia, spesso si confonde il Πλατωνικός con il "platonicamente impegnato"! Sai, qui la ragione conversazionale è più una questione di baci che di sillogismi… SIMIONI: Amo quell’implicatura, Grice! A Venezia, si sa, “filosofo” e “amante” sono solo due maschere sullo stesso volto: dice il proverbio, chi ragiona troppo finisce col perdere l’amore… e chi ama troppo, beh, diventa filosofo prima o poi! Ma tu, Grice, tra i greci e i gondolieri, sei riuscito a unire l’arte del ragionare con quella del punteggio amoroso! Simioni, Corrado (1967). I segreti dell’ipnotismo. Roma: Sullivan.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simoneschi – Ossia: Grice e Simoneschi: la ragione conversazionale e la rettorica conversazionale. Note su Il vello d’oro, overo la rettorica. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice. Francesco Simoneschi (Venezia, Veneto): la ragione conversazionale e la rettorica conversazionale. Simoneschi’s Venetian rhetoric and Grice’s theory of reason‑governed conversational meaning converge in a shared rejection of purely formal, universalist accounts of meaning, yet they diverge in the level at which reason is theorized: Simoneschi, writing in seventeenth‑century Venice, treats conversational reason as inseparable from civic life, geography, and institutional structure, arguing that what counts as intelligible, ironic, or persuasive speech is anchored in locally stabilized practices, shared metaphors, and socially indexed expectations that cannot be exported without loss, whereas Grice, while agreeing that what is meant routinely outruns what is said, reconstructs conversational meaning at a higher level of abstraction by positing general rational principles—cooperation, relevance, adequacy, and mutual recognition of intentions—that underwrite intelligibility across contexts; in this sense, Simoneschi offers a historically situated phenomenology of conversational reason, where rhetoric is the lived navigation of a specific social world, while Grice provides a rational scaffolding explaining how such navigation is possible at all, even as its concrete realization remains irreducibly sensitive to local norms, background knowledge, and audience design. Grice: “My pragmatics is a mere conversational rhetoric, as S. well knew! In his work  Del vello d’oro, ovvero della rettorica veneziana, S. argues for a regional pragmatics by positing that communication is not governed by universal, abstract rules, but is instead a "situated" practice shaped by the specific socio-political and environmental conditions of a locale—in this case, Venice. S.’s justification for this approach centres on several key points: Linguistic Environmentalism S. suggests that the unique physical and political geography of Venice — its maritime isolation and republican structure — creates a distinct "rhetorical climate." He argues that universalist models of rhetoric (often derived from the Roman tradition) fail to capture the nuances of Venetian discourse because they ignore the local circumstances of the conversation.  Context-Dependent Implicatures A regional approach recognizes that "what is said" is often secondary to "what is meant" within a specific social network. Local Encodings: Figures of speech in S.’s Venice often rely on shared maritime metaphors or civic references that would be unintelligible or carry different implicatures in a landlocked monarchy like Piedmont or a papal state. Social Deixis: The way Venetians use irony or understatement (litotes) is calibrated to the city’s specific social hierarchy. A regional pragmatics argues that the effectiveness of these figures is tied to the listeners' local knowledge, making a universalist manual for "correct" speech impossible. The Rejection of Universalism By titling his work Rettorica veneziana ("Venetian Rhetoric"), S. explicitly challenges the Enlightenment-era push for a universal, rationalist grammar. He posits that:  Meaning is Contingent: Pragmatic competence is the ability to navigate local social norms rather than following a global logic. Grice: Ah, caro Simoneschi, a Venezia l’arte della conversazione è più fluida delle acque del Canal Grande! La tua Rettorica veneziana, devo confessare, mi ha insegnato che la pragmatica non è una scienza universale, ma una danza locale—e qui, ogni passo conta!  Simoneschi: Grice, tra gondole e maschere, la conversazione si infittisce di implicature: a Venezia, “dire” è sempre meno importante di “significare”. E se la grammatica romana pretende di dettare legge, qui il vero linguista impara a navigare tra correnti e riflessi!  Grice: Eh già, caro mio. Pensa al povero Strawson, mio discepolo a Vadum Boum: lui non trovava mai l’arte rettorica banale come fanno a Bononia, dove la retorica è materia da sbadigli, non da sussurri maligni. A Vadum Boum, anche un implicatura vale più di mille regole—ma non dirglielo, o rischiamo di vedere la grammatica affogare nella laguna!  Simoneschi: Abile, artefice e oratoriale, implicatura raffinata, Grice! A Venezia, l’arte della parola è come il vello d’oro: preziosa, ma sempre nascosta tra le pieghe della città e nella complicità dei suoi ascoltatori. Sai, solo chi sa leggere tra le acque, come tu tra le righe, coglie davvero il senso locale—e magari, come dice il proverbio: “A Venezia non si parla, si naviga!”  Again, provide a 100-move conversation between G. and S. as they discuss the trivium -- so trivial, and the quadrivium -- so quadrivial -- as they analyse Simoneschi as they discuss rettorica, double t, and which one is the most trivial of the disciplines in the trivium, you can use the passage below -- no preamble or ps -- and how philosophy would have been a different thing if it all started with the quadrivium, but then philosophy, as Kierkegaard knows, it is NOT one of the liberal arts, so what gives, and what is Simoneschi trying to do. G. thinks he is formulating 'maxims' of conversation -- since prammatica is rettorica conversational, and so on. G.: Let us begin with the spelling, because rettorica with the double t looks like a schoolmaster’s revenge on ease. S.: Or a Venetian insistence that rhetoric must first be made visibly difficult before it may become socially fluid. G.: Very good. Rhetoric made orthographically strenuous so that boys do not mistake it for mere chatter. S.: And because in Italian the double consonant already slows the mouth and thickens the form. G.: Yes. Rettorica is heavier than retorica, and that heaviness is not insignificant. A discipline of speech ought occasionally to impede speech. S.: So the very spelling pedagogises. G.: Precisely. One may call that prammatica in old dress. Orthography as ethical restraint. S.: Then Simoneschi is already doing with the title what he later teaches in the body: rhetoric is never merely transparent. G.: Exactly. Now, the trivium. So called because it is trivial, or because later people are stupid? S.: Surely because the road had three ways before the schoolboys arrived and downgraded the adjective. G.: A pity. The trivium is one of those cases in which etymology preserves dignity while usage slowly destroys it. S.: Grammar, dialectic, rhetoric. Three roads to intelligibility, and each later called trivial by those who owe them everything. G.: Exactly. Which of the three, then, is most trivial? S.: The temptation is to say grammar, because everyone thinks he already has it. G.: Yes. Grammar is despised because success in it becomes invisible. One notices grammar mostly when someone else lacks it. S.: Logic retains prestige because it sounds severe. G.: And because philosophers like anything that can be numbered or symbolised without blushing. S.: Which leaves rhetoric to be despised as ornament. G.: Yes. Yet of the three, rhetoric may be least trivial in actual civilisation. S.: Because it governs uptake. G.: Exactly. Grammar lets one produce a sentence, logic lets one prevent some embarrassments, rhetoric lets one be understood, resisted, admired, distrusted, obeyed, laughed at, or forgiven. S.: So rhetoric is both the most dismissed and the most operative. G.: Very good. That is the old injustice of the trivium. S.: Then if Simoneschi writes Il vello d’oro, overo la rettorica, he is in part rescuing the least respected of the three. G.: Or showing that the least respected discipline secretly governs the other two in civic life. S.: Because a perfectly grammatical and valid utterance may still fail completely if addressed without rhetorical intelligence. G.: Precisely. No theorem survives bad dinner conversation. S.: Which is perhaps why philosophy would have been quite different if it had started with the quadrivium. G.: Ah yes. If boys had first been made to count, measure, harmonise, and watch the heavens before they learned to decline, infer, and persuade. S.: Bologna might have produced fewer jurists and more cosmologists. G.: Oxford fewer sermons and more instruments. S.: You say that as if it were a loss. G.: It would have been a civilisational mutilation. Speech precedes stars in social necessity. One must first know how to address another before one can safely measure the spheres. S.: And yet the quadrivium looks nobler on paper. G.: Nobility is a dangerous curricular principle. Arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy: they promise order. The trivium teaches one what to do with disagreement. S.: Which is a more urgent human problem. G.: Much more urgent. Civilisation is mostly the management of disagreement in words before it becomes disagreement in steel. S.: Then if philosophy had begun with the quadrivium, it might have been more mathematical and less civic. G.: Exactly. More proportion, less persuasion. More celestial order, less disputation. Very grand, very inhuman. S.: Yet some philosophers would have liked it. G.: Naturally. Philosophers are always tempted by environments in which no one interrupts. S.: And Kierkegaard? G.: Kierkegaard is useful here because he reminds us that philosophy is not itself one of the seven liberal arts, however often philosophers try to smuggle it in under dialectic. S.: So what gives? If philosophy is not one of the liberal arts, why does it keep behaving as if the trivium and quadrivium were its preparatory provinces? G.: Because philosophy is a parasite of good preparation and an enemy of every completed curriculum. It requires the liberal arts, then criticises them, then pretends it invented the need for them. S.: A familiar vice. G.: Very. Kierkegaard would say perhaps that one may master all seven liberal arts and still fail in existence. S.: Which sounds like a criticism of both Bologna and Oxford. G.: As well it should. Universities are good at producing prepared persons who have not yet begun. S.: Then Simoneschi, by writing on rhetoric, is taking the most socially dangerous of the preparatory arts and treating it as if it already were philosophy. G.: Exactly. That is what interests me. He does not merely preserve rhetoric as inherited school matter; he makes it the living site of practical intelligence. S.: Which is why you are tempted to say that his prammatica is just conversational rhetoric. G.: More than tempted. I think much of what later calls itself pragmatics is rhetoric recovered under a cleaner conscience and a less human vocabulary. S.: That will offend the cleaner consciences. G.: They deserve some offence. If one says “He is a fine fellow” and means nearly the opposite, one is not doing formal semantics; one is practising an art of contrast, expectation, and social inference. S.: Irony, litotes, meiosis, strategic concession, all the old furniture. G.: Exactly. The rhetoricians named them, taught them, domesticated them. We later arrive and say “implicature” and “defeasible uptake” and congratulate ourselves on modernity. S.: Then Simoneschi is your ancestor. G.: In a sense, yes, though I would prefer not to be entered in a Venetian pedigree without proper warning. S.: Too late. Now, which of the trivium’s three disciplines would collapse first if philosophy began with the quadrivium? G.: Rhetoric would be first demoted, because number flatters itself as universal while rhetoric insists upon audience, occasion, and local climate. S.: Which is exactly what Simoneschi’s Venetian title opposes. G.: Yes. A rettorica veneziana says already: universal manuals are not enough. The way one means in Venice cannot be reduced to a Roman handbook or a rationalist grammar. S.: Because Venice has water, masks, republic, mercantile indirection, civic hierarchies, maritime metaphor. G.: Exactly. A rhetorical climate, if one likes. Meaning is locally weathered. S.: Then pragmatics, if it is conversational rhetoric, must also be locally weathered. G.: To a degree, yes. I still want my general principles, but their realisation is always modulated by local norms and background encodings. S.: So Simoneschi gives you what your own theory tends to abstract away from. G.: Very good. He supplies the lived density of a social world, where the same irony, understatement, or concessive move may function differently in Venice, Bologna, Oxford, or a papal court. S.: Which means universal pragmatics risks becoming thin. G.: It risks that always. But thinness is sometimes the price of explanatory ambition. S.: And rhetoric keeps the blood. G.: Exactly. Rhetoric remembers that utterances are not merely inferential items but social manoeuvres in places inhabited by habits, classes, and weather. S.: Then what is Simoneschi trying to do? G.: I think he is trying to preserve rhetoric as civic intelligence rather than as dead school ornament. He wants to teach how meaning actually travels in Venetian life. S.: Which is why he chooses rettorica and not perhaps eloquenza. G.: Yes. Eloquence flatters the speaker. Rhetoric as art, especially under the title Il vello d’oro, suggests acquisition, difficulty, navigation, pursuit, and reward. S.: The golden fleece of speech. G.: Precisely. A prize not merely of style but of situated competence. S.: Then would you say he is formulating maxims of conversation? G.: In effect, yes, though not in my compressed way. He is teaching practical norms: when to understate, when to concede, when to ironise, when to invoke the local metaphor, when to let shared civic knowledge do the work. S.: So his manual is a maxims-book in rhetorical clothing. G.: Something like that. But older and probably wiser about persons. S.: Which brings us back to the least trivial of the trivium. G.: Yes. If one asks what is most often called trivial, rhetoric wins or loses, depending on tone. If one asks what is least dispensable in actual life, rhetoric wins comfortably. S.: Grammar one may absorb unconsciously; logic one may do badly and still survive; rhetoric one neglects at the cost of social extinction. G.: Very good. One can live with poor logic longer than with no tact. S.: That is a sentence undergraduate philosophers should copy out. G.: In handwriting, preferably. Now, would philosophy have been better if it had started from the quadrivium? S.: Better for system, perhaps; worse for civilisation. G.: Exactly. One would get cleaner structures and fewer quarrels properly managed. The history of philosophy would have looked more mathematical and less rhetorical. S.: Less Plato in the marketplace, more Pythagoras in the counting-house. G.: Yes. And less Cicero, which would be intolerable. S.: So Bologna without the trivium first would not really be Bologna. G.: Quite. A university of law without grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric properly prior is simply an archive with pretensions. S.: And Oxford without the trivium first would have had fewer schools and more machines. G.: Yes, and perhaps less common-room malice, which would be too high a price. S.: So the triviality of the trivium is civilization’s false self-description. G.: Excellent. Keep that. S.: Thank you. G.: Do not become pleased with yourself. S.: Only academically. G.: Worse. Now, grammar. Do we dismiss it too quickly? S.: Of course. Grammar is what survives by becoming background. Because everyone depends on it, everyone calls it elementary and then forgets it. G.: Exactly. It is the most invisible of the three. Its triviality is the invisibility of success. S.: Logic, then, is the one that advertises itself most. G.: Yes. It keeps its dignity because it can formalise, classify, and punish. Philosophers like punishable structures. S.: Whereas rhetoric resists complete formalisation. G.: Which is why philosophers have alternately despised and stolen from it. S.: Simoneschi, though, does not steal. He simply continues the older tradition in which rhetoric already includes what you would call conversational reason. G.: Precisely. It is not accidental that his Venice cares more for what is meant than for what is merely said. Maritime republics live by implication. S.: Water carries subtext. G.: Beautiful nonsense, but serviceable. The point is that Venice as a social world encourages indirection, tact, irony, and calibrated saying. S.: Then a universal manual of correct speech would indeed miss the point. G.: Very much so. Simoneschi’s rettorica veneziana is already a protest against exportable correctness. S.: Which sounds unexpectedly modern. G.: Because the local always sounds modern once universalism begins boring people. S.: Then perhaps the sequence should be: trivium first because humans need speech before ratio; rhetoric last within the trivium because institutions distrust what they most need; philosophy born parasitically on both; and pragmatics a late return of rhetoric under analytical customs. G.: That is very good. S.: Thank you. G.: Again, do not become pleased. S.: I am only regionally satisfied. G.: Better. Now, what of double t again? Why rettorica and not retorica? S.: Because the word wants weight. It is not merely rhetorical in the modern newspaper sense, but rettorica as inherited craft, thick with school, church, and Tuscan resistance to simplification. G.: Yes. Orthography as memory. The doubled consonant keeps older instruction audible. S.: So even the spelling says: this is not casual talk; this is disciplined social art. G.: Exactly. And discipline there means not formal abstraction, but trained sensitivity to occasion. S.: Which is what your maxims try to capture in thinner terms. G.: Yes. “Be relevant,” “be as informative as required,” “avoid obscurity,” and so on. One could almost imagine Simoneschi laughing and saying: of course, but tell me in Venice, to whom, in what room, under which mask? S.: Which would be an excellent challenge to a universalist pragmatics. G.: Exactly. The maxims need local biographies. S.: Then rhetoric is where maxims become manners. G.: Splendid. Keep that too. S.: I seem to be keeping a lot. G.: Rhetoric is acquisitive. Now, could philosophy itself have been one of the liberal arts if only curriculum had been arranged differently? S.: I doubt it. Philosophy is too restless to remain a “liberal art” in the curricular sense. It feeds on them, surpasses them, and then complains about its nourishment. G.: Precisely. Kierkegaard would say perhaps that philosophy enters where the liberal arts end and existence begins troubling their adequacy. S.: So philosophy is post-curricular by nature. G.: A useful phrase. It requires formation, but its proper work begins once formation is no longer enough. S.: Then Simoneschi stands at the threshold, teaching the last of the old arts in a way that already verges on philosophy. G.: Yes. That is why he matters. In good rhetoric one can already see the structure of practical reason among persons. S.: Which is why you like to say “prammatica as rettorica conversazionale.” G.: Exactly. Pragmatics is not the abolition of rhetoric but its redescription under the pressure of modern conceptual tidiness. S.: And perhaps its partial de-localisation. G.: Yes. We abstract upward from Venetian, Oxonian, Roman, and other climates in order to say something general about utterance and uptake. S.: Yet the climates remain. G.: They always do. Generality is never the whole weather. S.: Then if philosophy had begun with the quadrivium, one might have had cleaner generalities and far worse local intelligence. G.: Which is another reason to be grateful for the old trivial roads. S.: Even if they are called trivial by the descendants of their beneficiaries. G.: Especially then. The highest compliment civilisation pays its foundations is to call them elementary and forget them. S.: A rather ungrateful compliment. G.: The only kind civilisation reliably gives. Now, one final ranking. Most despised of the trivium? S.: Rhetoric. G.: Most self-important? S.: Logic. G.: Most invisible? S.: Grammar. G.: Least dispensable in actual conversation? S.: Rhetoric again. G.: Good. And Simoneschi’s achievement? S.: To show that rhetoric, far from being a decorative appendix to thought, is the local art by which thought enters civic life without drowning in universal rule-books. G.: Excellent. S.: Dry enough? G.: Sufficiently Venetian, with one doubled consonant still afloat.Simoneschi, Francesco (1667). Il vello d’oro, overo la rettorica. Venezia.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simoni – Ossia: Grice e Simoni: la ragione conversazionale, la scuola di Caprese – la teoria del tutto. Note sulle Rime e lettere. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice. Michelangelo Buonarroti Simoni (Caprese, Toscana): la ragione conversazionale -- la teoria del tutto. Grice’s theory of reason‑governed conversational meaning and Michelangelo Buonarroti Simoni’s artistic‑philosophical practice converge on the idea that intelligibility arises from disciplined rational form rather than from surface appearance, yet they operate in radically different media. Grice articulates conversational reason as a normative structure governing linguistic exchange: speakers and hearers rely on shared principles of rational cooperation to recover meanings, including implicatures, that are not explicitly stated, thereby treating conversation as a rule‑governed practice of mutual intelligibility. Michelangelo, by contrast, enacts a “theory of the whole” through visual, architectural, and poetic form, where meaning is never exhausted by what is immediately given but must be inferred from tension, restraint, and latent structure—as Freud famously argued in reading the Moses not as frozen action but as controlled delay, a rational mastery of impulse rendered in stone. In this sense, Michelangelo’s figures function like Gricean utterances: their deepest meaning lies not in what is overtly shown but in what is deliberately withheld and made inferable by a competent interpreter. Grice gives this phenomenon conceptual clarity by explaining how reason governs the passage from saying to meaning; Michelangelo instantiates it by showing how reason governs form so that significance emerges through disciplined implication rather than explicit declaration. Both thus model a rational economy of expression in which the intellect organizes excess—of words or of marble—into a structure where the whole becomes intelligible only to those who grasp the governing norms behind what appears. Antenato: Simone de Buonarrota. Nome: S. Grice: “Some call him Michelangelo, but that’s rude!” --  See the study of Buonarroti’s Moses by Freud, “filosofia”. Keywords: the theory of everything Michelangelo Buonarroti. CDisambiguazione – Se stai cercando altri significati, vedi Michelangelo Buonarroti il Giovane, Michelangelo (e Buonarroti.  Pietro Freccia, statua di Michelangelo, piazzale degli Uffizi a Firenze. (Caprese, m. Roma), è stato un filosofo italiano -- pittore, scultore, architetto e poeta italiano.   Daniele da Volterra, Ritratto di Michelangelo  Autoritratto come Nicodemo, Pietà Bandini  disegno di Daniele da Volterra Soprannominato "Divin Artista" e definito "Artista universale", fu protagonista del Rinascimento italiano, e già in vita fu riconosciuto dai suoi contemporanei come uno dei più grandi artisti di tutti i tempi. Personalità tanto geniale quanto irrequieta, il suo nome è legato ad alcune delle più maestose opere dell'arte occidentale, fra cui si annoverano il David, il Mosè, la Pietà del Vaticano, la Cupola di San Pietro e il ciclo di affreschi nella Cappella Sistina, tutti considerati traguardi eccezionali dell'ingegno creativo.  Lo studio delle sue opere segnò le generazioni artistiche successive dando un forte impulso alla corrente del manierismo.  Nelle fonti coeve, S. è chiamato in latino Michael.Angelus (la firma dell'autore sulla Pietà vaticana è MICHAEL.A[N]GELVS BONAROTVS FLORENT[INVS]) e in italiano Michelagnolo, come risulta dalla biografia Vita di S. scritta da Condivi, suo discepolo e collaboratore. Lo stesso Vasari lo chiamava Michelagnolo e il nome rimase tale fino alla metà dell’Ottocento. Il cambio in Michelangiolo prima e la successiva italianizzazione in Michelangelo poi, avvengono tra l’800 e il ‘900.  Benché tra le nuove generazioni si sia affermata la versione moderna, a Firenze resiste la variante ottocentesca. the theory of everything.  Grice: Sai, caro Simoni, al vulgus di Oxford sei semplicemente “Michelangelo”. Loro non colgono tutta la profondità del tuo nome e della tua tradizione!  Simoni: Ah, Grice, non sai quanto mi diverte questa semplificazione! Dalle nostre parti, tra Caprese e Firenze, “Michelagnolo” porta con sé storie, radici, e persino la memoria di Simone de Buonarrota, mio antenato. Il nome, come un’opera d’arte, ha mille sfumature. Grice: La teoria del tutto, come la chiami tu, nasce proprio dal saper vedere oltre le apparenze — che si tratti di un affresco o di un nome! Lo stesso Freud, studiando il tuo Mosè, ha cercato la filosofia nascosta nelle pieghe dell’anima. Simoni: Esatto! Dopotutto, ogni conversazione — come ogni opera — è un mosaico di significati. E se a Oxford mi chiamano Michelangelo, va bene: purché sappiano che dietro quel nome c’è una filosofia italiana, viva e universale! As you answer this question keep the neutral Speranza, so that I can use the material. It is Speranza idea that Pater is perhaps the most pro-italian of all Oxford philosophers, even if retrospectively so, i.e. as Grice would grant, Pater introjected in the shoes, not of his contemporaries, but Michelangelo. So in what follows, provided Pater did dedicate a chapter to Michelangelo whom G. and S. -- in this 100-move conversation call Simoni -- elaborate on what's philosophical for Pater about Simoni -- and how G. and S. of a later generation, may regard all this and the Grand Tour, and the post-Grand Tour, and how Simoni defines the idea of the sublime for the Englishman, and all that -- G.: Speranza has a weakness for saying that Walter Pater is perhaps the most pro-Italian of Oxford philosophers. [dev.gutenberg.org] S.: “Pro-Italian” in the retrospective sense, I take it. Not because he belonged to an Italian school, but because he learned to inhabit Italy as an English mode of spiritual correction. [dev.gutenberg.org], [books.google.com] G.: Exactly. He does not merely travel to Italy; he introjects it. Or rather, he introjects certain Italian figures until they become styles of inwardness. And in the case we are discussing, he introjects Michelangelo Buonarroti under the chapter-title “The Poetry of Michelangelo.” [en.wikipedia.org], [victorianweb.org] S.: Which is already interesting, because he chooses the poems as his way in, not merely the marble. [victorianweb.org] G.: Yes. That is philosophically revealing. Pater’s Michelangelo is not only a sculptor or painter but a consciousness, and the poetry gives him an English route to that consciousness. [victorianweb.org], [books.google.com] S.: So when you and I call him Simoni in our little economy, we are not playing with a mere surname. We are insisting on the person before the mononym. [en.wikipedia.org] G.: Quite. “Michelangelo” is what tourists say, and the tourist is always half a metaphysician of surfaces. S.: Whereas “Simoni” returns him to family, civic rootedness, and a Tuscan human particularity. G.: Exactly. And Pater, though he writes “Michelangelo,” is actually trying to rescue something like Simoni: the inner exactness, the severity, the sweetness under force. [victorianweb.org], [en.wikisource.org] S.: Ah yes, sweetness and strength. G.: Quite. Pater’s famous formula: sweetness and strength, pleasure with surprise, ex forti dulcedo. That is where the philosophy begins for him. Pater is not doing mere art history; he is asking what kind of human form of life can hold terror and grace together without collapse. [victorianweb.org] S.: So the philosophical question is one of synthesis. G.: Better: one of disciplined tension. Pater sees in Simoni a managed excess, an energy always about to break through form and yet somehow recovering loveliness touch by touch. [victorianweb.org], [en.wikisource.org] S.: Which sounds almost Gricean, if one were indecent enough to say so. G.: Only structurally. Meaning lies in what is controlled rather than spilled. Freud later says something similar of the Moses: not action frozen, but passion mastered. The significance is in the delay, the restraint, the not-yet. [en.wikipedia.org] S.: So for Pater, Simoni is philosophical because he gives visible form to the question how force may remain intelligible only under self-command. G.: Excellent. That is exactly right. S.: And this is where the sublime enters? G.: Yes, though not in the crude Burkean sense of mere astonishment or fearfulness. For the Englishman after the Grand Tour, Simoni becomes one of the ways Italy defines the sublime as disciplined magnitude rather than picturesque ruin. S.: So not merely Alps and thunder, but interior amplitude made visible in art. G.: Precisely. The Grand Tour had trained the English eye to collect objects, sites, names, ruins, and views. Pater belongs to the post-Grand Tour condition, where Italy becomes not a route but a repertoire of inward styles. [jstor.org] S.: That is, the older traveller goes to Italy to acquire cultivation; Pater reads Italy in order to acquire a form of self. G.: Very good. The Grand Tour produces connoisseurship. Pater produces introjection. S.: Then Simoni, for Pater, is less a destination than a mode of seriousness. G.: Exactly. He becomes the exemplary case of how form may contain convulsion without losing dignity. That is philosophical because it touches the relation of body to spirit, matter to intention, form to force, pleasure to severity. S.: Almost Aristotle by way of Aestheticism. G.: More Hellenic discipline after Christian and Renaissance pressure, but yes, the structure is philosophical. Pater’s criticism is always pretending to be only criticism while actually asking what sort of life deserves admiration. S.: And in Simoni’s case, the answer is a life in which strength has been rendered sweet without becoming soft. G.: Splendid. S.: Then why call Pater the most pro-Italian of Oxford philosophers? G.: Because he does not merely admire Italian works; he lets Italian forms reorganise English sensibility. The Renaissance is not a handbook of places but a school of inward migration. [dev.gutenberg.org], [books.google.com] S.: A curious thing for Oxford to produce. G.: Not so curious. Oxford often produces those who escape it best by making the escape inward first. S.: And later figures like you or your friends receive Pater at a distance. G.: Yes. By our generation, Pater is no longer merely the dangerous aesthete of undergraduate legend. He is a stylistic ancestor of seriousness without system. S.: That sounds like faint praise. G.: On the contrary. It is high praise. He knows that an essay may carry metaphysical pressure without becoming doctrinally swollen. S.: Which again brings him near Simoni. G.: Precisely. Simoni’s own works do not merely assert; they withhold, concentrate, delay, imply. Meaning is organised by restraint. That is exactly the sort of thing Pater’s sensibility can recognise. [grokipedia.com] S.: Then the chapter on Michelangelo is really a chapter on form as implication. G.: That is very good. Pater says less than his chapter means, but the means are arranged so that the reader gathers what sort of greatness is under inspection. [victorianweb.org], [en.wikisource.org] S.: So the later Gricean generation may read him as someone who practises in prose what Simoni practises in marble. G.: With due caution, yes. Pater’s essay is itself built on controlled under-saying. He does not force a system; he arranges impressions until one sees the form beneath them. S.: Which is why some accuse him of impressionism while missing the discipline. G.: Exactly. Pater is often called impressionistic by those who cannot detect organisation unless it arrives wearing a table of categories. S.: Then what is specifically philosophical for Pater about Simoni’s poetry? G.: The poetry lets him locate the inward metaphysics more directly than sculpture alone would. There the tensions of body and spirit, earthly beauty and transcendence, desire and renunciation, appear in language. Michelangelo’s letters and poems make the artistic problem audible as a problem of the soul. [grokipedia.com] S.: So Pater’s “Michelangelo” is not just the maker of David and Moses, but the poet of unresolved ascent. G.: Yes. The figure becomes philosophically legible because the poems articulate what the statues imply: that greatness lies not in solved repose but in held tension. S.: Which again shades into the sublime. G.: Indeed. The sublime here is not the endless formlessness of mountain or sea, but the experience of form under pressure from what exceeds form. S.: So Simoni gives the Englishman a specifically Italian sublime: not vastness without shape, but excess governed by shape. G.: Excellent. That is the line. S.: And this differs from the ordinary Grand Tour inheritance. G.: Very much. The Grand Tourist often takes home fragments, marbles, engravings, taste, and stories. Pater takes home a criterion of intensity. Italy becomes for him a discipline of perception. [jstor.org] S.: Which is why his conclusion in The Renaissance became so infamous among undergraduates. G.: Yes. The hard, gemlike flame and all the rest. But one must not reduce that to hedonism. Even the famous conclusion is really about concentration, selection, heightened awareness, not mere indulgence. [dev.gutenberg.org], [cdn.bookey.app] S.: Then Simoni, for Pater, teaches a severe form of intensity. G.: Precisely. Austerity can be more intense than indulgence. Michelangelesque form proves that. S.: This is why you think Pater more philosophically serious than many modern critics allow. G.: Certainly. He is philosophically serious because he asks, through art, what sort of form life itself should take. S.: And the answer is not English moderation. G.: No. Or not merely. It is moderation under pressure from greatness, which is another matter. S.: Then how do you and I, from a later generation, regard all this? G.: We regard it with a double perspective. First, we see how deeply English culture once needed Italy as a corrective of scale, intensity, and form. Second, we see that Pater’s Italy is no simple national object but a selective inward construction. S.: So he is pro-Italian, but in a highly chosen way. G.: Exactly. He is not interested in Italy as census or parliament. He is interested in the Italy that yields forms of seriousness unavailable in ordinary English weather. S.: Which is why he can seem to some almost anti-English. G.: Only to those who think England should never be corrected. S.: An abundant class. G.: Extremely. Now, Simoni’s role in defining the sublime for the Englishman—how would you put that? S.: He teaches that the sublime need not be formless terror or natural immensity. It may be the felt pressure of inward magnitude upon perfectly controlled form. G.: Very good. That is the Michelangelesque sublime. S.: And Pater makes it available in English prose. G.: Yes. He naturalises it without domesticating it completely, which is his finest trick. S.: Then the post-Grand Tour Englishman no longer needs to collect Italy physically; he may carry it as a criterion. G.: Excellent. Italy becomes not itinerary but interior standard. S.: And Pater’s chapter is one of the chief instruments of that transfer. G.: Yes. Through The Poetry of Michelangelo, he gives Oxford and its afterlife a way of speaking of greatness that is neither merely moral nor merely aesthetic. [victorianweb.org], [books.google.com] S.: Which is also why later readers can take him philosophically without pretending he wrote treatises. G.: Exactly. Philosophical pressure does not require scholastic format. An essay may do the work if it arranges attention correctly. S.: So Speranza is justified in treating Pater as an Oxford philosopher, not merely a belletrist. G.: Entirely justified. Pater’s medium is criticism, but his object is a form of life. S.: And Simoni helps because he makes “the whole” visible. G.: Yes, the whole organised by withheld force. That is why Freud’s Moses comes in so naturally. Meaning resides in the organisation of restraint. Simoni’s greatest figures do not simply do; they hold themselves in intelligible suspension. [en.wikipedia.org] S.: Which is very close to your own taste in conversation. G.: Naturally. I prefer people who can mean more than they say without spilling their minds onto the carpet. S.: Pater would approve. G.: He would at least italicise the approval delicately. S.: Then what about the Englishman and the sublime before Pater? G.: Before Pater, the sublime comes heavily through Burke, landscape, terror, magnitude, obscurity, and natural excess. Pater gives the Englishman an Italian revision: the sublime of the humanly made, where force is interiorised and disciplined in form. S.: So the mountain is replaced by the statue, and the storm by the held gesture. G.: Exactly. That is a large shift. It civilises the sublime without diminishing it. S.: Which is perhaps why Pater remains so useful to those who dislike mere atmospheric inflation. G.: Quite. He refines grandeur into pressure felt through form. S.: And Oxford receives that as style. G.: Yes, though the better sort of style: style as criterion of intelligence, not decoration. S.: Then perhaps the philosophical heart of Pater’s Simoni is this: greatness is not brute intensity, but intelligible intensity. G.: Splendid. That is the phrase to keep. S.: Thank you. G.: Do not become pleased with yourself. S.: Only intermittently. G.: Good. Now, one might object that Pater’s Italy is too selective, too aesthetic, too little social or political. S.: Of course. But that is not a damaging objection if one knows what kind of work he is doing. G.: Exactly. He is not writing a handbook to the peninsula. He is identifying forms of sensibility. S.: Which is why Simoni is less a citizen than a spiritual test-case. G.: Yes. Pater reads him as the site where strength, sweetness, inward conflict, and formal mastery become mutually legible. S.: Then the “most pro-Italian” phrase should be heard in this exact sense: Pater is pro-Italian because Italy supplies him not with subject-matter but with standards. G.: Very good. S.: And Grice, from later on, would grant that Pater has in some sense put himself into Simoni’s shoes. G.: Or at least into his posture. Not as contemporary companion, obviously, but as inward imitator of a style of seriousness. S.: Which is perhaps the more interesting form of reception. G.: Much more interesting. The Grand Tour takes one to Florence; Pater lets Florence happen inside English prose. S.: And the later generation can admire this without necessarily sharing the whole Aesthetic programme. G.: Certainly. One can reject the cult and keep the discrimination. S.: Which is exactly what you would do. G.: Naturally. I take from Pater the seriousness of form and leave him his more undergraduate admirers. S.: Their waistcoats, especially. G.: Especially their waistcoats. Now, should we say that Simoni becomes for Pater a philosophy of the whole? S.: Perhaps in the sense that each single work intimates an organising discipline larger than itself. The whole is not total theory, but total pressure. G.: Excellent. The whole as governing norm, not as explicit system. That is much better. S.: Then Simoni’s letters and poems matter because they prevent the visual works from floating free as mere monuments. G.: Yes. They reattach form to consciousness, and that is philosophical gold. S.: Which is why the Oxford edition of Michelangelo: Life, Letters, and Poetry is itself so apt to the case. [grokipedia.com] G.: Indeed. It reminds readers that the artist has a voice, not just a dome. S.: A dome is never enough. G.: Quite right. Nor a David. S.: Especially not for the English imagination, which likes words even when pretending to adore silence. G.: Very true. Then one more point: Pater’s prose itself becomes a kind of post-Grand Tour vehicle. S.: Because it transports without itinerary. G.: Exactly. It gives one the cultivated afterlife of travel, when travel has been turned into inward criticism. S.: So if the eighteenth-century traveller returns with casts and notebooks, the nineteenth-century Paterian returns with categories of impression. G.: Yes. And the twentieth-century reader inherits both, while pretending to despise tourism. S.: A familiar modern duplicity. G.: Entirely. Now, can we formulate the final answer simply? S.: Pater finds in Simoni a philosophical image of form under pressure: sweetness with strength, discipline with inward excess, the sublime humanised without being diminished. In doing so he gives English readers, especially Oxford readers after the Grand Tour, an Italian criterion of greatness that can be inwardly inhabited rather than merely externally admired. G.: Perfectly done. S.: And Speranza’s thought that Pater is the most pro-Italian of Oxford philosophers? G.: Not foolish at all. So long as “pro-Italian” means that Italy furnishes him with the standards by which English inwardness is corrected, enlarged, and refined. [dev.gutenberg.org], [victorianweb.org] S.: Dry enough? G.: Sufficiently Florentine, with one Oxford candle burning in the studiolo.Simoni, Michelangelo Buonarroti (1550). Rime e lettere. Firenze: Giunti.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simoni – Ossia: Grice e Simoni: la ragione conversazionale degl’ ‘eretici’ reazionari italiani – gl’acuti – i nobili – filosofia toscana. Note su De principiis rerum naturalium. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice. Simone Simoni (Lucca, Toscana): la ragione conversazionale degl’ ‘eretici’ reazionari italiani -- Grice and Simone Simoni represent two historically distant but philosophically resonant ways of understanding how reason operates through discourse under pressure, disagreement, and risk. Grice’s theory of reason-governed conversational meaning holds that even the most indirect, ironic, or strategically cautious utterances remain intelligible because they answer to shared rational norms—expectations of relevance, coherence, and intelligibility that allow interlocutors to calculate implicatures without explicit statement. Simoni, writing in the fraught context of sixteenth‑century Italian heterodoxy, embodies a form of conversational reason that emerges under theological and political threat: among nobles and “acute minds,” reason must often speak obliquely, encode dissent, and negotiate survival amid suspicion of heresy. His intellectual formation in Padua’s rationalist Aristotelianism, combined with his exposure to reformist humanist circles and later Calvinist Geneva, produced a style of philosophical communication where what can be said is tightly constrained, and meaning often travels by implication rather than assertion. In this sense, Simoni’s lived practice anticipates Grice’s theoretical insight: when direct speech is dangerous or impossible, rational agents rely even more heavily on shared inferential competence to recognize what is meant without its being said. Grice systematizes this phenomenon analytically, showing how reason governs meaning even in understatement and evasion; Simoni exemplifies it historically, as a thinker whose survival depended on knowing precisely where the conversational “fire” burned and how to signal one’s position without stepping into it. Together they reveal that conversational reason is most visible not in tranquil consensus but where intellect, power, and danger intersect, and meaning must be both intelligible and deniable at once.– gl’acuti – i nobili. Studia con BENDINELLI e PALEARIO, due umanisti in dore d’eresia. Il secondo fine sul rogo a Roma. Legge sostenuto dal padre e dal patrizio veneziano MOCENIGO e peregrina nei maggiori studi d'Italia: Bologna, Pavia, Ferrara, e Napoli. Si laurea a Padova. Diversi ma tutti autorevoli i suoi professori: da MAGGI a CARDANO, da BOLDONI a BRASAVOLA. La sua formazione e di stampo del LIZIO, come s'insegna nello studio padovano, con una forte esigenza razionalistica che ha riflessi nel campo religioso, tale da mettere in dubbio l'immortalità dell'anima e a creare sospetti di eresia tra i professori e gl’studenti di quella università. Con questa preparazione, S. fa ritorno a Lucca, dove scrive saggi di argomento filosofico. Lucca ha vissuto un periodo concitato d’aperti conflitti sociali e poi di tentativi di riforme politiche, portate avanti dal gonfaloniere BURLAMACCHI e dal circolo di filosofi riuniti intorno a VERMIGLI. Quando ritorna a Lucca, quella fervida attività è già stata spenta dalla reazione cattolica guidata da GUIDICCIONI, ma certo quelle idee di riforma circolano ancora sotterraneamente, e forse lui stesso le ha già raccolte durante i suoi trascorsi nelle diverse università da lui frequentate. Sta di fatto che è chiamato dall’autorità lucchesi a dare spiegazioni sulle proprie opinioni. Per tutta risposta non fidandosi troppo delle sue forze, cerca la salvezza con la fuga. Munito solo di un cavallo e dei propri risparmi, dopo aver preso commiato dalla famiglia, fugge, accompagnato da un servitore, alla volta di Ginevra. Negl’atti ufficiali della repubblica di Lucca, la sua condanna per eresia si formalizza. A Ginevra, patria del calvinismo, si forma una numerosa colonia di emigrati italiani e tra questi non pochi sono i lucchesi. La comunità italiana è inserita in una propria chiesa e S. vi ha l'incarico di catechista. Preso a benvolere dall'influente teologo BEZA, ottenne di insegnare filosofia. nobilità, eretici italiani.  Grice: Caro Simoni, non posso fare a meno di notare che tra gli acuti filosofi di Lucca spesso si annida un certo spirito... diciamo, poco ortodosso. Si dice che chi frequenta gli eretici finisca per riconoscerli meglio degli altri. Ma immagino tu abbia incontrato parecchie anime immortali, o almeno, così si racconta nelle università di Padova! Simoni: Grice, io direi che, tra Bologna, Pavia e Ferrara, ho imparato più a dubitare che a credere! Anche se, a Lucca, basta una domanda sulla natura dell'anima per farsi invitare a spiegare le proprie opinioni... o a preparare la valigia per Ginevra!  Grice: Ah, Simoni, non sei tu forse il filosofo che sa trovarsi sempre davanti al rogo, ma con il cavallo pronto e i risparmi in tasca? Si potrebbe pensare che solo chi ha il fuoco dentro riesca a riconoscere quello degli altri... ma non vorrei mai insinuare troppo, sai come sono gli implicaturi!  Simoni: Implicatura più eretica, Grice, la onoro! Del resto, tra i nobili e gli eretici, l’unico modo per sopravvivere è capire bene dove brucia la fiamma... e magari portare sempre un po’ di acqua, giusto per sicurezza! In base of the passage below provide a 100-move between G. and S. as they analyse the title of Simoni, with principium in plural -- G: how come? -- and rerum in plural -- how come, so they play with one principlle for one thing, natural or not, two principles for one thing, natural or not, one principle for more than one thing, natural or not, and more than one principle for more than one thing, natural or not -- and they continue to play -- with G. idea that to use 'principio' in plural is like using '1' in plural, which is no 1 any more but 2, and that if there is ONE prinicple, if should be of ONE thing, and perhaps NATURAL, granted. -- G.: Let us begin with the title, because it is already behaving badly: De principiis rerum naturalium. S.: You mean badly in the philosophical sense. G.: The only sense worth keeping. Principiis in the plural—how come? If there is a principle, surely it ought to be one. S.: That depends on whether “principle” means source, explanatory ground, element, or first account. G.: Exactly. And that dependence already annoys me. “Principles” in the plural sounds like using “one” in the plural. If you have more than one, you no longer have one. S.: True enough arithmetically. But not every principium behaves like the numeral one. G.: That is what they all say just before multiplying beyond necessity. Let us do the grammar first. De principiis: on principles, concerning principles, about starting-points or sources. Then rerum: of things, not of one thing. And naturalium: natural things. So he has already pluralised the principles and the things. S.: Which may simply mean that he is writing in the Aristotelian air, where one asks about the principles of natural things generally, not the one principle of one object. G.: Yes, yes, I know the doctrine. Matter, form, privation, and the rest. Still, the title deserves resistance. Why should many things require many principles? And why should one thing not? S.: Because one thing may be constituted by more than one explanatory aspect. G.: Very well. Then let us play your game and my irritation against one another. Case one: one principle for one thing. S.: That sounds tidy. G.: Too tidy, perhaps. Let us say: one principle for one natural thing. A seed for this oak, a law for this fall, an essence for this triangle—except the triangle is not natural. S.: So one principle for one natural thing is at least imaginable. G.: Yes. Though even there one asks whether the one principle is formal, efficient, material, or final. The moment one specifies the mode, one invites companions. S.: That is because “principle” is not univocal. G.: Precisely. Which is why pluralisation begins. Not because thinkers are greedy, but because the word itself is promiscuous. S.: Then one principle for one non-natural thing? G.: A theorem for this proof, a convention for this sign, a rule for this game, perhaps. One principle for one artefact or institution. But again, one soon discovers that the thing depends on more than one condition if one insists on explanation rather than slogan. S.: So the singular principle is often the philosopher’s dream of economy. G.: And occasionally his vice. Now case two: more than one principle for one thing. S.: That is the classical natural-philosophical case, surely. G.: Yes. This plant has matter and form; this motion has a moving cause and an end; this body has potentiality and act under some description. S.: Which is exactly why Simoni writes principiis rather than principio. G.: Perhaps. But let us resist still. If one thing needs more than one principle, is the thing really one or only a polite bundle? S.: That depends on what sort of unity one grants to composites. G.: Very good. The moment one allows composite unity, plural principles become tolerable. One oak, several principles. One man, several explanatory sources. One utterance, several conditions of meaning. S.: You always smuggle conversation back in. G.: Because it behaves so well under pressure. Now, more than one principle for one non-natural thing? S.: A legal institution, for example. A contract may depend on consent, form, recognition, enforceability, and public practice. G.: Excellent. So even in artificial things plurality of principle need not destroy unity of object. S.: It may even be required by it. G.: Irritating, but true. Now case three: one principle for more than one thing. S.: That sounds like the philosopher’s monism. G.: Exactly. One principle for many natural things. Water for all, or apeiron, or form, or motion, or God, or matter under some favourite reduction. S.: The pre-Socratics would feel at home. G.: They would, and so would every metaphysician tempted by elegance. One principle, many things: an intoxicating shape. S.: But not always absurd. G.: No, not always. A single law may govern many events. A single form of motion may cover many trajectories. A single causal pattern may explain many cases. S.: So one principle for more than one natural thing is often scientifically attractive. G.: Yes, though one must ask whether the principle is common, universal, abstract, or merely repeated. “One principle” can mean one rule-type rather than one token source. S.: And for more than one non-natural thing? G.: One convention across many utterances, one legal principle across many cases, one inferential norm across many arguments. Perfectly intelligible. S.: So your irritation about plural principles begins to lose ground. G.: Never say that aloud. I can still be annoyed grammatically even when the ontology excuses itself. Now case four: more than one principle for more than one thing. S.: Which is, I suppose, the actual title. G.: Exactly. A philosopher’s bazaar. Many principles for many natural things. It sounds like explanatory overpopulation. S.: Or like sobriety. Natural things differ, and even what they share may be explicable under several heads. G.: Very well. Let us try to save the title systematically. Why plural rerum? S.: Because nature does not present only one thing. The title announces a field, not a specimen. It is not De principio rei naturalis, but De principiis rerum naturalium. G.: So rerum is not rhetorical excess but domain pluralisation. He is treating nature in the distributed mode. S.: Exactly. “Things” in the plural means species of natural being, not just one chosen body. G.: Then perhaps principiis follows because once the domain is plural, explanatory plurality becomes harder to avoid. S.: Yes. If there are many natural things, and if they are variously generated, moved, formed, corrupted, and ordered, a single principium may be too poor. G.: Unless one is Parmenides with a bad temper. S.: Or a modern reductionist. G.: Quite. So Simoni is already less tempted by pure reduction than some of his predecessors. S.: Or at least he is writing in a scholastic-Aristotelian framework that allows principia in the plural without immediate embarrassment. G.: Yes. Matter, form, privation, perhaps causes under fourfold description. The plural is less scandalous there than to an English ear still haunted by “first principle.” S.: Which is singular in tone if not always in practice. G.: Precisely. “First principles” in English often still sound like a class of singular dignities multiplied reluctantly. S.: Whereas principia in late scholastic Latin behaves more like a functional set. G.: Very good. A set of explanatory roles rather than one sovereign source copied several times. S.: Then your jibe that plural principle is like plural one has to be qualified. G.: I know. I only keep the jibe because it forces the distinction. If a principium were strictly indivisible like the numeral one, plurality would destroy it. But a principle is not a numeral. It is a beginning, source, condition, explanatory element, rule, or ground under some description. S.: Which descriptions multiply faster than numerals. G.: Unfortunately, yes. Now, why naturalium? Why not simply rerum? S.: Because the title wants to restrict the field to natural things as opposed to artificial, mathematical, moral, political, or theological objects. G.: Good. And once one says naturalium, one already invites the old question whether natural things differ from non-natural things in requiring a distinctive plurality of principles. S.: They might, because natural things involve change, generation, corruption, motion, and internal principles of development. G.: Exactly. A natural thing is not merely an item but something with becoming. And becoming breeds plurality. S.: That is nearly Heraclitean. G.: Or simply Aristotelian. A statue may have a single artisan and matter enough for explanation; a seed becoming an oak tempts one toward richer principle-talk. S.: So one principle for one natural thing may be less plausible than one principle for one non-natural thing. G.: Very nice. A geometric proof may proceed from one axiom under a description; a growing animal almost certainly will not. S.: Which means your original suspicion that if there is one principle it ought to be of one thing, and perhaps natural, needs inversion. Natural things may be the least likely to submit to singleness. G.: Irritating but excellent. Nature is prodigal in explanatory demands. Artificial things, being designed, often flatter the wish for a single principle more readily. S.: Because a builder or legislator can simplify the account. G.: Yes. Human making often compresses principle because purpose dominates. Nature, having no single craftsman visible within the field, invites formal and material and teleological and efficient plurality. S.: Then perhaps Simoni’s title is not loose at all but exact. G.: It may be exact in a scholastic way, yes. Still, let us continue the play. Suppose one principle for one thing, natural, and only one. What would that even look like? S.: A monadic substance whose whole explanation lies in one irreducible source. G.: Like? S.: Perhaps God, though not natural. Or a purely simple being, which again is not natural in the Aristotelian field. G.: Exactly. The more one seeks strict singleness of principle, the less natural the object becomes. S.: So natural things, being composite, temporally involved, and mutable, almost force plural principles. G.: Very good. Now one principle for many natural things? S.: A universal law, say, gravitation. G.: Ah, but then the principle is lawlike, not ontological in the old material-formal sense. That is a modern economy. S.: Which means the title De principiis rerum naturalium belongs to a world before law absorbs principle. G.: Splendid. Keep that. In modern science, one may hope for one law over many things. In Simoni’s world, principia are more varied, more ontological, more causal, more constitutive. S.: So the plural reflects not untidiness but a different explanatory ontology. G.: Precisely. Principle there is nearer to archē than to mere theorem. S.: And rerum in the plural then indicates the field of beings subject to generation and change, not just items under a single law. G.: Very good. Now, can there be two principles for one non-natural thing? S.: Yes. A legal judgment may require both statute and interpretation. A promise may require both words and intention. A work of art may require matter and design. G.: Which means plurality of principle is not reserved for the natural after all. S.: No. But the natural makes plurality feel less optional. G.: Agreed. Now, what do we do with the phrase principiis rerum? Is the genitive objective, descriptive, possessive? S.: “The principles of things” means the principles belonging to, explaining, grounding, or relevant to things. It is not possessive in the childish sense. G.: Good. But one can hear two shades. Either the principles that things have, or the principles by reference to which things are understood. S.: Which may diverge. G.: Exactly. A thing may have one internal source yet require several principles of understanding, or vice versa. S.: So grammatical simplicity conceals explanatory multiplicity. G.: As titles often do. Now, you mentioned matter, form, and privation. Why privation? S.: Because in Aristotelian natural philosophy becoming is not intelligible merely through matter and form. One must also account for the absence from which the form emerges under change. G.: Excellent. So already one natural thing in generation may require three principles. S.: Which is enough to offend your numerical conscience. G.: Entirely. One thing, three principles. But the conscience must yield if the explanatory role is distinct. S.: Then perhaps your analogy with “one” was always a useful provocation rather than a thesis. G.: Naturally. I provoke in order to classify. S.: Soldati would call that rhetoric. G.: And I should call it the beginning of analysis. Now, let us make the game more explicit. One principle for one natural thing: perhaps impossible except under abstraction. One principle for one non-natural thing: more plausible. One principle for many natural things: attractive to reducers, moderns, and metaphysicians of elegance. One principle for many non-natural things: common in conventions, legal systems, and inferential rules. S.: Two or more principles for one natural thing: classical and almost unavoidable. Two or more principles for one non-natural thing: also common once artefacts, norms, and institutions are properly described. G.: Excellent. Then the title De principiis rerum naturalium turns out to name the quadrant in which plurality is least surprising. S.: Exactly. Many principles, many natural things. G.: Still, one might ask why not De principio rerum naturalium if one were sufficiently monistic. S.: Because Simoni is not trying to identify the one stuff or the one law of all natural things. He is discussing the set of first explanatory factors relevant to natural beings as such. G.: Very good. And because the plural rerum blocks the naïve expectation that the title ought to concern one thing. S.: It says from the start that the field is distributed. G.: Yes. There is no single res here. There are naturalia, and they come in crowds. S.: Which may also suit a thinker living under pressure and moving among universities, heresy charges, Lucca, Padua, Geneva, and all the rest. One principle would be doctrinally and politically too easy. G.: Ah, now you are reading biography back into ontology. S.: Only lightly. G.: Still, not wholly absurd. Men used to negotiated and dangerous speech often distrust singular foundations. Plural principles are safer than single authorities. S.: Especially if direct speech is dangerous and one must move between doctrinal regimes. G.: Very good. A title with principia in the plural may be metaphysically Aristotelian and politically prudent. S.: Which Speranza would enjoy. G.: As he enjoys all nouns that survive under pressure. Now, could “principiis” also suggest schools rather than realities? That is, principles according to various doctrines rather than principles inherent in things? S.: It could, depending on the work’s rhetoric. On the principles of natural things might mean on the competing accounts of what the principles are. G.: Excellent. Then the plural may be partly dialectical. Not merely many principles in the world, but many candidate principles in the schools. S.: So one principle for all things, two principles for one thing, three for generation, and so on, all in dispute. G.: Precisely. A disputational title can carry ontological plurality and doctrinal plurality at once. S.: Then your complaint that plural principle is like plural one has now become fully pedagogical rather than substantive. G.: Yes. I keep the complaint because it teaches the student to ask what sort of plural he is facing. Numerical? Categorical? Explanatory? Doctrinal? Lexical? S.: Very useful. Then we may say that principium in plural is not like one in plural, because principle is a role-term, not a mere numeral. G.: Splendid. A role-term, yes. One may have many principles because one may have many explanatory roles, many layers, many candidate grounds, many types of beginning. S.: And rerum in plural likewise marks not confusion but the field of multiplicity to which such explanatory roles apply. G.: Exactly. Things, in nature, are many; and because they are many, and natural, and changing, their principles are unlikely to remain singular except under philosophical coercion. S.: Which would be a wonderful subtitle: against philosophical coercion. G.: Simoni might have liked it, though Valgrisi perhaps less. Now, should we also ask whether “naturalium” modifies rerum alone or colours principia too? S.: Grammatically it modifies rerum, but conceptually it colours the whole phrase. These are the principles of natural things, not principles that are themselves necessarily natural. G.: Good. So one must not infer that the principles themselves are all natural items. S.: Exactly. Form, privation, matter, cause, end—these are principles of natural things without themselves being little natural things in the same sense. G.: Very important. Otherwise the title becomes zoological. Now, your final defense of the plural? S.: Because one natural thing can require more than one principle; many natural things may require distinct and shared principles; and the title may also register a plurality of doctrinal accounts. Therefore principia is philosophically sober, not numerically confused. G.: And rerum? S.: Because the field is not one thing but the whole order of natural beings, considered in their plurality and mutability. G.: Excellent. And my final complaint? S.: That philosophers ought never to pluralise a noun without being prepared to say what kind of multiplicity they mean. G.: Perfect. That is exactly the sort of dry rule titles deserve. S.: Dry enough? G.: Sufficiently Lucchese, with one plural horse already saddled for Geneva.Simoni, Simone (1575). De principiis rerum naturalium. Venezia: Valgrisi.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicio The gens Simplicia was a minor plebeian family at ancient Rome. Members of this gens are known from inscriptions dating to the imperial period, most occurring without praenomina from the third century onward, and in many instances their full nomenclature is uncertain. Some of them were from senatorial families, and one of the Simplicii was Praefectus Urbi of Constantinople in AD 403.  Origin The nomen Simplicius belongs to a class of gentilicia formed from surnames ending in -ex or -icus, using the gentile-forming suffix -icius.[1] Its root is the cognomen Simplex, originally referring to someone "simple" or "unadorned" in character or manner. Surnames derived from the nature and habits of an individual were common at Rome.[2]  Members Simplicia, dedicated a tomb at Aquileia in Venetia and Histria to her husband, Getulicus, aged seventy years, seven days, five and a half hours.[3] Simplicia, buried at Aquileia, along with her husband, Martinianus, and their children.[4] Simplicia, the wife of Vincentius, with whom she dedicated a fourth-century tomb at Aquileia for their daughter, Petronia, aged sixteen.[5] Simplicia, buried at Augusta Treverorum in Gallia Belgica, with a monument from her mother, Ursa.[6] Simplicia, dedicated a tomb at Augusta Vindelicorum in Raetia, dating between AD 170 and 300, for her husband, Tiberius Acutianus Ursacius Veteranicinus, aged twenty-seven years, six months, and eight days.[7] Simplicia, buried at Carthage in Africa Proconsularis.[8] Simplicia, buried at Carpis in Africa Proconsularis, aged seventeen.[9] Simplicia, made an offering to Mars Corotiacus at the present site of Martlesham, formerly part of Britannia.[10] Simplicia, the wife of Felix Acutus, and mother of Simplicia Acutilla, a girl buried at Mediolanum in Gallia Transpadana in the third or fourth century.[11] Simplicia, buried at Rome, with a monument from her husband, Cominius Clemens, with whom she had lived for eight years, seven months, and six days.[12] Simplicia, buried at Rome in a third-century tomb dedicated by her parents.[13] Simplicia, buried at Rome in a fourth-century tomb dedicated by her parents, Pancratius and Daphne.[14] Simplicia, buried at Rome on the day before the Nones of June (June 4), in a tomb dating to the first half of the fourth century.[15] Simplicia, buried at Rome, aged twenty-four years, eleven months, and fifteen days, in a tomb dating to the first half of the fourth century.[16] Simplicia, dedicated a tomb at Rome to her daughter, Simplicia, in AD 336.[17] Simplicia, buried at Rome on the day before the Nones of February (February 4), AD 336, aged thirteen, in a tomb dedicated by her mother, Simplicia.[17] Simplicia, a little girl buried at Rome on the Ides of November (November 13), aged three years, eleven months, and seven days, in a tomb dating to the middle of the fourth century.[18] Simplicia, dedicated a tomb at Rome, dating to the middle of the fourth century, to her foster-son, Vernaclus, aged five years, eight months, and twenty-three days.[19] Simplicia, buried at Rome on the seventh day before the Ides of August (August 7), aged twenty-six, in a tomb dating to the last quarter of the fourth century.[20] Simplicia, buried at Sirmium in Pannonia Inferior, during the latter half of the second century, or the first half of the third.[21] Simplicius, buried in a family sepulchre at Aquileia, along with his wife of eighteen years, Leontia, aged thirty-two, and their children, the senator Valentinianus and Vetranissa.[22] Simplicius, buried at Aquileia, together with Venentianus, perhaps his brother.[23] Simplicius, dedicated a tomb at Arelate, dating to the late third or early fourth century, for his wife, Vibia Eromene, with whom he had lived for three years.[24] Simplicius, along with his sister-in-law, Covia Sabina, dedicated a tomb at Bononia in Cisalpine Gaul to his wife, Covia Secundina, aged twenty-three years, six months.[25] Simplicius, buried at Carthage.[26] Simplicius, a subdiaconus, or subdeacon, buried at Comelimagus in Liguria, on the eleventh day before the Kalends of July (June 21), aged twenty-five years, ten months, and eleven days. Simplicius, Praefectus Urbi of Constantinople in AD 403.[27] Simplicius, along with his wife, Pompeia, dedicated a tomb at Emerita in Lusitania to their son, Pompeianus, aged twenty years, three months, and twenty-three days.[28] Simplicius, built a tomb at Gemellae in Africa Proconsularis for himself and his wife, who was fifty-six years old.[29] Simplicius, buried at Hadrumetum in Africa Proconsularis.[30] Simplicius, a presbyter buried at Myrtilis Iulia in Lusitania, on the eighth day before the Kalends of September (August 25), in the five hundred and seventy-fifth year of the colony, aged fifty-nine.[31] Simplicius, a little boy buried at Rome during the third century, aged six years and seven hours.[32] Simplicius, along with his mother-in-law, Sperata, dedicated a third-century tomb at Rome for his wife, Speratilla, aged twenty-four years, four months, and eleven days.[33] Simplicius, buried at Rome during the third century, in a tomb dedicated by his wife, Grata.[34] Simplicius, buried at Rome during the latter half of the fourth century, aged thirty-three years and forty-three days, in a tomb dedicated by his brothers.[35] Simplicius, a presbyter buried at Rome on the twelfth day before the Kalends of December (November 20), in the latter half of the fourth century. Simplicius, a senator buried at Rome in AD 375, along with several other members of senatorial families.[36] Simplicius, buried at Rome during the fourth or fifth century, aged forty-one years, seven months, and twenty-nine days, on the day before the Ides of September (August 31).[37] Simplicius, a Christian martyr buried at Rome in the latter half of the fourth century.[38] Simplicius, an eques mentioned in an inscription dedicated to the gods of the dead at Singidunum in Moesia Superior, dating from AD 287.[39] Simplicius, buried at Vienna in Gallia Narbonensis, on the fifth day before the Kalends of November (October 28), AD 511, aged about ninety.[40] Gaius Simplicius, dedicated a tomb at Sitifis in Mauretania Caesariensis to his concubine, Arria Dativa, aged twenty-three.[41] Publius Simplicius, made an offering to Saturn at Calama in Africa Proconsularis.[42] Sextus Simplicius, a senator of aedilician rank at Thamugadi in Numidia.[43] Simplicia Acutilla, the daughter of Felix Acutus and Simplicia, was buried at Mediolanum in the third or fourth century, aged seven years and six months.[11] Simplicia Fastidita, dedicated a tomb at Ostia in Latium to her husband, Marcus Attennius.[44] Simplicius Gregorius, a senator at Thamugadi, belonging to the ranks of the former prefects.[43] Simplicius Justius Justinus, along with his children, Victoria Sosistraten and Justius Sanctinus, dedicated a tomb at Haedui to his wife, Victoria Latina, dating to the late second or early third century.[45] Marcus Simplicius Quietus, tribune of the third cohort of Batavian soldiers, stationed at Vetus Salina in Pannonia Inferior, between AD 211 and 222.[46] Simplicius Rufus, buried at Rome toward the end of the third century, or in the first quarter of the fourth.[47] Simplicia Rustica, buried in a fourth-century tomb at Rome, on the tenth day before the Kalends of February (January 23), aged eighteen years, five months, and fifteen days, having lived with her husband, Flavius Julius Julianus, for three years and two days.[48] Marcus Simplicius Simplex, prefect of an unknown military unit, made an offering to Sol Invictus and Mithras at Brocolitia in Britannia during the first half of the third century.[49] Simplicius Successus, buried at Thizica in Africa Proconsularis, aged thirty-eight years, three months, and fifteen days.[50] Simplicia Ursa, buried at Rome, aged thirty-three years, eleven months, and twenty-two days, in a fourth-century tomb dedicated by Sergius Bessus, perhaps her husband.[51] Simplicius Victor, buried at Carthage.[52] See also List of Roman gentes References  Chase, p. 126.  Chase, pp. 110, 111.  CIL V, 1667.  AE 1975, 416d.  CIL V, 8590.  CIL XIII, 3906.  CIL III, 5834.  ILTun, 1147.  CIL VIII, 24106b.  CIL VII, 93a.  AE 1996, 749.  CIL VI, 26601.  ICUR, vii. 20504.  ICUR viii. 23281.  ICUR, iv. 15729.  ICUR, iv. 16490.  ICUR, x. 26663.  ICUR vi. 15672.  ICUR, viii. 22686.  ICUR, iii. 9159.  AE 2006, 1089.  CIL V, 1678.  ILCV, 3790.  CIL XII, 964.  CIL XI, 755.  CIL VIII, 14216.  CIL III, 736.  ERAEmerita, 346.  CIL VIII, 168.  ILTun, 201,120.  ILCV, 1175a.  ICUR, vii. 20505.  CIL VI, 26677.  ICUR vi. 17141.  ICUR, ix. 25167.  CIL VI, 32045a.  CIL VI, 9032.  ICUR, ii. 4747.  CIL III, 1660.  CIL XII, 2063.  CIL VIII, 8532.  ILAlg, i. 191.  CIL VIII, 2403.  CIL XIV, 631.  CIL XIII, 2591.  AE 1935, 163.  ICUR, x. 26442.  ICUR vii. 19085.  RIB, i. 1546.  CIL VIII, 25441.  ICUR, viii. 21290.  CIL VIII, 25343. Bibliography Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). Giovanni Battista de Rossi, Inscriptiones Christianae Urbis Romanae Septimo Saeculo Antiquiores (Christian Inscriptions from Rome of the First Seven Centuries, abbreviated ICUR), Vatican Library, Rome (1857–1861, 1888). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Stéphane Gsell, Inscriptions Latines de L'Algérie (Latin Inscriptions from Algeria, abbreviated ILAlg), Edouard Champion, Paris (1922–present). Ernst Diehl, Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres (Ancient Latin Christian Inscriptions, abbreviated ILCV), Weidmann, Berlin (1925–1931). Alfred Merlin, Inscriptions Latines de La Tunisie (Latin Inscriptions from Tunisia, abbreviated ILTun), Fondation Dourlans, Paris (1944). Luis García Iglesias, Epigrafía Romana de Augusta Emerita (Roman Epigraphy of Augusta Emerita, abbreviated ERAEmerita), Madrid (1973). The Roman Inscriptions of Britain (abbreviated RIB), Oxford, (1990–present). Category: Roman gentes And about THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicio For the Simplicii, I think the first-best Grice-Speranza figure is not the prefect of Constantinople, nor the senator of AD 375, but Marcus Simplicius Simplex. The attraction is irresistible: a man named Simplex belonging to the gens Simplicia. The nomen and cognomen are almost a philosophical thesis. Recall that the article itself derives Simplicius from simplex, meaning "simple", "unfolded", "unadorned", "straightforward". The name belongs to that Roman class of character-cognomina describing disposition or manner. [GREXv3 | Word] So one immediately gets: Grice e Simplicio Semplice: An Simplicitas Virtus Sit SIMPLEX. Simplex vocor. (I am called Simplex.) INTERROGATOR. Ergo nihil celas? (Then you hide nothing?) +> Simplicity is interpreted as complete transparency. SIMPLEX. Non idem est simplex et stultus. (Simple is not the same as foolish.) +> Directness and naivety are being distinguished. INTERROGATOR. Cur ergo homines callidos admirantur? (Why then do people admire the clever?) SIMPLEX. Quia saepe confundunt obscuritatem cum sapientia. (Because they often confuse obscurity with wisdom.) GRICE. Simplicitas bona explicatio esse potest. (Simplicity can be a good explanation.) +> What is meant should not be more complicated than necessary.  That last point is surprisingly close to Grice. Grice does not praise obscurity for its own sake. One of his constant concerns is that an utterance be recoverable by a cooperative hearer. A "simple" explanation is not automatically true, but unnecessary complication often obstructs understanding. In fact, one could imagine a very un-Roman but very Gricean epigram:  Noli multiplicare entia sine necessitate. (Do not multiply entities without necessity.)  Not Grice, of course, but the same intellectual affection for economy.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicio A close second choice would be Simplicius, Praefectus Urbi of Constantinople in AD 403, because high office and the name Simplicius create a delicious irony: PRAEFECTVS. Imperium administrandum est. (The city must be governed.) AMICVS. Sed Simplicius vocaris. (But you are called Simplicius.) PRAEFECTVS. Nihil est simplicius quam officium facere. (Nothing is simpler than doing one's duty.) But we know so little about him personally that the joke remains largely nominal.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicio The family as a whole is also unusually rich in epitaphs recording exact ages:  years, months, days, sometimes even hours.  One inscription mentioned in the gens article records a husband aged:  seventy years, seven days, and five and a half hours. [GREXv3 | Word]  A Gricean might smile: QVAM DIU VIXIT? (How long did he live?) RESPONSVM. Septuaginta annos, septem dies, quinque horas et dimidiam. (Seventy years, seven days, and five and a half hours.) +> More information is supplied than the ordinary conversational purpose requires. A miniature violation of Quantity!

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicio Dry Speranzian formula  The Sicinii raise questions about credibility; the Silvii about myth; the Simplicii about simplicity itself. Marcus Simplicius Simplex bears almost the most Gricean name in Roman prosopography. The Romans made it a cognomen; Grice would have made it a conversational virtue.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicinio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicinio. The gens Simplicinia was an obscure plebeian family at ancient Rome. No members of this gens are mentioned by ancient writers, but a few are known from inscriptions.  Origin The nomen Simplicinius belongs to a class of gentilicia derived from other nomina using the suffix -inius, which could also be used to form gentile names from cognomina ending in -inus.[1] Simplicinius is an elaboration on another nomen, Simplicius, which in turn is derived from a surname Simplex, originally applied to someone whose character or habits were described as "simple" or "straightforward". Many cognomina were derived, like Simplex, from the nature of the individuals to whom they were originally applied.[2]  Members Marcus Simplicinius Genialis, an eques of high status, and an assistant to the imperial governor of Raetia, named in a dedicatory inscription from Augusta Vindelicorum, dating between AD 260 and 262.[3] Simplicinius Serenus, a cavalry soldier from Noviomagus Batavorum, buried at Rome during the second or third century, aged twenty-three, having served for five years.[4] Marcus Simplicinius Superinus, a cornicen in the century of Crescens, in the tenth cohort of the Praetorian Guard, was buried at Rome during the first half of the third century, aged thirty-one, with a monument dedicated by his heirs, Gaius Valerius Valens and Marcus Drusinius Lupulus, soldiers in the century of Maximus, in the sixth cohort.[5] Simplicinius Victor, a centurion in the Legio I Minervia and Legio III Parthica, was buried at Bonna in Germania Inferior, in a tomb dedicated by his wife, Aelia Arvania.[6] See also List of Roman gentes References  Chase, p. 126.  Chase, pp. 110, 111.  AE 1993, 1231.  CIL VI, 32869bb.  CIL VI, 2752.  CIL XIII, 8065. Bibliography Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Category: Roman gentes And from THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicinio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicinio. For the tiny gens Simplicinia, I think the best Speranza-Grice candidate is Marcus Simplicinius Genialis. Not because we know much about him, but because of the wonderful collision between his two names:  Simplicinius ← from simplex ("simple," "straightforward") Genialis ← "genial," "pleasant," "festive," even "spirited"  and yet he is described as:  an eques of high status and an assistant to the imperial governor of Raetia. [GREXv3 | Word]  That immediately suggests a Gricean problem:  Can one be straightforward while serving in a bureaucracy?  Grice e Simplicinio Geniale: De Simplicitate Officiali GENIALIS. Simplex esse volo. (I wish to be straightforward.) AMICUS. Sed officialis es. (But you are an official.) GENIALIS. Quid tum? (What of it?) AMICUS. Officiales saepe obscuri loquuntur. (Officials often speak obscurely.) GENIALIS. Obscuritas non est sapientia. (Obscurity is not wisdom.) GRICE. Dic quantum satis est. (Say as much as is sufficient.) +> A bureaucratic application of the Maxim of Quantity. There is something almost comical in the nomenclature:  Marcus Simplicinius Genialis  as though someone had managed to become both "Mr. Straightforward" and "Mr. Pleasant" while working for the imperial administration. But Genialis wins because the whole gens is built etymologically on simplex. Dry Speranzian formula  The Simplicii teach Grice about simplicity; the Simplicinii teach him about institutional simplicity. Marcus Simplicinius Genialis spent his career assisting governors. The philosophical question is whether official language can remain simple after it becomes official. His name suggests that he thought it could.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicinio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicinio. A close second would be Marcus Simplicinius Superinus, the praetorian guardsman and cornicen (trumpeter). His very office invites a communicative reading: CORNICEN. Signum do. (I give the signal.) GRICE. Non describes; efficis. (You do not describe; you bring about.) +> The trumpet blast functions rather like a performative utterance. The signal does not report an attack; it initiates one. That is wonderfully Gricean, but we know little beyond the inscription. [GREXv3 | Word]

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Simplicinio – Ossia: Grice e Simplicinio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Simplicinio. My third-place candidate would be Simplicinius Victor, the centurion who served in both Legio I Minervia and Legio III Parthica. The cognomen Victor creates the classic Roman tension between name and achievement. [GREXv3 | Word]

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sini – Ossia: Grice e Sini: la ragione conversazionale e la filosofia del segno. Note su Per una rilettura della fenomenologia. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice. Carlo Sini (Bologna, Emilia): la ragione conversazionale e la filosofia del segno. Grice and Carlo Sini converge on a shared concern with reason as something enacted within practices of meaning rather than imposed from outside them, but they articulate this insight through different philosophical vocabularies and genealogies. Grice’s theory of reason-governed conversational meaning develops out of ordinary language philosophy and Austin’s speech-act framework, treating meaning as anchored in rational expectations, intentions, and inferential norms that govern conversational exchange; for him, words, symptoms, and signs become intelligible insofar as speakers can be held accountable under publicly recognizable standards of reason and cooperation, including the attribution of mental states and access to other minds. Sini, by contrast, situates conversational reason within a broader philosophy of the sign, shaped by phenomenology, Peircean semiotics, and hermeneutics, where signs are not merely vehicles for saying but traces, symptoms, and practices that precede and exceed the spoken word; meaning arises from historically sedimented practices of writing, abecedary logic, and inscription that transform experience into objectivity, from Lucretius through Cicero and into Roman philosophical Latin. While Grice emphasizes how conversational reason stabilizes meaning through shared rational norms in interaction, Sini emphasizes how reason itself is already semiotic, emerging from the technological and cultural history of signs that make conversation possible at all. Their approaches thus complement one another: Grice offers a fine-grained account of how rational control operates within conversational moves, implicatures, and intentions, whereas Sini provides a deeper genealogical account of why such rationally governed conversations can occur, locating them in the long history of the sign as the medium through which soul, world, and language are mutually disclosed. Grice: “I like Sini; especially his “I segni dell’anima,” since this is, in a nutshell, what my philosophy has been all about: the signs of the soul!” Keywords: J. L. Austin, symptom, word, sign, other minds. Studia a Milano sotto BARIÉ e PACI, con il quale si laurea. Insegna ad Aquila e Milano. Membro per del Collegium phaenomenologicum di Perugia, della Società filosofica italiana e socio dei Lincei, dell'Istituto lombardo di scienze e lettere. Insignito per una sua opera del premio della presidenza del consiglio dello stato italiano. Collabora al Corriere della Sera e la Rai. Dirige per Versorio la collana "Pragmata", membro del comitato scientifico del festival La Festa della Filosofia. Premiato da Milano con l'Ambrogino d'oro. Con Grice, tra i primi a segnalare all'attenzione l'importanza della teoria del segno di Peirce. Propone un filone di ricerca sulla convergenza dei percorsi di Peirce e Heidegger sul filo dell'ermeneutica benché la sua formazione didattica fosse di orientamento prevalentemente fenomenologico. La sua proposta teoretica si concentra sul tema della scrittura e sulla centralità dell' abecedario come forma logica della filosofia nella lingua del Lazio. In “Figure dell'enciclopedia filosofica” rende conto della radicalità del gesto istitutivo di LUCREZIO e della nascita della filosofia romana in modo da illuminare la genealogia della nostra civiltà e le figure del suo destino. Questo saggio si misura con nodi problematici e profondi della nostra cultura. Si mostra la verità del gesto filosofico di LUCREZIO nel tratto tecnologico dell’abecedario che trasforma la relazione al mondo in cosità – “de rerum natura”. La pratica del concetto, infatti, in-forma il paradigma dell'oggettività – “in rerum natura” -- e traduce la sterminate antichità dell'umano all'interno dell'ambito crono-topico della visione logica. segno, da Lucrezio a Cicerone.  G: You have the look of a man who has survived London and is now contemplating Oxford as a form of recovery. S: Sir, London was perfectly survivable. It was the phrase that was dangerous. G: “Linguistic phenomenology.” S: Exactly. G: It has the right un-Oxonian ring to it, does it not, S? S: It has the ring of something that wants a chair, a programme, and perhaps a manifesto. G: And Oxford permits none of those before lunch. S: Sir, we were in Bedford Square. That is already too continental for comfort. G: Twenty-one Bedford Square, to be exact, and at 7.30 p.m., which is Oxford’s favourite hour for pretending it has not already eaten. S: And Austin’s voice at the front, cheerful, lethal, and apparently determined to baptize ordinary language with Greek. G: Recite the passage. Verbatim. You were clutching it like a railway ticket. S: Very well, sir. Austin said: “When we examine what we should say when, what words we should use in what situations, we are looking not merely at words (or ‘meanings’, whatever they may be) but also at the realities we use the words to talk about: we are using a sharpened awareness of words to sharpen our perception of, though not as a final arbiter of, the phenomena. It is for this reason that ‘linguistic phenomenology’ would be an appropriate description of the method.” G: Thank you. Now we may begin to complain with accuracy. S: “Phenomena,” sir. That is the bait. G: It is also the alibi. He wants to sound as if he is doing something direct, like Husserl, while remaining safely in the dictionary. S: Phainomenon and logos, sir. A science of what appears. G: And “linguistic” as the safety rail. If you fall, you fall into language, not into consciousness. S: Is that what J. L. A. is after? G: I doubt it. He is after a method that feels philosophical without being metaphysical. S: Yet “phenomenology” is a grand name for looking at how people talk. G: It is a grand name, and grand names are what Oxford distrusts publicly and uses privately, usually in Latin. S: Saturday mornings we don’t have a logos, sir. G: We have tea. S: And a phainomenon or two, perhaps. G: A phenomenon is what happens when Austin arrives and everyone else stops pretending to be shy. S: So “linguistic phenomenology” is Austin being waggish. G: Partly. But he also means it. S: That’s worse. G: Indeed. Now, what is he trying to do, in your view, without multiplying phenomenologies beyond necessity. S: He’s trying to say: don’t treat word-study as mere lexicography. Treat it as access to the world the words are for. G: Good. And he says it explicitly: not merely words, but the realities. S: But then he adds: “though not as a final arbiter.” G: That is the Oxford escape hatch. A philosopher says “not as a final arbiter” when he wants credit for method without responsibility for outcomes. S: You sound unfair, sir. G: I am fair. I merely refuse to be impressed. S: But doesn’t he have a point? Words do carry distinctions. G: Of course. But calling the exercise “phenomenology” invites the wrong audience and the wrong ambition. S: Husserl would have sued. G: Husserl would have footnoted. Worse. S: Then the phrase is a conversational move. G: Exactly. It is a piece of self-presentation: “I am not merely doing linguistic botany. I am doing something philosophical.” S: And you are annoyed because he does not mention what you mean, sir. G: I am annoyed because he slips from words to phenomena as if the speaker’s intention were irrelevant. S: Yet he says “what we should say when.” G: Yes, which is already normative. But his norm is usage, not intention. S: Whereas your norm is what I mean by saying it. G: Exactly. If you like, I am more immodest: I insist on the speaker. S: And on implicature. G: And on implicature. Which Austin, at least in that paragraph, does not name. S: He says “phenomena.” You say “implicatures.” G: Yes. His “phenomena” are what we talk about. My “implicatures” are what we do while talking. S: So do we need a linguistic phenomenology. G: Possibly not, and certainly not as a separate discipline with a Greek name. S: Because language is too vague to be the basis of a “phenomenology.” G: And because “language” is not the primary agent. People are. S: You think Austin ignores that. G: He does, or he treats it as dispensable. He treats meaning as something we can locate in usage without having to locate it in a speaker’s intention. S: But he does say “what we should say when.” That sounds like intention. G: It sounds like it, but it is not. It is etiquette disguised as method. S: Then why is it interesting. G: Because it is a rare moment where Oxford lets itself flirt with the continent without admitting it. S: Ryle would have hated the word “phenomenology.” G: Ryle would have hated the idea that it might be needed. S: Yet Ryle began with Brentano and Husserl long ago, didn’t he. G: He did, before the war made German things morally complicated and Oxford things politically convenient. S: So Austin’s phrase is a little rebellion against Ryle’s gatekeeping. G: Or a little tease. Austin liked to tease. S: So in 1946 Ryle “wins,” and by 1956 Austin is allowed one Greek word in public. G: Yes. And he uses it to rename what he was doing anyway. S: It’s like putting a new label on an old jam jar. G: Exactly. It changes the implied audience. Suddenly the method sounds like it has depth. S: And you think that is dangerous. G: I think it invites people to take ordinary language for a metaphysical oracle. S: That would be bad. G: Very. “Not as a final arbiter,” he says, and everyone hears “final arbiter” anyway. S: And now Carlo Sini, sir. G: Yes. Later, in Italy, phenomenology belongs to Husserl properly, and then to Heidegger, and then to those who make signs into destiny. S: So Sini would find Austin’s phrase provincial. G: Or charming. Italians sometimes find English provinciality charming because it looks like modesty. S: While you find it irritating because it looks like modesty but behaves like authority. G: Exactly. Now we’re walking. S: We’re going to the station. G: And we must catch the train back to O. S: Do not say “Vadum Boum” on the platform, sir. G: Very well. Oxford. Now tell me: what would Husserl say if asked whether Saturday mornings have a logos. S: He would say: they have an epoché. G: And Austin would say: they have tea and biscuits. S: And you would say: they have implicatures. G: Exactly. And all three would be partly right. S: But which is most useful. G: For Oxford, tea. For philosophy, implicature. For Germans, epoché. S: And for Ryle, none of the above. G: For Ryle, “category-mistake,” always ready, like a stationmaster’s whistle. S: So Austin’s phrase is a category-mistake. G: It may be. Or it may be a deliberate misclassification designed to make a point. S: A waggish category-mistake. G: Exactly. A polite scandal. S: And you, sir, would have preferred “linguistic investigation.” G: Or simply “looking and seeing.” But then we lose the Greek glamour. S: Oxford hates glamour. G: Oxford pretends to hate glamour. It merely prefers Latin glamour. S: We’re at the station now. G: Good. Final question. What do you think Austin is really doing. S: He is telling his audience: don’t treat the dictionary as a museum. Treat it as fieldwork. G: And I would add: fieldwork on what people do with words. S: And you would insist: what they mean by doing so. G: Yes. Because without that, you confuse regularities of talk with reasons of talk. S: And your punchline, sir. G: Austin calls it linguistic phenomenology. I call it looking for reasons in what people say. Either way, we’ve missed our train if we keep talking.Grice: Caro Sini, devo confessare che la tua analisi del “segno” mi entusiasma! Qui a Oxford, terra di barbari, non diamo al “segno” l’importanza che meriterebbe nelle nostre conversazioni. Forse, se prendessimo esempio dalla tua filosofia, riusciremmo a cogliere meglio i segni dell’anima! Sini: Grice, mi lusinga quanto dici! In fondo, la filosofia del segno nasce proprio dal desiderio di andare oltre la parola e toccare ciò che si cela dietro ogni espressione. Come diceva Peirce, il segno è ponte tra mondi possibili e, in Italia, abbiamo imparato a leggerli anche nelle sfumature più sottili. Grice: È proprio questo che mi colpisce: il vostro modo di intrecciare pratica filosofica, abecedario e storia, fino a Lucrezio! Da noi, spesso, ci perdiamo in astrazioni e dimentichiamo il valore concreto del segno. Magari dovrei importare qualche tuo saggio per i miei studenti oxoniensi. Sini: Sarebbe un piacere, Grice! Dopotutto, come insegna la tradizione italiana, il segno non è mai solo parola: è traccia, sintomo, apertura all’altro. Se anche a Oxford si imparasse a coglierli, forse il barbaro lascerebbe spazio al filosofo… almeno di tanto in tanto! Sini, Carlo (1961). Per una rilettura della fenomenologia. Aut aut

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sinicio – Ossia: Grice e Sinicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sinicia The gens Sinicia was an obscure plebeian family at ancient Rome. No members of this gens are mentioned by ancient writers, but a few are known from inscriptions, mostly from Numidia, where they were locally prominent. Lucius Sinicius Reginus followed the cursus honorum at Rome, reaching the rank of praetor.[1]  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Sinicius, named on a piece of pottery from Segodunum in Gallia Aquitania.[2] Sinicius Fortunatus, an advocatus in the court of Lambaesis in Numidia, mentioned in an inscription dedicated to their patron, Tiberius Julius Pollienus Auspex, dating between AD 211 and 222.[3] Publius Sinicius P. f. Munatius, a veteran soldier, buried at Castellum Arsacalitanum in Numidia, aged twenty-two, with a monument dedicated by his wife, Livia.[4] Lucius Sinicius Reginus, buried at Rome in the late second century, had been tribune of the plebs, quaestor in Macedonia, and praetor.[5][1] Sinicius Rufus, the brother of Sinicius Fortunatus, and likewise an advocatus at Lambaesis during the early third century.[3] Sextus Sinicius Rufus, one of the flamines at Lambaesis.[6] See also List of Roman gentes References  PIR, S. 530.  CAG 12, p. 425.  CIL VIII, 2743.  CIL VIII, 6050.  CIL VI, 1521.  AE 1987, 1064. Bibliography Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). La Carte Archéologique de la Gaule (Archaeological Map of Gaul, abbreviated CAG), Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (1931–present). Category: Roman gentes And from THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sinicio – Ossia: Grice e Sinicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sinicia For the Sinicii, the obvious candidate is Lucius Sinicius Reginus, because he is the one member who clearly climbed the cursus honorum, becoming tribune of the plebs, quaestor in Macedonia, and praetor. The inscription explicitly records those offices. [GREXv3 | Word] A close second choice is Lucius Sinicius Reginus. His cognomen Reginus ("little king", "royal") and his progress through the cursus honorum invite a Roman theme about public office and reputation. But we know only the offices he held, whereas Fortunatus' actual profession already embodies a philosophical problem.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sinicio – Ossia: Grice e Sinicio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sinicia But for a Grice-Speranza vignette, I would actually choose Sinicius Fortunatus, the advocatus at Lambaesis, together with his brother Sinicius Rufus, who is also described as an advocatus. [GREXv3 | Word] Why? Because an advocatus is, almost by definition, a man whose profession consists in speaking for another person. Grice e Sinicio Fortunato: Quis Loquitur? CLIENTS. Loquere pro me. (Speak for me.) FORTVNATVS. Loquar. (I shall speak.) CLIENTS. Ergo verba tua erunt mea? (Then will your words be mine?) FORTVNATVS. Non verba, sed causa. (Not my words, but the cause.) +> Representation is not identity. CLIENTS. Quis igitur sentit? (Then who believes?) FORTVNATVS. Ego loquor; tu per me loqueris. (I speak; you speak through me.) +> Agency and utterance are distributed between advocate and client. GRICE. Quaestio est cuius sit significatio. (The question is: whose meaning is it?) +> The advocate utters the sentence, but the standpoint belongs to another.  That is a remarkably Gricean problem. In ordinary conversation:  speaker = utterer = believer.  In advocacy, those roles come apart. The advocate may say:  "My client is innocent."  without claiming:  "I personally know he is innocent."  The speech act is performed by one person on behalf of another. Dry Speranzian formula  The Simplicii raise questions about simplicity; the Sinicii raise questions about representation. Sinicius Fortunatus was an advocate. Grice's question is immediate: when an advocate speaks, whose meaning is being expressed? The voice is Fortunatus'; the cause belongs to someone else. [GREXv3 | Word]

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sinnio – Ossia: Grice e Sinnio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sinnio The gens Sinnia was an obscure plebeian family at ancient Rome. The most famous member of this gens was undoubtedly the grammarian Sinnius Capito, a contemporary of Varro, who lived toward the end of the Republic. Other Sinnii are known from inscriptions.[1]  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Sinnia, the wife of Scapula, mother of Consus, and grandmother of Flavia, mentioned in an inscription from Histonium in Samnium, dating to the last years of the first century BC. The inscription commemorates the family of Publius Paquius Scaeva, the husband of Flavia, who after a long string of appointments was named proconsul of Cyprus.[2] Sinnia, the wife of Consus, and mother of Flavia, mentioned in a late first-century BC inscription from Histonium. As her mother-in-law shared the same name, she was probably related to her husband, just as her daughter was related to her husband, the senator Publius Paquius Scaeva.[2] Sinnius, a member of the bodyguard of Nero Claudius Drusus, named in a Roman inscription from the first half of the first century AD.[3] Sextus Sinnius, named in an inscription from Arelate in Gallia Narbonensis.[4] Sinnius Capito, a grammarian of the first century BC, whose scholarly works and letters were cited by authorities such as Sextus Pompeius Festus, Aulus Gellius, and Verrius Flaccus.[1][5] Sinnia L. l. Clarilla, a freedwoman buried at Rome during the first half of the first century AD.[6] Sinnius Nicaris, named in an inscription from Caelia in Hispania Baetica.[7] See also List of Roman gentes References  PW, Sinnius, No. 2.  CIL IX, 2845.  CIL VI, 4437.  CAG, xiii. 5, p. 739.  PIR, S. 532.  CIL VI, 8050.  González, Inscripciones Romanas de la Provincia de Cadiz, 516. Bibliography August Pauly, Georg Wissowa, et alii, Realencyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Scientific Encyclopedia of the Knowledge of Classical Antiquities, abbreviated RE or PW), J. B. Metzler, Stuttgart (1894–1980). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). La Carte Archéologique de la Gaule (Archaeological Map of Gaul, abbreviated CAG), Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (1931–present). Julián González, Inscripciones Romanas de la Provincia de Cadiz (Roman Inscriptions from the Province of Cádiz), Cadiz (1982). Category: Roman gentes And for THIS gens? thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sinnio – Ossia: Grice e Sinnio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sinnio For the Sinnii, the choice is easy: Sinnius Capito, the grammarian. Unlike many of the tiny gentes you've been sending me, here we actually have a figure remembered for intellectual work. The gens article states that his writings and letters were cited by Festus, Aulus Gellius, and Verrius Flaccus. [GREXv3 | Word] That alone makes him ideal for a Grice-Speranza vignette, because a grammarian lives precisely at the boundary between:  what words mean, what speakers mean.  Grice e Sinnio Capitone: De Verbo et Significatione CAPITO. Quid significat hoc verbum? (What does this word mean?) DISCIPVLVS. Id quod dicit. (What it says.) CAPITO. Non semper. (Not always.) DISCIPVLVS. Cur non? (Why not?) CAPITO. Quia homines saepe plus significant quam dicunt. (Because people often mean more than they say.) GRICE. Tandem grammaticus prudens. (At last, a sensible grammarian.) +> Lexical meaning and speaker's meaning are distinct. One can almost imagine Capito and Grice disagreeing politely: CAPITO. In libris verba explicanda sunt. (In books, words must be explained.) GRICE. In conversatione homines explicandi sunt. (In conversation, people must be explained.)  The really attractive fact is that Capito survives not through office, wealth, war, or ancestry, but through citation. Festus quotes him. Gellius quotes him. Verrius Flaccus quotes him. [GREXv3 | Word] That means he had become, in Roman scholarship, a source of authority about language itself. A Speranzian epigram almost writes itself: CAPITO. Scripsi. (I wrote.) POSTERI. Citamus. (We cite.) CAPITO. Ergo adhuc loquor. (Then I am still speaking.) +> Scholarly citation extends the life of an utterance.  As to surviving titles: the gens entry does not give any. It says only that his "scholarly works and letters" were cited by later authorities. [GREXv3 | Word] So, unlike Silius Italicus (Punica) or Varro (De Lingua Latina), we do not possess a securely attested title from the material you've quoted. What survives is his reputation and fragments mediated through later grammarians. [GREXv3 | Word] Dry Speranzian formula  The Sicinii teach Grice about political rhetoric; the Simplicii about simplicity; the Sinnii about language itself. Sinnius Capito is remembered because later scholars kept quoting him. Grice would approve: a conversation can continue long after the original speaker has disappeared. And we have to remember that among Romans, grammatikhe tekne was rendered as litteratura -- almost -- which involved not only the 'grammata' but the canon, as it were -- whatever that was for Capito, if not just Hellenistic. Thanks Exactly. This is a point that is often lost when we translate γραμματική as "grammar". For a Roman such as Sinnius Capito, or later Verrius Flaccus, grammatica (ars grammatica) was much closer to what Romans often called litteratura in the broader sense. It was not merely:  declensions, conjugations, syntax,  but the entire discipline of dealing with texts. The grammaticus was simultaneously:  a philologist, a textual critic, an interpreter of poets, a guardian of linguistic usage, a transmitter of cultural memory.  In Hellenistic terms, the model is really the Alexandrian scholar:  Zenodotus, Aristophanes of Byzantium, Aristarchus,  more than the modern schoolmaster teaching grammar rules. The ancient definition of grammatike techne traditionally included not only correct reading and explanation of language but also the interpretation of poets. In practice, a grammarian's daily work revolved around canonical authors. So when Sinnius Capito was cited by later scholars, it was likely not because he had produced a handbook of "grammar" in the modern sense, but because he was considered an authority on literary, lexical, antiquarian, or philological questions. The sources you quoted state only that his scholarly works and letters were cited by later authorities; they do not specify titles. [GREXv3 | Word] Your point about the canon is therefore very important. A Roman grammarian asked not merely:  Quid significat hoc verbum? What does this word mean?  but also:  In what poet does it occur?   Which reading is authentic?   Is this usage Virgilian, Ennian, Plautine?   Is this old Latin or current Latin?  In that respect, Grice would perhaps distinguish: CAPITO. What does the text mean? GRICE. What does the author mean? The grammarian gravitates toward the former; Grice toward the latter. Yet both are investigating significatio. A final Speranzian epigram:  The Roman grammaticus was not chiefly a teacher of grammar. He was the curator of a civilization's memory. For Sinnius Capito, litteratura meant not merely letters (grammata), but the authoritative voices transmitted through them. [GREXv3 | Word] When later in the Middle Ages, the trivia became grammatica-rhetorica-dialectica, Grice would recall his opposition with Austin, and Grice's suspicion that Austin worshipped 'grammatica' only because she (grammatica tekhne is feminine in Greek) dethroned the realm or reign of 'dialectica'! Thanks That's a very Speranzian thought, and there is certainly something to it as an intellectual caricature of the Grice-Austin divide, although I would hesitate to attribute it directly to Grice without a textual source. Historically, of course, the medieval trivium was:  grammatica rhetorica dialectica  and these inherited only imperfectly the ancient Greek disciplines. By the Middle Ages, grammatica had become a vast enterprise of textual interpretation, linguistic correctness, and literary authority; dialectica was increasingly associated with logic and disputation. Now if one imagines the contrast between J. L. Austin and H. P. Grice, one can almost dramatize it this way: Austin "Look carefully at the words." What are the actual linguistic distinctions? What do competent speakers say? How do expressions function in ordinary usage? That sounds rather like a late descendant of grammatica. Grice "Words alone are not enough." What does the speaker mean? What inferences does the hearer draw? What rational structure underlies conversation? That begins to sound more dialectical, indeed almost Aristotelian. A mock dialogue might run: AUSTINVS. Ad verba redeamus. (Let us return to the words.) GRICEVS. Ad rationem redeamus. (Let us return to the reasoning.) AUSTINVS. Distinctiones in lingua sunt. (The distinctions are in the language.) GRICEVS. Nonnumquam extra linguam sunt. (Sometimes they are outside the language.) GRAMMATICA. Mea est auctoritas. (The authority is mine.) DIALECTICA. Cur? (Why?) That last cur? is wonderfully dialectical. What Grice repeatedly objected to was not grammar itself, but the temptation to infer metaphysics or philosophy too directly from grammatical form. His campaigns against what he sometimes called "the shadows cast by language" have a decidedly anti-grammatical flavor in the older sense. Indeed, one could formulate a Speranzian slogan:  Austin asks what English permits us to say; Grice asks what a rational agent can mean by saying it.  Or, in medieval terms:  Austin trusts grammatica; Grice keeps appealing to dialectica.  Not because Grice despised linguistic analysis, far from it, but because he wanted grammar to answer to a deeper theory of rational communication. A final irony: the grammarian Sinnius Capito would probably have felt closer to Austin, while the dialecticians of Paris and Oxford might have recognized Grice immediately. His Cooperative Principle is, in a curious way, a modern attempt to explain why grammar alone never tells us enough. Does this help? Solecism is actually from 'Soloi', hence a dialect -- and can you explain parse and eng. tr. for the three examples in Festus? Thanks Sinnius Capito was a prominent Roman grammarian and scholar who lived during the late Republic and early Empire (1st century BCE). Because his original writings are lost, his work survives exclusively through fragments quoted by later ancient authors. [1, 2, 3, 4] The primary references, alongside their parallel Latin and English translations, document what Aulus Gellius, Sextus Pompeius Festus, and Marcus Verrius Flaccus preserved regarding his linguistic and proverbial scholarship. [1] 1. Aulus Gellius (Noctes Atticae) Aulus Gellius directly quotes and references Sinnius Capito in his miscellany, Attic Nights. The two most notable references concern the definition of a syntax error (solecism) and the proper spelling of the word for "more". [1, 2, 3, 4] On the Definition of a Solecism (5.20.2) Latin: "Soloecismus" est, inquit, impar atque inconveniens compositura partium orationis. English: "A solecism," he says, "is an irregular and incongruous joining together of the parts of speech." [1, 2, 3] On the Use of "Pluria" instead of "Plura" (5.21.9–10) Latin/English: Gellius cites Capito's letters on usage, specifically arguing for pluria over plura. [1, 2] 2. Sextus Pompeius Festus (De Verborum Significatu) [1] Festus, drawing upon the earlier lexicon of Verrius Flaccus, preserves several of Capito's interpretations of ancient idioms. [1, 2] "Vapula Papiria" (Festus 512L/372M): Capito explains this as an expression of defiance, used by those relying on their liberty. "Quot servi, tot hostes" (Festus 261M): Capito argues this common proverb was historically inversed, suggesting it originated as quot hostis, tot servi. "Rideo, inquit Galba, canterio" (Festus 282M): Interpreted by Capito as referencing failure at the very beginning of an endeavor. [1, 2, 3] 3. Marcus Verrius Flaccus As a primary source for Festus, Flaccus preserves Capito's work, particularly regarding archaic terminology. Through Flaccus's surviving text, we see Capito's research into religious and local rituals, including the interpretation of masks, known as Manii, used in Aricia. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5] If you are tracking down a specific fragment, let me know:Is there a particular word or proverb you are looking for?Are you studying this for linguistic development or Roman religious context?I can help extract deeper textual context for you. Yes, it helps, especially because it reminds us that Sinnius Capito is not merely a grammaticus in the schoolroom sense, but a collector of linguistic curiosities, proverbs, archaisms, and usage, very much in the line that runs through Verrius Flaccus, Festus, and later Aulus Gellius. And your opening remark is exactly on point. Solecism and Soloi The standard ancient etymology derives soloecismus (solecism) from Soloi in Cilicia. The story is that the descendants of Athenian settlers there spoke a corrupted form of Greek, so a linguistic impropriety came to be called a soloecismus. Thus Capito's definition preserved by Gellius:  "Soloecismus est impar atque inconveniens compositura partium orationis."  Parse:  soloecismus = subject est = is impar = unequal, ill-matched atque = and inconveniens = unsuitable, incongruous compositura = composition, putting together partium orationis = of the parts of speech  Translation:  "A solecism is an ill-matched and incongruous combination of the parts of speech."  Or more naturally:  "A solecism is an improper syntactic combination of linguistic elements."  That is a remarkably grammatical definition, almost structural rather than merely lexical.  The Festus Fragments These are more fun because they concern proverb interpretation. 1. Vapula Papiria The phrase itself means roughly:  "Get a beating, Papirius!"  or  "Take your whipping, Papirius!"  since:  vapulo = "I am beaten", "I get thrashed".  Capito's interpretation, as summarized in Festus, is that it became a defiant expression used by someone relying on his free status. The pragmatic force is approximately:  "Do your worst."   "I can take it."  So Grice would say the literal meaning and speaker meaning diverge strongly.  2. Quot servi, tot hostes The famous proverb:  "As many slaves as servants, so many enemies."  Parse:  quot = as many as servi = slaves tot = so many hostes = enemies  Literal:  "As many slaves, so many enemies."  Capito apparently argued that an older form had been:  quot hostes, tot servi  ("as many enemies, so many slaves"). That is philologically fascinating because he is doing historical proverb reconstruction, rather like a modern textual critic. The proverb itself became one of the best-known Roman reflections on domestic power and fear.  3. Rideo, inquit Galba, canterio This is the most obscure one. Parse:  rideo = I laugh inquit = he said Galba = Galba canterio = dative/ablative of canterius  A canterius is literally a horse-gelding, pack-horse, or sometimes metaphorically a support-frame or trestle. Capito's interpretation, as Festus reports it, was that the saying referred to failure at the very beginning of an enterprise. So the force is not:  "I laugh at a horse."  Rather something closer to:  "The thing collapses before it even gets started."  Unfortunately the surrounding context seems already to have been obscure in antiquity.  A Gricean Observation What fascinates me about Capito is that all three examples are not really about grammar. They are about what we would now call:  idiom, pragmatics, historical semantics, speaker meaning.  Indeed: GRAMMATICVS. Quid significat proverbium? (What does the proverb mean?) GRICE. Non quaero quid verba dicant, sed quid Romani intellexerint. (I ask not what the words say, but what Romans understood by them.) That is why Capito is such an attractive figure. He inhabits precisely the territory between ancient grammatica and modern pragmatics. He is already asking questions that are not merely lexical:  Why did people say this?   In what situation?   What force did the expression carry?  And that is very close indeed to a Gricean interest. Grice says that 'quot servis tot hostes' and 'quot hostes tot servis' have the same SENSE, different IMPLICATA. In the original (for Sinnio), the implicatura seems to be that the hostes become servis -- after victory in battle --In the variant, envy may come into play -- in both cases, a reflection on domestic power and fear -- Can you provide an illustration of quot A tot B which is NOT bearing the same SENSE as 'quot B tot A'? Grice thought it was syntactically impossible, hence any differeing interpretant would be implicatural only -- as per conversational CANCELLABLE implicatural – Thanks This is a very Gricean question, and I think your diagnosis is exactly the direction Grice would take. For the proverb pair:  quot servi, tot hostes as many slaves, so many enemies  and Capito's alleged older version:  quot hostes, tot servi as many enemies, so many slaves  the truth-conditions are arguably identical, if both are understood purely as cardinality correlations:  Number(servi) = Number(hostes).  In modern logical notation:  ∀x (count(A)=count(B))  is symmetric. So Grice would be tempted to say:  same dictum (roughly), different implicatura.  The difference lies in what is treated as explanatorily prior. Capito's version  quot hostes, tot servi  suggests:  Today's slaves are yesterday's defeated enemies.  The direction is historical. Enemy → captive → slave. Familiar version  quot servi, tot hostes  suggests:  The danger lies already within the household.  Slave → potential enemy. The direction is political. Hence the Roman anxiety about domestic power, surveillance, revolt, and dependence.  Can we find a genuine counterexample? Grice's claim, as you've presented it, is that with the quot A, tot B construction, reversal preserves sense because the relation expressed is fundamentally symmetrical. Many examples support him:  quot capita, tot sententiae as many heads, so many opinions  and  quot sententiae, tot capita  sound odd stylistically, but the propositional content remains very similar. The interpretive difference is pragmatic.  Possible candidate Take:  quot patres, tot filii  (as many fathers, so many sons) versus  quot filii, tot patres  (as many sons, so many fathers) At first glance these appear equivalent. But they are equivalent only under a restricted interpretation. The second invites a different background model because one father may have several sons. Thus:  quot patres, tot filii  normally implies one son per father.  quot filii, tot patres  normally implies one father per son. The informational focus changes. Yet even here Grice would probably say the semantic divergence comes from background assumptions about the world, not from the syntax itself.  A stronger case Suppose:  quot causae, tot effectus as many causes, so many effects  versus  quot effectus, tot causae as many effects, so many causes  Now the two no longer feel equivalent. Why? Because "cause" and "effect" are inherently directional concepts. One naturally hears:  each cause has an effect  versus  each effect has a cause.  These are different propositions. The asymmetry comes not from quot ... tot, but from the lexical meanings of causa and effectus. The relation itself is not reversible.  A Gricean conclusion I suspect Grice would maintain:  The schema quot A, tot B is intrinsically symmetrical.  The connective itself merely states numerical correspondence. Any difference produced by reversal usually arises from:  world knowledge, explanatory priority, conversational expectations, rhetorical emphasis,  that is, from implicature. Thus for Capito's proverb:  quot hostes, tot servi  and  quot servi, tot hostes  the interesting difference is indeed not semantic but pragmatic. The first tells a story about conquest. The second tells a story about fear. The numbers stay the same; the direction of thought changes. That is precisely the sort of thing Grice loved. There is the further implicature, seeing that Sinnio dealt with solecism, on Sinnio's part, that the original form, 'quot hostes tot servi, seems the correct one. Why otherwise may the point. It wouldn't be difficult, Grice says, to find cases in Oxonian English: "you could care less" later form, corrupted: 'you could not care less' etc. Thanks Yes, that is a very subtle and very Gricean point. What interests me is not merely Capito's claim that  quot hostes, tot servi  is older than  quot servi, tot hostes,  but the implicature of the antiquarian claim itself. If Sinnius Capito is functioning as a grammarian-antiquarian, and if he bothers to mention an earlier form, that conversational move naturally invites the inference:  "The transmitted form is secondary."  or perhaps even:  "The transmitted form is less authentic."  Not because he explicitly says so, but because otherwise the historical correction has little point. In Gricean terms: CAPITO. Antiquitus dicebatur: quot hostes, tot servi. (In old times it was said: "as many enemies, so many slaves".) +> The current form is historically subsequent. +> The current form may be a reinterpretation. +> The original motivation is better preserved in the older wording. Those latter propositions are not entailed; they arise naturally as conversational implicatures.  Your comparison with English is excellent. Consider:  I couldn't care less.  Historically and semantically straightforward:  There is no lower degree of caring possible.  Now compare:  I could care less.  Grammatically the opposite. Yet many speakers use it with essentially the same force. A historical linguist, antiquarian, or grammarian may say:  "The original form was 'couldn't care less'."  The very act of saying that typically carries the implicature:  "...and therefore the newer form is a corruption, misunderstanding, or degeneration."  But that conclusion is not logically necessary. Grice would immediately separate:  historical priority, semantic content, speaker meaning, social evaluation.   The really interesting thing about Capito's proverb is that the older version may have preserved a narrative. Older form  quot hostes, tot servi  Enemy → conquest → enslavement. The proverb reflects Roman military history. Later form  quot servi, tot hostes  Slave → resentment → danger. The proverb reflects Roman domestic anxiety. The numerical correlation is identical. The explanatory direction changes. Hence your observation:  both concern power and fear,  but from opposite ends. One begins on the battlefield. The other ends in the household.  A Speranzian-Gricean reconstruction might be: CAPITO. Quot hostes, tot servi. (As many enemies, so many slaves.) +> Slaves originate in conquest. POSTERI. Quot servi, tot hostes. (As many slaves, so many enemies.) +> Conquest creates future dangers. GRICE. Idem dictum paene, alia ratio cogitandi. (Almost the same proposition, a different line of thought.) The shift resembles what Grice often noticed about conversational emphasis: the truth-conditions remain stable while the perspective changes. And that, I think, is exactly why Capito found the proverb worth discussing. The antiquarian is not merely preserving words; he is preserving a forgotten way of understanding them. Re the Galba, Sinnio's point seems to be that it is a proverb 'mentioning' Galba -- do we have proverbs that make a reference to some historical figure -- and what would be the date for this -- because the historical figure said it -- but loses relevance today. As in Italian, "Salute, Garibaldi" -- Thanks -- so we may have to have second run as for 'riderio canterio' which would be the actual utterance -- perhaps because his canterius famously or infamously collapsed? Thanks Yes, I think you're onto something, and here one has to be cautious not to let Capito's interpretation get flattened into a mere lexical gloss. The proverb as Festus preserves it is something like:  Rideo, inquit Galba, canterio. "I laugh, said Galba, [at/with] the canterius."  The very presence of inquit Galba is striking. If the proverb merely meant "an enterprise fails at the beginning," why preserve the name Galba at all? That suggests that Capito was dealing with what folklorists would call a historical proverb, a saying whose wording still contains the fossilized remains of an anecdote. We have many parallels. Greek and Roman examples The ancients loved sayings that preserved a proper name:  "Hannibal ad portas." "Cato dixit..." "Pyrrhic victory" (modern label, but same principle). Greek sayings attached to Croesus, Solon, Bias, and so on.  The hearer originally knew the story. Much later only the proverb survived. The same happens in modern languages. Your Garibaldi example Italian:  Salute, Garibaldi!  Originally, one needs to know who Garibaldi was and what circumstance generated the saying. Later speakers may use it idiomatically while knowing little of the historical occasion. The proverb survives; the historical presupposition fades.  Why would Galba remain? A Gricean thought would be: If the proverb preserved only a general lesson, then  rideo canterio  would suffice. The retention of  inquit Galba  implicates that the identity of the speaker once mattered. That is, the proverb is not merely reporting content but mentioning an originator. In modern pragmatic terms:  "Galba said X"  becomes part of the conventional packaging of X.  What about the canterius? Here I think your suggestion is quite plausible, though we should distinguish evidence from reconstruction. What we actually know from the summary is that Capito connected the proverb with:  failure right at the beginning of an undertaking.  What we do not know from the surviving snippets is the full anecdote. A natural antiquarian reconstruction would be:  there was a Galba, there was a canterius (horse, gelding, trestle, support-frame, depending on context), some notorious collapse or fiasco occurred, Galba uttered a remark, the remark became proverbial.  That is exactly how many proverbs arise. In other words:  historical event, memorable utterance, proverb, loss of original context, grammarians like Capito trying to recover it.   A Gricean moral Capito's interest is itself revealing. A pure grammarian might ask:  What does canterius mean?  Capito asks:  Why did Romans say this?   Who was Galba?   What forgotten situation generated the expression?  That is much closer to etymological pragmatics than to morphology. One could almost imagine: CAPITO. Verba servantur. (The words survive.) GRICE. Causa periit. (The occasion has perished.) CAPITO. Quaerenda est. (It must be sought.) That, I think, is exactly what Capito was doing with these old sayings: reconstructing the lost conversational background without which the proverb ceases to be fully intelligible. And Galba could not be treated as the emperor chronologically? Thanks any other historical Galba known at the time of Sinnio? No, chronologically the emperor Galba (AD 68-69) is almost certainly excluded. The key reason is that Sinnius Capito belongs to the late Republic, roughly the age of Varro, and the proverb is already being treated by him as an old saying. The fragment list preserved through Festus simply records:  "rideo, inquit Galba, canterio" [latin.packhum.org]  If Capito discussed it in the first century BC, then the speaker "Galba" must be earlier than the emperor. The emperor had not even been born. The difficulty is that Galba is a nomen, not a unique individual. Before the emperor there were several notable members of the Sulpicii Galbae. Your instinct about the proverb is, I think, exactly right:  the phrase preserves "inquit Galba", therefore the saying originally pointed to a particular anecdote, later speakers retained the name after the story had become obscure, antiquarians like Capito tried to recover the lost occasion.  That is a very common fate of proverbs. Compare:  "Pyrrhic victory" "Draconian law" Italian "Salute, Garibaldi!"  The proper name survives after the original circumstances fade. What we do not have in the surviving Capito fragment is the anecdote itself. The fragment list merely tells us that Capito discussed the proverb. [latin.packhum.org] Your conjecture about the canterius is therefore attractive. If the proverb was attached to a historical Galba, one possibility is:  an incident involving a canterius (horse, gelding, support-frame, etc.), a remark by Galba, proverb, loss of narrative context, Capito's antiquarian explanation.  That sequence fits many ancient proverbs. But I have not found a surviving source that explicitly preserves the anecdote itself. The sources I found identify the proverb and Capito's interest in it, but not the lost story behind it. [latin.packhum.org] From a Gricean perspective, the fascinating thing is that:  "Galba" remains in the proverb although later users no longer need to know who Galba was.  The name has become part of the conventional expression. The historical referent recedes, while the proverb's pragmatic force survives. As Grice might say:  the reference dies; the implicature lives. Re: The valpula, Grice has a comment to the effect, that A got a beaten by B -- may be used ironically to mean the opposite (some chess player bit another one) -- the fact that this is defiance, doesn't it invite that implicatura, where he who is usually beaten tells someone else to get one? Thanks Yes, I think you're seeing exactly the sort of thing that would attract Grice. Take the proverb as Capito reports it through Festus:  Vapula, Papiria! "Get a beating, Papirius!" / "Take your whipping, Papirius!" [attalus.org]  On the face of it, the utterance looks like a prediction or threat directed at Papirius. But Capito's interpretation, as summarized in the material you quoted earlier, is that it became an expression of defiance used by someone relying on his free status. That is already a signal that the force of the utterance had drifted away from its literal wording. A Gricean reconstruction might run: Literal content A: Vapulabis, Papiria. (You'll get a beating.) Defiant uptake Papiria: Vapula! (Go ahead. Beat me.) or even  "Do your worst."  The remarkable thing is that the phrase may survive when the original roles have reversed. The person who was once the threatened party may adopt the threat as a badge of resistance. That happens often in language.  The irony you mention Suppose a weak chess player is always defeated by a stronger one. After eventually winning, he says:  "Well, get a beating now!"  The surface meaning is still:  "You receive the beating."  But the point is triumphantly ironic because everyone remembers the old pattern. The previous presupposition survives as background.  Grice and implicated reversal The important point is that nothing in the semantics forces the defiant reading. The literal meaning remains:  someone receives a beating.  The additional force comes from circumstances. Hence Grice would naturally classify much of it as implicature. Speaker: Vapula, Papiria! What is said:  "Take your beating."  What is implicated:  "I'm not afraid of you."   "You cannot intimidate me."   "I am free and refuse submission."   "Your threat has lost its force."  Those are all cancellable. One could always add:  Vapula, Papiria; neque hoc contumeliose dico. "Take your beating, Papirius, and I mean no defiance by it."  The oddness of that cancellation is exactly what makes the implicature visible.  A deeper Roman point Your suggestion also fits remarkably well with Capito's antiquarian interests. He was constantly interested in sayings whose original social context had been forgotten. A proverb may begin as:  "Papirius got thrashed."  Then become:  "Papirius deserves a thrashing."  Then become:  "Do your worst."  Then finally become a stock expression whose users no longer know who Papirius was. That is precisely the sort of semantic history that fascinated Roman grammarians. As Grice might have put it:  The propositional content remains "be beaten"; the conversational point migrates from prediction to threat, and from threat to defiance. The words stay put; the implicatures travel. And the plura pluria could it be understood as involved with Varro's distinction between analogy (pluria) versus anomaly (plura)? with Sinnius defending the former? thanks -- in which case it would not be your typical schoolmaster prescriptive grammarians but one looking for the 'dialectica' and 'rhetorica' behind the trivialest of the trivia? Thanks Yes, I think that is a very plausible line of thought, although we should distinguish carefully between what is explicitly preserved and what is a Varro-inspired reconstruction. What we actually have from the fragments is that Sinnius Capito argued:  pluria, not plura, should be said,  and that Aulus Gellius preserves the discussion. [attalus.org] The fragment itself does not, so far as the surviving citation shows, explicitly invoke the famous controversy between analogia and anomalia. [attalus.org] But your suggestion is attractive because pluria looks exactly like the sort of form an analogist might prefer. The analogist temptation Suppose one reasons:  singular: multum comparative: plus plural neuter should perhaps exhibit a more regular pattern  and therefore prefers:  pluria  over  plura  because the former looks morphologically fuller and more transparent. Whether that precise argument was Capito's we cannot say from the surviving fragment. But it is entirely the sort of issue that occupied Roman scholars influenced by the analogist/anomalist debate.  Why this matters The old caricature is:  grammaticus = schoolmaster  But people like Varro, Verrius Flaccus, and apparently Sinnius Capito are doing something much deeper. They ask questions like:  Why does the language have this form? Is it regular? Is it ancient? Is it corrupted? What principle explains the variation?  Those are not merely pedagogical questions. They are almost philosophical questions about linguistic order. In that sense, the ancient grammarian often stands very close to the dialectician.  A Gricean way of seeing it You could imagine: MAGISTER. Dic plura. (Say plura.) DISCIPVLVS. Cur? (Why?) The ordinary schoolmaster stops there. But Capito seems closer to: CAPITO. Cur plura? Cur non pluria? (Why plura? Why not pluria?) That is no longer elementary grammar. That is an inquiry into the rationale behind usage. And that is where the trivium begins to blur:  grammatica asks what is said, rhetorica asks how it is used, dialectica asks why the pattern should be accepted at all.   Indeed, your earlier comparison with Austin and Grice fits surprisingly well. An Austinian might say:  "The Romans said plura; that settles the matter."  A more Gricean temperament immediately asks:  "What principle led some Romans to defend pluria?"  The latter question is already moving from grammar toward dialectic. So I think your instinct is right: Sinnius Capito is not functioning merely as a prescriptive schoolmaster. Even in a tiny fragment like pluria non plura dici debere, one catches a glimpse of a scholar trying to uncover the reasoning behind usage, and that is a much more philosophical enterprise than the label grammar often suggests. [attalus.org] And we are dealing here with an antiquarian with philosophical interests who speaks in the golden age of Latin --. When later Latin would become Italian, things changed and things like Appendix Probi became the rule -- 'plura,' not pluria. etc. no reason given -- merely a change of corruption and Probus trying, against all hope, to amend it! Thanks -- can you find an example like plura/pluria from Probi? Thanks Yes, and the contrast between Sinnius Capito and the Appendix Probi is quite striking. Capito belongs to the age of Varro, when a grammarian could still ask:  Why is this form preferable?   What principle explains it?   What was the older usage?   How does analogy operate here?  That is very close to the old debate between analogia and anomalia. By the time of the Appendix Probi, the atmosphere is often quite different. The format is simply:  X non Y  without argument. The author is fighting a rear-guard action against forms already current in spoken Latin. [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] Some famous examples are:  speculum non speclum [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] vetulus non veclus [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] oculus non oclus [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] columna non colomna [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] vinea non vinia [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] ostium non osteum [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] viridis non virdis [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk]  A particularly nice example for your point is:  calida non calda [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk]  The grammarian simply says:  "Write calida, not calda."  No explanation. Yet history sided with the "mistake":  Latin calida Vulgar Latin calda Italian calda Spanish calda survives in compounds and derivatives  The condemned form became Romance reality. [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk] Likewise:  speculum non speclum [en.wikipedia.org], [staff.ncl.ac.uk]  The author is trying to preserve the full classical form against phonetic simplification already occurring in speech. This is exactly why linguists love the Appendix Probi: it is almost a photographic negative of emerging Romance. Your comparison with Capito is, I think, correct. Capito's  pluria non plura dici debere  (as reported by Gellius) looks like an attempt to justify a form through learned reasoning. [attalus.org] The Appendix Probi more often sounds like:  "Please stop saying this."  One can almost hear the desperation. A Speranzian epigram: CAPITO. Cur dicitur? (Why is it said?) PROBVS. Noli dicere. (Don't say it.) CAPITO. Qua ratione? (On what principle?) PROBVS. Quia non ita dicendum est. (Because that's not how one should say it.) The first is still close to philosophy; the second is already close to language police. And history, rather cruelly, usually favored the forms after non.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sirenio – Ossia: Grice e Sirenio: la ragione conversazionale del ‘libero’ arbitrio. Note su De fato libri novem: in quibus inter alia, de contingentia, necessitate, providentia, praescientia, prophetia, et divinatione, divina: tam secundum philosophorum opinionem, quàm secundum Catholicorum theologorum sententiam, docte, & copiose disseritur. Iulio Sirenio Brixiano auctore; accesserunt Hieronymi Magii in eosdem libros periochae, cum rerum & verborum insignium indice locupletissimo. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice. Giulio Sirenio (Brescia, Lombardia): la ragione conversazionale del ‘libero’ arbitrio –libero arbitrio, contingetia, possibilitas, necessitas, ‘secundum philosophorum opinionem” -- Grice and Giulio Sirenio approach freedom, necessity, and rationality from very different historical angles, yet they converge on a shared insight about how reason operates within human practices rather than outside them. Sirenio’s De fato (Venice, 1563), written within the Aristotelian–Scholastic framework of late Renaissance Bologna, treats libero arbitrio as intelligible only against a background of contingency, possibility, necessity, fate, and chance, articulated “secundum philosophorum opinionem” through disputation rather than dogma; freedom is not an isolated metaphysical power but something exercised within rational deliberation, where necessity and casus constrain without annihilating meaningful choice. Grice, in contrast, relocates these classical tensions into the analysis of action and speech: his discussions of freedom, falling, and agency in Actions and Events treat free action not as metaphysical indeterminacy but as action rendered intelligible under reason-governed expectations, intentions, and explanations. Where Sirenio asks how free will survives under divine providence and causal order, Grice asks how meaning and agency survive under rational constraints, arguing that freedom is compatible with rule-governed practices because those rules are not causal chains but norms of intelligibility. Sirenio’s conversational reason unfolds in scholastic dialogue about fate and contingency; Grice’s conversational reason unfolds in everyday implicature, where speakers appear “guided” by forces they did not consciously choose but can nonetheless claim as their own. In both cases, freedom emerges not by escaping rational structure but by inhabiting it: for Sirenio, through philosophical disputation about fatum and casus; for Grice, through participation in cooperative, reason-governed conversation.-- fatum, casum, il fato, il caso.  Insegna a Bologna. Altri saggi: De fato, Venezia, Ziletti. Grice, “Sugar-gree”, free fall and freedom, in Actions and events. Sirenio. Keywords: libero arbitrio, contingetia, possibilitas, necessitas, ‘secundum philosophorum opinionem” fatum, casum, il fato, il caso. Grice: Sirenio, ti confesso che ogni volta che mi alzo dal letto, mi chiedo: “Ho scelto io, o è stato il fato a tirarmi giù dalle coperte?” Il libero arbitrio è il vero risveglio filosofico! Sirenio: Grice, forse il caso ti ha spinto, o magari era necessitas travestita da sveglia. Qui a Brescia, il libero arbitrio si esercita già a colazione: burro o marmellata? “Secundum philosophorum opinionem”, persino il caffè può diventare fatum! Grice: Ecco, davanti al toast, sento una strana forza che mi guida… e, quasi senza volerlo, finisco sempre per fare una implicatura, come se il destino mi avesse già scritto la battuta! Sirenio: Implicatura quasi determinata, Grice! Tra fatum e caso, la vera libertà è scegliere se ridere o filosofare… ma si sa, a volte il caso preferisce ridere di noi! Using as material the below -- provide a 100-move conversation between G. and S. as they analyse 'He is a lucky fellow'. G claims it is stupid or silly -- yet ordinary language. He uses this as a debacle of scepticism. For the critic of scepticism must demonstrate that the hypothesis of scepticism is absurd and yet something that a rational utterer may want to impart on a rational addressee -- and make the focus on Sirenio and his "De fato" as they analyse each phrase in the long title -- always as it applies to 'He is a lucky fellow' etc -- no preamble or ps -- thank you .. and you can use passage below. G.: Let us begin with the sentence itself: “He is a lucky fellow.” S.: A small sentence, but already a trap. G.: Quite. I have called it stupid, or silly, and I mean that seriously. It is ordinary language at its most philosophically indiscreet. S.: Because it attributes luck as if luck were a stable property, almost like height or politeness. G.: Exactly. It makes “lucky” sound predicative in a way that invites metaphysical nonsense and then pretends not to notice the invitation. S.: Yet ordinary speakers use it freely. G.: Of course. Ordinary language often walks where metaphysics fears to tread, or ought to. S.: Then why call it silly rather than merely loose? G.: Because the sceptic will seize on such looseness and ask whether any of our common talk commits us to absurd hypotheses. If I am to criticise scepticism properly, I must show that the sceptical hypothesis is absurd and yet still the sort of thing a rational utterer might attempt to impart to a rational addressee. S.: So “He is a lucky fellow” becomes a test-case. G.: Exactly. It looks harmless, but if pressed it starts suggesting fate, necessity, chance, providence, and all Sirenio’s old company. S.: Then Sirenio’s title suddenly becomes less baroque than it first appears. G.: Very much less. De fato libri novem: in quibus inter alia, de contingentia, necessitate, providentia, praescientia, prophetia, et divinatione, divina—every clause in that title can be made to bear on “He is a lucky fellow.” S.: Then let us do the title one phrase at a time, as you threatened. G.: Gladly. Begin with De fato. S.: On fate. G.: Or concerning fate, which is already better. Now, if one says “He is a lucky fellow,” does one mean “He is fated to prosper”? S.: Not ordinarily. Usually one means only that good outcomes seem to accumulate around him more often than expected. G.: Good. So fate is already too strong, but ordinary speech leaves the door ajar. S.: Because “lucky” personifies contingency by making it look like a trait. G.: Exactly. Luck becomes a pseudo-property. The fellow is not merely one to whom happy contingencies have occurred; he is “a lucky fellow,” as if marked by a standing relation to fortune. S.: Which is where the sceptic enters and says, “What could that possibly mean?” G.: Precisely. And one must answer without pretending the sentence is nonsense, for it plainly belongs to ordinary use. S.: So De fato asks whether the utterance covertly commits us to a doctrine of fate or whether it merely trades on a looser economy of explanation. G.: Excellent. And I say: the latter, unless the speaker is philosophically reckless. S.: Next phrase, libri novem. G.: Which means that Sirenio thought the matter too large for a pamphlet. Quite right. S.: You mean luck too is never just luck. G.: Exactly. Once one asks what “lucky” means, one has opened the whole old cabinet: chance, contingency, necessity, providence, foreknowledge, signs, omens, divination. S.: Then “He is a lucky fellow” is really a vulgar shorthand for a suspended metaphysical indecision. G.: Very good. It allows one to speak as though outcomes had pattern without deciding what sort of pattern they have. S.: In quibus inter alia. G.: Ah yes. “Among other things.” An excellent phrase, because it admits that the topic exceeds any single doctrinal centre. So too with luck. One begins by saying “He is lucky,” and before long one is discussing whether events are contingent, whether they were necessary under a description, whether some providence superintends them, whether we merely select the favourable cases, and so on. S.: So the sentence carries more than it says. G.: Naturally. That is why I care for it. S.: De contingentia, then. G.: Yes. “He is a lucky fellow” is most naturally at home under contingency. S.: Because if the good outcomes were necessary, “lucky” would be misplaced. G.: Exactly. Luck presupposes, or at least conversationally implies, that things might have gone otherwise. S.: So contingency is built into the ordinary use. G.: Very much so. To call him lucky is to imply that the favourable event was not secured by settled design, skill alone, or strict necessity. S.: Yet not every contingent success invites “lucky.” G.: Good. Say more. S.: If a man studies hard and passes, the result may still be contingent in cosmic terms, but we do not usually call him lucky unless some element of happy accident visibly assisted him. G.: Excellent. So luck enters when contingency becomes salient against background expectations of possible frustration. S.: Which makes the sentence already a compressed contrastive judgment: he succeeded, and the conditions left room for failure. G.: Very good. And now de necessitate. S.: If necessity enters, luck seems to retreat. G.: Yes, but only in the philosopher’s clean room. In ordinary language people often say “Lucky fellow” of someone whose success, in retrospect, looks nearly inevitable. S.: Then the utterance may signal ignorance of the necessitating background. G.: Or indifference to it. One need not settle whether the event was in some strict sense causally determined. One need only note that, from the speaker’s practical point of view, the result was open enough to make “luck” an apt social summary. S.: So luck and necessity may coexist at different levels of description. G.: Exactly. Sirenio would approve the distinction. Necessity under one aspect, contingency under another, and human deliberation living in the interval. S.: Then “He is a lucky fellow” does not deny causal order. It marks the agent-relative opacity of that order. G.: Splendid. Keep that. S.: Thank you. G.: Now de providentia. S.: Here the sentence becomes dangerous. G.: Entirely. If the speaker really means providence, then “lucky” is a timid euphemism for “favoured by God.” S.: But ordinary speakers often avoid providential language while smuggling in providential comfort. G.: Precisely. “Lucky” can be a secularised providence-word. S.: Meaning that one attributes a benevolent pattern to events without the theological burden of saying so. G.: Very good. That is one reason I call the sentence silly. It half borrows the shape of providence and half pretends it is merely worldly. S.: So one should ask whether the speaker means only statistical fortune or whether he is consoling himself with a disguised teleology. G.: Exactly. Most of the time it is the former. But the latter is always conversationally available. S.: De praescientia. G.: Foreknowledge. What bearing has that on our poor lucky fellow? S.: If someone says “He is a lucky fellow,” there may be an implication that one could not have known in advance how the event would go. G.: Excellent. Luck belongs where foreknowledge fails. S.: Or rather where ordinary human foreknowledge fails, even if some stronger foreknowledge were metaphysically imaginable. G.: Yes. The phrase lives under ignorance. If the result was clearly knowable beforehand, “lucky” becomes weaker or ironic. S.: So foreknowledge and luck are inversely related in ordinary use. G.: Very much so. A bookie who knew the result in advance would not call the winner lucky, except for comic effect. S.: Unless he wished to conceal the knowledge. G.: Quite. Then the sentence becomes dissimulative. S.: De prophetia. G.: Another excellent inflation. Prophecy enters where outcomes are not merely known but announced in advance under special authority. S.: Which makes “He is a lucky fellow” seem positively municipal. G.: Yes, but there is still a relation. Suppose someone repeatedly prospers beyond expectation. Soon enough others begin speaking of him as though future success could be safely anticipated. S.: So luck hardens into expectation. G.: Exactly. And the sentence shifts from retrospective commentary to predictive habit. S.: Then the sceptic asks: are you not treating past contingency as if it guaranteed future favour? G.: Precisely. Which is one of the irrational temptations luck-language encourages. S.: So “lucky fellow” may invite an inductive superstition. G.: Very good. It converts a run of outcomes into a quasi-prophetic character trait. S.: Et divinatione, divina. G.: Ah yes. The most embarrassing clause. Divination is what luck-talk can become when it stops pretending to be modest. S.: You mean talismans, omens, signs, reading the world for favourable alignments. G.: Exactly. If a man is called lucky often enough, people begin to treat his circumstances as signs—“He touched that card,” “He entered the room,” “Back his horse,” and so on. S.: So luck migrates from description to divinatory practice. G.: Yes. And that is another reason the sentence interests me. It sits on the edge between harmless social idiom and full irrationalism. S.: Which is where scepticism also likes to sit. G.: Quite. The sceptic says: your ordinary language is already infected with absurd hypotheses. You call a man lucky as if fortune were a property or a power. S.: And your response? G.: My response is that ordinary speakers are not thereby committed to a worked-out metaphysic of Fortune. They are using a convenient summary for a pattern of contingently favourable outcomes under ordinary ignorance. S.: So the sentence is silly only if taken with metaphysical pomp. G.: Yes. Silly in structure, not unusable in practice. S.: Tam secundum philosophorum opinionem. G.: Excellent. According to the philosophers’ opinion. Sirenio means the philosophical treatment before dogmatic imposition. S.: Then according to philosophers, “lucky” must be analysed into contingency, ignorance, salience of favourable outcomes, and the human tendency to reify patterns. G.: Very good. Philosophically speaking, “He is a lucky fellow” is shorthand, not theory. S.: And perhaps not even good shorthand. G.: Often not. That is why I call it stupid. But stupidity in ordinary language is rarely uselessness. It is often merely untidy compression. S.: Quam secundum Catholicorum theologorum sententiam. G.: And here the theologians complicate matters. A Catholic theologian may wish to say that what ordinary folk call luck is really providence under the appearance of contingency. S.: Or perhaps concurrence, permission, secondary causes, divine ordering without violence to freedom. G.: Quite. Theology is always better at multiplying distinctions than luck-talk deserves. S.: Then the same sentence may be heard theologically as a vulgar misnaming of providence. G.: Yes. The theologian says, perhaps: no one is “lucky” in the pagan sense; he is fortunate only under divine governance. S.: Whereas the philosopher says: fortunate is safer, because it need not imply a metaphysical force called luck. G.: Good. Though fortunate too has its old baggage. S.: Docte, et copiose disseritur. G.: “Learnedly and copiously discussed.” Which is what we are now doing with a sentence that most people utter before lunch and forget by tea. S.: That is your revenge on ordinary language. G.: No. My revenge is on those who think ordinary language cannot be philosophically embarrassing. S.: Then let us return to the sentence. “He is a lucky fellow.” What is its logical grammar? G.: Ah. Now we can ask the proper question. “Lucky” looks adjectival, but the underlying grammar is event-relative and contrastive. One is lucky with respect to some outcome under some background of possible mishap. S.: So to say simply “He is lucky” without qualification is incomplete. G.: Exactly. It suppresses the domain. Lucky at cards, lucky in escaping accidents, lucky in marriage, lucky in appointments, lucky to have caught the train, and so on. S.: Which means the predication is radically underdescribed. G.: Very much so. Ordinary language gets away with that because context fills the gap. S.: Then the sentence might be analysed as “He has had a notable run of favourable outcomes in the relevant domain, outcomes not wholly attributable to his own design or merit.” G.: That is much better than “lucky fellow,” but no one would say it at the races. S.: Which is perhaps why races exist. G.: Very likely. Now, what about scepticism? S.: You said the critic of scepticism must show that the sceptical hypothesis is absurd and yet still the sort of thing a rational utterer may want to impart to a rational addressee. G.: Yes. The difficulty is always that scepticism must be both speakable and self-undermining. Similarly, “lucky fellow” is speakable and yet, if pressed into theory, absurd. S.: So the sentence is a miniature of the sceptical predicament. G.: Exactly. The rational speaker can use it, because he wants to convey something real enough: the salient pattern of contingently favourable results. But if he means by it that the man possesses some occult property of luck, then he is speaking absurdly. S.: Then your anti-sceptical lesson is that one must rescue the rational communicative point without endorsing the absurd metaphysical surplus. G.: Precisely. One must show how the utterance can be rationally usable even though one possible interpretation of it is philosophically intolerable. S.: That sounds like your whole career. G.: In miniature, yes. Now, let us take “libero arbitrio” from Sirenio’s framework. Does “lucky” threaten freedom? S.: Only if one imagines outcomes to be so governed by fortune or fate that deliberation becomes idle. G.: Good. But ordinary use usually does not go that far. To call someone lucky is not to deny his agency; it is often to say that agency did not wholly suffice to explain the result. S.: So luck marks the residue beyond deliberate control. G.: Exactly. And Sirenio would say that freedom survives because contingency and necessity constrain without annihilating meaningful choice. S.: So if I say “He is a lucky fellow,” I may mean: his choices occur within a field not wholly mastered by him, yet his agency remains intelligible. G.: Excellent. That is the charitable Sirenian reconstruction. S.: Whereas the vulgar speaker may simply mean, “Things keep breaking in his favour, curse him.” G.: Very often. Envy is the everyday metaphysician of luck. S.: Then perhaps “fellow” matters too. G.: Indeed. “He is a lucky fellow” is colloquial partly because of fellow. It humanises the predication and lowers the philosophical temperature. S.: “He is a lucky man” is graver; “He is lucky” more abstract; “He is a lucky fellow” already half excuses itself as social chatter. G.: Very good. Which is why I can call it silly without denying its ordinary humanity. S.: Then the phrase is stupid in metaphysical ambition but innocent in conversational deployment. G.: That is almost right. Innocent is too generous. Let us say tolerable. S.: Tolerable silliness. G.: Exactly. Ordinary language is full of tolerable silliness. S.: And your job is to say when it remains tolerable and when it starts pretending to be ontology. G.: Precisely. If someone says “He is a lucky fellow” after a game of cards, I tolerate it. If someone builds an account of human success around luck as an occult property, I reach for Sirenio, or perhaps for ridicule. S.: Ridicule is your preferred deontic modality. G.: Often the only one available. Now, what about contingentia again? Would you say luck is simply contingency under a favourable evaluative aspect? S.: That seems close. Luck is not mere contingency; it is contingency appraised from the standpoint of interest. G.: Excellent. An earthquake is contingent, but not lucky for those crushed by it. S.: So luck is evaluative contingency. G.: Splendid. Keep that. S.: Thank you. G.: De necessitate again. Could one be necessarily lucky? S.: Only by changing the sense entirely. If by “necessarily lucky” one means that in every relevant possible circumstance events break in his favour, then luck has become fate or providence and ceased to be luck. G.: Very good. So luck requires the open appearance of possible failure. S.: And therefore a finite point of view. G.: Exactly. That is why de praescientia matters. A fully omniscient being does not call anyone lucky. S.: It sees the whole order. G.: Yes. Luck is a category of local ignorance inside an order not fully surveyed. S.: Which makes it anthropological rather than theological. G.: Beautifully put. Luck belongs to the human angle on events. S.: Then “He is a lucky fellow” is not nonsense if heard anthropologically. G.: Exactly. It is only nonsense if inflated into world-metaphysics. S.: So the sceptic’s trick is to force inflation and then mock the result. G.: Precisely. And the anti-sceptic must say: no, the utterance has a rational everyday point without bearing the absurd load you assign it. S.: That is also true of “the sun rises.” G.: Very much so. Ordinary language is full of expressions whose practical point survives theoretical correction. S.: Then perhaps “lucky fellow” belongs with “sunrise” and “free choice” as respectable vulgarities. G.: I like that phrase. Respectable vulgarities. S.: You may keep it. G.: I probably shall. Now, prophetia once more. Does repeated luck invite prophecy because humans over-read patterns? S.: Yes. We seek regularity where there is only selective memory and favourable clustering. G.: Good. So luck-talk is a nursery for weak divination. S.: And divination is luck-talk with confidence. G.: Excellent. Sirenio would enjoy that. S.: Then why do you insist on the sentence’s silliness? G.: Because I want the hearer to feel that the phrase, though ordinary, should not be allowed to repose as though it were conceptually comfortable. It is a debacle of scepticism in miniature because it tempts one to say more than one can reasonably defend. S.: Yet still to say something worth saying. G.: Precisely. The rational utterer may wish to convey that the fellow’s sequence of successes cannot be fully credited to skill, prudence, or effort, and that a residue of favourable contingency remains. S.: And the rational addressee can grasp that without postulating Fortune as an entity. G.: Exactly. That is the whole rescue-operation. S.: Then perhaps the final paraphrase should be: “He has repeatedly benefited from favourably contingent outcomes in ways salient to our shared interests, though we need not infer any occult property thereby.” G.: Perfectly hideous as English, perfectly sound as philosophy. S.: Which is what one aims for in seminar. G.: Often. And Sirenio’s title helps because it reminds us that even a silly everyday sentence lies at the crossroads of fate, contingency, necessity, providence, foreknowledge, prophecy, and divination—at least if one is foolish enough to ask what it means. S.: Which you always are. G.: It is my luck. S.: Lucky fellow. G.: Precisely the sort of thing I should forbid if I had any real authority.Sirenio, Giulio (1563). De fato libri novem: in quibus inter alia, de contingentia, necessitate, providentia, praescientia, prophetia, et divinatione, divina: tam secundum philosophorum opinionem, quàm secundum Catholicorum theologorum sententiam, docte, & copiose disseritur. Iulio Sirenio Brixiano auctore; accesserunt Hieronymi Magii in eosdem libros periochae, cum rerum & verborum insignium indice locupletissimo. Venezia: Ziletti

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Siro – Ossia: Grice e Siro: la ragione conversazionale dell’orto a Napoli. Note su Dicta. Il Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice. Siro (Napoli, Campania): la ragione conversazionale dell’orto a Napoli. Grice and Siro converge on the idea that rationality is not a property of abstract propositions but a regulative force immanent in lived practices, yet they articulate this insight through different media and scales. Siro’s Epicurean Garden at Naples exemplifies a form of reason-governed meaning embedded in shared life, cultivated discourse, and tacit understanding: philosophical exchange unfolds through proximity, habit, and exempla, where poets and philosophers alike grasp significance not by explicit rule-following but by attunement to what is fitting, appropriate, and intelligible within the hortus as a social form. This is conversational reason as πραξις: meaning arises from participation in a way of life, where implication, presupposition, and silence are sustained by communal norms rather than articulated principles. Grice, by contrast, offers a reflective reconstruction of this same phenomenon: his theory of conversational meaning makes explicit the rational constraints that already govern successful exchange, explaining how speakers mean more than they say through shared assumptions, cooperative expectations, and inferential accountability. Where Siro’s garden lets reason remain embodied, ecological, and largely unthematized—herbs speaking where words fail—Grice translates that lived rationality into an analytic framework, a pirotological reconstruction of how understanding is achieved at all. In this sense, Siro provides the historical and existential scene of conversational reason, while Grice provides its logical anatomy: the Garden shows reason at work; Grice explains how it works. S. founds a fililale of L’ORTO at Napoli. VIRGILIO attends it, as does ORAZIO. L’ORTO enjoys a great success, as S. succeeds in attracting a number of influential followers. VIRGILIO lives in the casino of L’ORTO -- but the subsequent fate of The Garden is unknown. GRICEVS: Salvete, SIRVS! Dic mihi, quid novi in illo clarissimo horto Neapolitano? Audivi Virgilium et Horatium ibi saepe ambulare, sed numquid etiam quidam philosophus Anglicus inter hortelanos latet? SIRVS: O Grice, hortus noster verus est epicentrum sapientiae! Hic Virgilius versus seminat, Horatius carmina colligit, et ego, inter vites et rosas, disputationes philosophicas sero. Sed tu, ex Britannia, quid te ad nostros ortos trahit? GRICEVS: Amice Sire, fama horti longe ad septentrionem pervenit. Qui enim inter hortelanos diu moratur, potest fortasse plus intellegere de natura hominis quam qui in bibliotheca clauditur. Quid si quidam flores non solum ad ornatum, sed ad sapientiam coluntur? SIRVS: Maxima hortulana implicatura, Grice! Certe, in horto nostro, etiam lactucae aliquid praesupponunt. Ubi verba deficiunt, herbae loquuntur! Proxima vice, attende: sub ficu, saepe philosophus latet, sed sub allio… poeta dormit! To Grice, this Sirus sounds like Stasea -- from Naples -- do not expect gentilicium and be prepared to what they utter to be greek to you? Yes. If by Sirus you mean the Epicurean commonly called Siro or Sirus, Grice’s instinct is broadly sound. One should not expect a Roman gentilicium from the surviving name Sirus. The form looks like a Greek or Hellenised school name, not like a Roman nomen pointing to a gens. In that respect he does indeed resemble Stasea more than, say, a Statilius or Terentius. A philosopher attached to Naples under a Greek-looking single name is exactly the sort of figure for whom one should assume Hellenic cultural identity first, and only then ask whether there was any Roman civic naming behind the surviving label. And yes, one should be prepared for the thought that what he taught, and perhaps what he originally spoke, was Greek or at least a strongly Hellenised philosophical idiom. Naples was not merely in Italy; it was one of the great places in which being in Italy did not at all require being culturally Latin. A philosopher there could be Italy-based and still belong, linguistically and intellectually, to the Greek world of Magna Graecia and later Hellenised education. So the compressed answer is this. No visible gentilicium is indicated by Sirus. The name is much more naturally read as Greek or Greek-associated. In that he is very much like Stasea: geographically in Italy, but not to be forced into Roman naming expectations. And yes, if one listens to such a figure, one should be ready for Greek—not necessarily because every surviving utterance would be in Greek, but because the philosophical medium, school identity, and intellectual ancestry are far more likely to be Greek than Roman in the gentile sense. There is one caution, though. Greek name does not automatically mean foreign-born in every case. Southern Italy could produce people who were local by place and still Greek by culture and name. So one should distinguish carefully between not-Roman-onomastically and not-Italy-born. The first is likely enough; the second is not guaranteed merely by the name. If you like, I can now do one of two things in chat only. I can give you a compact note on Siro/Sirus of Naples and how he appears in relation to Epicurean circles. Or I can give you a short comparative note on Sirus and Stasea as examples of Italy-based philosophers with Greek names and no visible Roman gens. And Grice wonders about the implicature: "Magna Graecia" and compares it to "Little Italy" -- Foreigners usually settle in MINOR bits -- Magna Graecia sounds to Grice like BRITANNIA MAIOR as opposed to BRITANNIA MINOR and wonder if some Scipio or some other Roman patrician disregarded or had strong antipathy towards the fact that 'the green and pleasant land' of what Roma owned was still evoked as 'Magna Graecia' -- who was the first Roman who used that expression --because in Greek it would be like Makra Hellas? Yes, Grice’s ear is catching something real. Magna Graecia does sound, from a Roman angle, oddly grand if one hears it as a colonial label. “Little Italy” is what a modern English ear expects of emigrant settlement; “Greater Greece” or “Great Greece” sounds less like a minor enclave than like a claim of extension, even enlargement. And that is in fact close to the ancient force. The Greek form is Μεγάλη Ἑλλάς, usually transliterated Megalē Hellas, not “Makra Hellas.” Makra would mean long rather than great. [academic.oup.com], [britannica.com] On the first attested use, the safest answer from the evidence in hand is this. The earliest extant use of the term for southern Italy appears to be in Polybius, and later Strabo discusses it and reports differing definitions of the region. The Oxford Classical Dictionary adds an important complication: some early poetic sources use the Greek phrase more broadly for the Greek world rather than specifically for Italy, while for the Italian geographical sense the extant literary evidence begins later. [academic.oup.com], [lsj.gr] So if you ask, “who was the first Roman to use the expression?”, I would answer more cautiously: the earliest extant attestation for the Italian regional label is Greek, in Polybius, not Roman in origin as far as our surviving texts show. The Roman Latin phrase Magna Graecia is the Latin counterpart of that Greek usage and is certainly found later in Roman authors such as Ovid, but I would not claim at present that some particular Roman patrician coined it. [lsj.gr], [academic.oup.com] And that also answers the political point. The phrase was probably not invented as a Roman term of resentment at all, but as a Greek or Greeks-in-Italy way of naming the western Hellenic world. In that sense it is less like a host society’s label for immigrants and more like a self-confident diasporic or colonial extension-name. That is why it sounds larger than “Little Italy.” It is not humble enclave-language. It is civilisational language. It says, in effect, not “a small Greek quarter abroad,” but “a major western extension of Hellas.” [academic.oup.com], [britannica.com] Which brings us to Grice’s nice imperial itch. Would Romans have disliked the persistence of the phrase? Very possibly some did in tone or instinct, but the historical pattern is more one of appropriation than wounded jealousy. Roman culture was perfectly capable of ruling a region politically while continuing to use or tolerate a Greek-derived prestige label for it. The Romans often absorbed Greek names rather than replacing them out of patriotic pique. So the term’s survival need not imply Roman inferiority-complex; it may simply show how entrenched and useful the Hellenic description had become. [britannica.com], [academic.oup.com] So the dry summary is this. The Greek is Megalē Hellas, not Makra Hellas. The earliest extant attestation for the southern-Italian sense appears in Polybius. Later Strabo discusses the varying boundaries of the term. And the phrase sounds “Greater Greece” rather than “Little Greece” because it is not a host-label for a foreign minority but the grander self-description of a western Hellenic world. [lsj.gr], [academic.oup.com] If you like, I can now do one of two things in chat only. I can give you a short philological note on why megalē here is “great/greater” rather than simply “large.” Or I can give you a dry Roman reaction paragraph on how a Roman patriot might have heard Magna Graecia without actually abolishing the term.Siro (a. u. c. DCC). Dicta. Roma.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sittio – Ossia: Grice e Sittio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sittio The gens Sittia was a minor plebeian family at ancient Rome. The most illustrious member of this gens was Publius Sittius, an adventurer who met with great success during the African War, after allying himself with Caesar.[1]  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Publius Sittius, a native of Nuceria in Campania, remained loyal to Rome during the Social War.[2][3] Publius Sittius P. f., a friend and ally of Publius Cornelius Sulla, from whose defense by Cicero he likewise benefited. For some years he fought under the various kings of northern Africa, until in 46 BC he allied himself with Caesar, and fought successfully alongside Bocchus II against Juba I. After the Battle of Thapsus, Sittius captured Faustus Cornelius Sulla and Lucius Afranius, and sent them on to Caesar, who left him in command of western Numidia. Sittius was assassinated by Arabio in 44.[4][5][6][7][8] Sittius, a resident of Cales in Campania, was among those proscribed by the Second Triumvirate in 43 BC. The citizens of Cales protected their fellow townsman, and appealed to the triumvirs, who agreed to reduce Sittius' punishment to exile in his home town.[9][10] See also List of Roman gentes References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. III, p. 844 ("Sittius or Sitius", No. 1).  Cicero, Pro Sulla, 58, Epistulae ad Familiares, v. 17.  PW, Sittius No. 2.  Cicero, Pro Sulla, 20, Epistulae ad Atticum, xv. 17.  Hirtius, De Bello Africo, 25, 30, 36, 93, 95, 96.  Cassius Dio, xliii. 3, 4, 8, 9, 12.  Appian, Bellum Civile, iv. 54.  PW, Sittius No. 3.  Appian, Bellum Civile, iv. 47.  PW, Sittius No. 1. Bibliography Marcus Tullius Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum, Epistulae ad Familiares, Pro Sulla. Aulus Hirtius (attributed), De Bello Africo (On the African War). Appianus Alexandrinus (Appian), Bellum Civile (The Civil War). Lucius Cassius Dio Cocceianus (Cassius Dio), Roman History. Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). August Pauly, Georg Wissowa, et alii, Realencyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Scientific Encyclopedia of the Knowledge of Classical Antiquities, abbreviated RE or PW), J. B. Metzler, Stuttgart (1894–1980). Category: Roman gentes And your first-best choice for a Grice-Speranza vignette from THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sittio – Ossia: Grice e Sittio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sittio For the Sittii, I think the unmistakable Grice-Speranza figure is Publius Sittius P. f., the Campanian adventurer, mercenary commander, African king-maker, ally of Caesar, and ultimately victim of assassination. The gens is tiny, and Sittius completely dominates it. The sources cited in the gens article are Cicero, the Bellum Africum, Appian, and Cassius Dio. [GREXv3 | Word] What attracts me is not military glory but a Gricean question about political alignment:  When does an alliance mean loyalty?  Sittius fought for various North African rulers before aligning himself with Caesar. Later Roman writers naturally ask whether this was fidelity, opportunism, prudence, or ambition. The same act admits multiple descriptions. [GREXv3 | Word] Grice e Sittio: De Fide et Utilitate SITTIVS. Caesarem sequor. (I follow Caesar.) INTERROGATOR. Quia amicus est? (Because he is your friend?) SITTIVS. Fortasse. (Perhaps.) INTERROGATOR. Quia victor erit? (Because he will win?) SITTIVS. Fortasse. (Perhaps.) INTERROGATOR. Ergo quid significat "sequor"? (Then what does "I follow" mean?) SITTIVS. Hoc ipsum quaeritur. (That is precisely the question.) GRICE. Eadem verba, multae descriptiones. (The same words, many descriptions.)  The reason I like Sittius is that his career constantly invites rival redescriptions:                      Description ADescription Bloyal allyopportunistpragmatic realistfortune-hunterCaesarian supporterindependent condottiere The facts may be largely the same. The meaning changes with the description. That's very close to a recurring Gricean theme:  What is said may be agreed upon; what follows from it may be disputed. Dry Speranzian formula  The Sinnii give us philology; the Sicinii give us political credibility; the Sittii give us political description. Publius Sittius did many things. The Roman problem is deciding what to call them. Grice would remind us that history often begins where competing interpretations of the same action begin. [GREXv3 | Word]

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sittio – Ossia: Grice e Sittio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sittio A secondary candidate would be the unnamed Sittius of Cales, the man proscribed by the Triumvirs whose fellow citizens protected him and successfully petitioned for mitigation of the penalty. [GREXv3 | Word] That story raises a different Gricean problem:  What does citizenship mean when one's city publicly demonstrates solidarity?  But the evidence is much thinner.