Journal articles: 'Fathers (Roman law)' – Grafiati (2024)

Abstract:

While the relationship between fathers and sons, real or metaphorical, is still a dominant paradigm among classicists, this paper considers the rival contribution of Roman sons-in-law to the processes of collaboration and succession. It discusses the tensions, constraints, and obligations that soceri–generi relationships involved, then claims a significant role for sons-in-law in literary production. A new category is proposed here: “son-in-law literature,” with texts offered as recompense for a wife or her dowry, or as substitute funeral orations. Cicero and Tacitus are two authors for whom the relationship played a key role in shaping realities and fantasies of advancement. The idealized in-law bonds of De Amicitia, Brutus, and De Oratore are set against Cicero's intellectual aspirations and real-life dealings with a challenging son-in-law, while Tacitus' relationship to Agricola can be seen to affect both his historiographical discussions of father–son-in-law relationships and the lessons he drew from them about imperial succession.

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Roman Elements in Testamentary Regulations of I Lithuanian StatuteS u m m a ryRoman law, alongside Lithuanian, Ruthenian, Polish, German and canon law, was one of the many sources of I Lithuanian Statute of 1529. However, it is still not clear how and within what scope the authors of the Lithuanian codification used Roman law. At some point researchers of the subject held the view that the reception of elements of elaborate Roman law could not have possibly happened before II Statute of 1566, from witch such elements were transferred to III Statute of 1588. It seems, however, that a number of Roman elements were already present in I Statute; later on, in the course of the creation of II and III Statute, Roman elements were considerably multiplied and expanded. An interesting subject for research in this connection is testamentary law in I Lithuanian Statute. For instance, Roman law did not allow for wills to be drawn up by minors, slaves, heretics, sons who remained under the authority of their fathers, and by insane persons. The same regulations are to be found in I Statute. It should be emphasized that the reception of Roman legal institution by the Lithuanian codification went as far as to include even exceptions to the general rules; thus, sons were allowed to make wills with respect to their separate property, and insane persons were allowed to make wills when they were in a sound state of mind. I Statute also adopted the Roman legal principle that allowed a testator to freely change his will at any moment in his life. An impact of the Roman legal system can also be seen in I Statute regulations concerning the capacity to be a witness to will making. Under I Statute, persons lacking will-making capacity and women could not be witnesses to will making. It also appears that disinheritance as a legal sanction for hitting or insulting one of the parents was taken over by I Statute from Roman law, perhaps via Byzantine law.An analysis of the regulations of I Statute leads one to the conclusion that the first codification was already under the influence of Roman law, and that the influence was more significant that previously believed. In view of the above observations, further research on the issue may lead to interesting results.

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Scholars over the last few decades have been unable to find a convincing explanation for the widespread practice of brother-sister marriage among the common people in Roman Egypt, a social practice seemingly disregarding one of the most fundamental taboos. This paper now argues that these ‘incestuous’ marriages were in fact marriages between a biological child and an adopted one, a practice documented also for other parts of the Eastern Mediterranean. Due to the severe mortality regime before the demographic transition, up to 30 per cent of all fathers did not have a male heir, and therefore adopting the son-in-law was a common succession and inheritance strategy in many pre-modern societies.

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The article deals with the problem of fragmentation of international law on the example of the collision of jurisdictions of two main courts that operated in the field of international disputes in Rome of V–III centuries BC: the court of the Senate and the court of the people. Starting from the characteristics of the judicial functions of the Senate and the people of Polybius, the author distinguishes three periods of confrontation between the courts of the Senate and people in V–III centuries BC. The first period, from the beginning to the middle of V century BC, characterized by the fact that the patrician Senate did not recognize the authority of the court of the people. However, the case 446– 442 BC showed that the Senate court finally recognized the supremacy of the people's court. The second period, from the middle of the V to the beginning of the III centuries BC, represented by the cases of 446 and 391 BC, is characterized by the dominance of the people's court, which, however, in comparison with the senatorial court showed its low professional qualities: ignorance of international law and arbitration and making decisions based on their own interests, ignoring the legitimate interests of other peoples, neglect of the professional knowledge of the fathers-senators. The third period, from the middle of the III century BC to the last quarter of the II century BC, represented by the case of 204 BC, shows that the court of the people finally recognized the authority and professionalism of the senatorial jurisdiction in international law, which allowed Polybius to speak about the non-interference of the people in the judicial affairs of the Senate. However, the Senate case of 204 BC is one of the first examples of the prosecution of Roman magistrates brought to trial on charges of Roman-allied city-States. In conclusion, the author considers Cicero's recommendations for overcoming fragmentation in the activities of the two courts. As regards Senators, he advised them to maintain high moral and professional level, and the people's suffrage in tribunal he advises to rely on the opinion of optimaton, the most authoritative from the point of view of morals and professional qualities.

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A remarkable new consensus, recognized even by its critics, has emerged among classical historians that ‘the normal Roman family seems to have been a “nuclear family” like our own’. The consensus is remarkable because practically all historians who support it admit that the portrait of the Roman family that emerges from many literary accounts and is enshrined in Roman law and language is nothing like the modern nuclear family. Saller demonstrates that the Romans had no term equivalent to ‘family’ in the modern sense, that is, the father-mother-children triad of the ‘nuclear family’. The English word ‘family’ has almost no relation to Roman concepts of familia and domus. As Saller explains, ‘Domus was used with regard to household and kinship to mean the physical house, the household including family and slaves, the broad kinship group including agnates and cognates, ancestors and descendants, and the patrimony’. The Latin familia, while usually narrower in reference than domus, also had little relation to anything meant by the English ‘family’.

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One of the most peculiar features of Roman law was the father's dominant position. In theory, he exercised an almost absolute authority, patria potestas, over his descendants until his own death. The uniqueness of their family system did not escape the Romans themselves. In his mid-second-century legal textbook Gaius explained:Item in potestate nostra sunt liberi nostri quos iustis nuptiis procreavimus. Quod ius proprium civium Romanorum est; fere enim nulli alii sunt homines, qui talem in filios suos habent potestatem, qualem nos habemus. Idque divus Hadrianus edicto, quod proposuit de his, qui sibi liberisque suis ab eo civitatem Romanam petebant, significavit. Nec me praeterit Galatarum gentem credere in potestate parentum liberos esse. (Inst. 1.55)Again, we have in our power our children, the offspring of a Roman law marriage. This right is one which only Roman citizens have; there are virtually no other peoples who have such power over their sons as we have over ours. This was made known by the emperor Hadrian in an edict which he issued concerning those who applied to him for Roman citizenship for themselves and their children. I have not forgotten that the Galatians believe that children are in the power of their parents. (Translated by W. M. Gordon and O. F. Robinson, The Institutes of Gaius (1988))This account immediately raises at least one fundamental question: If patria potestas was a distinctive feature of Roman society, how did the other peoples of the Empire react to it after the universal grant of the Roman citizenship in A.D. 212?

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The recent article by R. P. Saller on Roman dowry in the Principate makes some interesting and important suggestions about the function of dowry and its role in the devolution of property. I am in broad agreement with a good deal of what he says, and would not dispute his views that dowry was, as shown by the requirement of collatio dotis, regarded as in a sense part of a woman's patrimony, and that the rules for the recovery of dowry show that the purpose of giving dowry was not held to rest on one single principle, but included provision both for the expenses of the wife's maintenance during marriage and for a possible remarriage after divorce or widowhood. However, his remarks on both points need some qualification and amplification. Briefly, I hope to show (i) that the oddities and anomalies noticed by Saller in the rules governing the recovery of dowry at the end of a marriage are apparent rather than real, since these rules rest, not on conflicting views about the purpose of dowry, but on the fact that the husband had full legal ownership of the dowry during marriage, together with the right of the wife or her pater to an actio rei uxoriae for recovery of dowry; (ii) that the rules for collatio dotis applied only if the woman herself chose to claim a share in her father's estate on intestacy beyond the amount of her dowry; (iii) that the use of the dowry for the wife's support was an equitable, rather than a legal, requirement.

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Petrach detested lawyers. The story of his experience of law is familiar. In 1316 Petrarch, then twelve years old, was sent by his father to study law, first in Montpellier, then in Bologna, the oldest center of Roman law studies in Europe. Bologna entranced him in some ways; there were great law teachers there, he latter wrote, who were like the ancients themselves returned to life. Nevertheless, if he looked up to some of his teachers, his studies in Bologna taught Petrarch to despise the general soullessness and avarice of fourteenth-century lawyers. Lawyers, he later wrote, cared nothing for antiquity and everything for money: to them “everything is for sale.” It was not, he assured readers of his Epistle to Posterity, that he found the subject too difficult. On the contrary, “many asserted that I would have done very well if I had persisted in my course. Neverthesless I dropped that study entirely as soon as my parents' supervision was removed. Not because I disliked the power and authority of Roman law, which are undoubtedly very great, or its saturation with Roman antiquity, which I love; but because men, in their wickedness, pervert Roman law when they employ it.” Appalled by what he had seen, he gave up law for more honorable pursuits.

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The author examines the legacy of two great Christian thinkers, the American Reinhold Niebuhr and the Italian Giorgio La Pira. Reinhold Niebuhr was a protestant theologian and political adviser to the Council of Foreign Relations and George Kennan’s Policy Planning Staff. The Mayor of Florence, Giorgio La Pira was a Dominican tertiary and professor of Roman law; he was a prominent Italian statesman and one of the fathers of the Italian Constitution. During the Cold War period both played a significant role in influencing public opinion, both proved to be among most influential religious thinkers of the 20th century. The author analyzes their views on international relations, in particularly on the western policy towards the Soviet Union, the use of nuclear weapons, the war in Vietnam and the communist issue. The legacy of the two thinkers is highly topical in front of the ethical dimension of choices in international politics today. Therefore the names of Christian thinkers are back again to the fore. It is worth noting that President Obama cites Niebuhr as one of his favorite philosophers. In an interview with «The New York Times» Obama felt it necessary to emphasize the Niebuhr's idea that there is “a real evil, fatigue and pain in the world, and one should be careful and modest in his belief of being able to eliminate these things. Nevertheless, we should not use it as an excuse for cynicism and inaction”. European observers and scholars also admit that Obama is following the thought of Niebuhr, who was demythologizing the idea of America as a visible place of the Kingdom of God». Niebuhr was well aware of the limitations of all humane schemes. Giorgio La Pira was aware as well that politics should always base on ethical principles and reflect the existing spiritual, cultural, political and economic diversity. His main purpose was the formation of a new hierarchy of values. Just like Reinhold Niebuhr, Giorgio La Pira, reflecting on key events of the 20th century, looked for a policy based on the precepts of Christianity. Just like Reinhold Niebuhr, La Pira stated the primacy of politics over economics. However there were some differences between the two thinkers. Niebuhr’s ontological pessimism was well known. On the contrary, La Pira was an optimist. He sincerely believed that his personal policy would help mankind to promote the cause of a new world.

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1. It is with the greatest pleasure that I contribute this paper to this volume published for my dear friend Reuven Yaron. He was one of the very first foreign colleagues whom I invited to give lectures for the students of the Amsterdam Law Faculty some months after my appointment in 1965, and eight years ago Reuven Yaron was a visiting professor at our University for a period of six months. On that occasion he read fascinating papers on Ancient Near Eastern laws and brilliantly participated in my Papinian-seminar, where also other participants such as Eric Pool and Laurens Winkel made numerous astute remarks. I therefore decided to make Papinian's text D. 17.2.81, concerning societas omnium bonorum and dos, the main topic of my contribution to this volume published in honour of Reuven Yaron. However, I found in the Digest-title 17.2 two additional texts by other classical lawyers, viz. Paul and Gaius, in which they also examine problems in connection with societas omnium bonorum and dos (D.17.2.65.16 and D.17.2.66). It is instructive to discuss these three texts together in this paper. In each of the three texts the situation is different. In the cases that Paul and Gaius deal with, it is the husband who, having received a dowry, is a socius omnium bonorum (Situation I). In Papinian's text which is — even for Papinian! — exceptionally rich in legal ideas, the lawyer gives solutions for many legal questions in a situation, wherein a father, being one of two socii omnium bonorum, promised or gave a dowry to his son-in-law on behalf of his daughter (Situation II).

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ROMAN LAW AS A PART OF THE ENGLISH DOCTRINE AND PRACTICE OF THE INTERNATIONAL LAWSummary This paper presents views on the role played by Roman Law as a factor in creating the roots of international law which developed within the English legal doctrine from the 16,h to the 19th century. In addition, it exemplifies applications of the institutions of Roman law in international legal practice. The general theory discounts the influence of Roman law on the British system of law. This, however, should be reviewed, as the evidence shows that Roman law has always played a vital role in the English legal system (e. g. Courts of Chancery, Admiralty, Constable and Marshall, Ecclesiastical Courts, Doctors’ Commons organisation). The Roman influences on the doctrine of English international law (Gentilis, Zouche, Duck, Wiseman, Westlake, Maine, Phillimore) indicate a positive, or even enthusiastic attitude towards the use of Roman law as a source of international law. One of the public branches where English practitioners and theorists of civil law could always find employment was in HM Foreign Service, which had a strong need for lawyers qualified in Roman law who were often educated and trained at English universities.One of the earliest authors describing the use of the theory and practice of Roman law in international law was Alberigo Gentili. Although he was Italian, his professional life and career was bound to England as both a Regius Professor at Oxford University and as a legal counsellor for the Privy Council. He gained much prominence and his works on international law, De Jure Belli, De Legationibus and Advocationis Hispanicae have become frequently quoted in the theory of international law. Another Oxford Regius Professor, and a judge in the Admiralty Court, Sir Richard Zouche, together with Gentili and Grotius, is regarded as the father of international law. Among his many works, Jus inter Gentes and Juris et Judicii Fecialis illustrate the influences of Roman law on the developing theory (and practice) of international law. The Roman ideas are particularly visible in Jus Inter Gentes, where Zouche had used the Roman systematic of status, dominium., delictum and judicium to classify and explain international law theory. Another 17th century civil lawyer, Sir Robert Wiseman, in The Excellency o f the Civil Law above all other Human Law glorifies the Roman law as universal law for all nations, applicable to many international debates. One of the most famous British civilians and international law experts, Sir Henry Maine considered the Roman law as an important resource and element of the 19th century doctrine of international law. According to Sir Robert Phillimore, the Roman law could be used in the controversies between independent States. As an example he described the cases between the USA and Spain concerning navigation in the Mississipi River, boundary disputes and arbitration. He proposed application of the Roman law to numerous cases concerning overseas properties.Apart from theory, hundreds of international cases bear traces of successful application of the Roman law to resolve situations when there was no actual law institution to bridge the legal divide. This paper presents five international cases in which an important role was played by Roman law. Arbitration of the Behring Sea dispute in 1893, where the UK and the USA argued about the UK’s right to hunt seals outside the three miles boundary area of the Pribilof s Isles. Both sides used arguments based on Roman law. The Americans view was that seals born on the isles would always return to the shore, not losing animus revertendi of Roman law, thus not becoming res nullius and not subject to „occupation” by the UK fishermen. The British delegates claimed that the seals were born ferae naturae (another Roman law category), and so everyone should be entitled to hunt them.The Alaskan Boundary Tribunal proceedings of 1903 declared that Roman law rules, as a source of international law, should take precedence over the rules of common law.During the Venezuelan arbitration before the Hague Tribunal in 1903, the opponents dealt with many Roman law institutes (like pignus> hypotheca, cessio bonorum, negotiorum gestio and others), trying to adjust them to their actual position.In 1910 the Arbitration Tribunal concerning fishing on the North Atlantic coast allowed the Roman definition of servitude and attempted to treat a state’s territory as a Roman property.The last case dealt with in the paper is the famous Indian Oil Corp. Ltd v. Greenstone Shipping dispute of 1987. The British judge applied the Roman law of confusioy declaring that no previous common law precedent was applicable to this case in which crude oil had been accidentally mixed on board the tanker.Taking into consideration these examples, one may draw the conclusion that Roman law has been an inspiration for European lawyers, as well as English common lawyers, in both the theory and practice of international law.

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In 321 B.C.E., a Roman army led by both that year's consuls was trapped near Caudium, in a defile named the Caudine Forks, the result of a clever strategem devised by the Samnite general Gaius Pontius. According to Livy, writing some three hundred years later, the Samnites had made no plan to capitalize on their good fortune, and so they sent to Pontius's father, Herennius Pontius, to seek his advice. “Let them all go unharmed,” he said. The messenger who returned with that advice was promptly sent back. “All right,” said Herennius, “kill every single one of them.” Unable to decide whether his father had lost his mind, the son had his father brought to the camp, where he gave the same two pieces of advice and justified each. But what would happen, he was asked, “if they are sent away unharmed and conditions are imposed upon them as conquered, in accordance with the law of war (ut et dimitterentur incolumes et leges iis ire belli victis imponerentur)?”1 That practice neither makes friends nor removes enemies, replied the father. Their humiliation will rankle them until they avenge it.

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Previous attempts to explain the case of πορνεία in 1 Cor 5 have inadequately addressed the social and legal consequences of the relationship and the motivation of the individuals. When these are considered from the perspective of Roman law and customs it is more likely that the woman was theconcubinaof the man's father, not his stepmother. As such, the relationship was unusual but it was not considered illegal or immoral by the Corinthians. Paul, however, would not have understood the difference and thus saw it as.πορνεία

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Primarily, Gratian is known as the author of the Concordia discordantium canonum and is regarded as the “Father of Canon Law” and the most famous canonist. In the title of the Decretum he included an idea which accompanied him during his work: it was reconciliation and coordination of inconsistent canons. As a lecturer of the School of the Law in Bologne he knew how important cohesion in law was and as a follower of the Gregorian Reform he knew, too, how important the Canon Law was in the dispute between imperium and sacerdotium. Both factions, i.e., the Holy Roman Emperor and the Pope, in their right argumentation, appealed to the recognized authorities and the law. Both needed the law itself internally consistent as a source of these arguments. These issues, as mentioned in the title, are discussed by the author of the present article.

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AbstractParental rights originate in patria potestas, the proprietary power of the Roman father, and its incidents of custody, control and corporal punishment. Parental rights as proprietary rights, as rights over another, cannot co-exist with children's rights. What, then, are parental rights in the age of children's rights? This Essay surveys the influence of Roman doctrine on modern law in and through the Supreme Court of Canada. The court acknowledges children's rights, views proprietary rights over children as a thing of the past and recognizes custody as the child's right, not the parent's. Yet the court vitiated the fiduciary standard for parents, limited state parens patriae jurisdiction and upheld two of the three incidents of patria potestas. By making childhood an excuse for avoiding principled rights analysis, conflating adult interests with children's rights and confusing assault with touch, the court upheld the proprietary rights of corporal punishment and control. If parental rights are understood as rights correlative to parental fiduciary duty, and if rights are seen as markers of relationship rather than its antithesis, then the law is rid of archaic notions of parental rights. The way is open to substantive judicial and social engagement with the rights of the child.

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Much recent work on the auxiliary units of the Roman army has concentrated on the cavalry, including their role and effectiveness in battle. Experimental archaeology has additionally illustrated how effective the cavalry could be with the Celtic style saddle, in spite of the lack of stirrups. As a result, the Roman cavalry is now seen by some modern commentators as something of an elite wing of the army. The auxiliary infantryman, on the other hand, is generally regarded as nothing better than foreign expendable ‘cannon-fodder’. This view, it seems, has its origin partly in Tacitus' famous commentary on the tactics of his father-in-law Agricola at Mons Graupius. There is, in fact, little other evidence to support this view, and Agricola probably had other reasons for his dispositions at the battle which his biographer does not mention. Rather than merely a piece of ‘cannon-fodder’, the auxiliary infantryman of the Principate should instead be seen as a competent fighting soldier who fulfilled an invaluable role in the Roman army.

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The paper focuses on a family conflict at the turn of XII-XIII centuries between the Kievan Knyaz Rurik Rostislavich and the Galician Knyaz Roman Mstislavich, who married Ruriks daughter Predslava. In historiography the problem is one of the most controversial, since it is directly related to the dating of the second marriage and the origin of the second wife of Roman Mstislavich. The author, on the basis of available data, tried to determine the chronology of events, as well as to show close family relations between the knyazes of Rurik dynasty and the policy. The political conflict between Roman and his father-in-law Rurik Rostislavich, together with other reasons, led to the termination of his family relations with his daughter. The key topic in the paper is the probable mechanism of Galician knyaz second marriage legitimation, which allowed him to divorce his first wife and get married for the second time. According to the author, divorce from Predslava was not a one-time act for Roman Mstislavich. Despite the church divorce received from the Patriarch of Constantinople, the Galician knyaz went to the violent tonsure of his first wife to finally legitimize his new family life and children from his second marriage.

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This paper attempts to answer the question as to whether the right to "life and death" of a woman (ius vitae ac necis) at the hands of male family members or partners is indeed a timeless category. Is it possible that in Serbia of the 21st century there is still a struggle to promote the "right to life" of women to the level of "basic human rights"? What contributed to the fact that the concept of innate human dignity based on "human rights", which dates back from the feudal social order, has not as yet fully come to life in Serbia as far as women are concerned. What social circ*mstances contributed to the Roman ius vitae ac necis to outlive centuries and take root especially in Serbia, only under a different name - that of femicide? This notion has been defined as "gender based murder of women, girls, and babies of female sex by persons of the male sex". The murderers in cases of femicide include partners (ex / current, spouses or extramarital), family members or relatives: father, father-in-law, son, son-in-law, etc. Both expert and general public wander whether enforcing more stringent norms by authorities or acting towards changing the consciousness of the abusers or both at the same time, can contribute to eradicating this devastating phenomenon in the 21st century.

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Tacitus traces a series of conflicts between Agrippina the Elder and her father-in-law Tiberius. After the death of her husband Germanicus in Syria (a.d. 19), Agrippina returned to Rome with their children. Germanicus' lingering popularity with the armies and people meant that his widow Agrippina and their children enjoyed a level of popular support as well—one that eventually became a threat in Tiberius' mind. Agrippina, moreover, refused to embrace the modest, retiring role that her father-in-law (and Roman society in general) expected of her. Tiberius was, moreover, ‘never gentle toward the house of Germanicus’ and his concerns were augmented by the machinations of Sejanus, who reported that the people were dividing themselves into factions, some even calling themselves members of the partes Agrippinae. The combination of Agrippina's high birth—the only still-living grandchild of Augustus—and her status as widowed daughter-in-law of the emperor, therefore mother of the emperor's probable heir, along with her persistent independence and sometimes unfeminine strength of character made her seem an intolerable political threat. This paper examines the culmination of these conflicts, when Agrippina is subjected to criminal prosecution and penalty in a.d. 27 and 29 at the instigation of Sejanus, with the overt approval of Tiberius. Of primary concern is the timing and the order of the charges brought against Agrippina.

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Protection of the Deceased’s Family Members in the Historical and Comparative PerspectiveSummaryAll of the contemporary legal systems provide special regulations which protect the deceased’s family members from order’s occurring in his will. Freedom of the testacy is one of the most important rules in the law of successions. Nevertheless it should have limits – the most common example of that situation exists when deceased’s orders omits entirely the members of his closest family.The origins of that protection could be found in the Roman Law. This legal system creates two types of protection – “counter-will formal succession” (previous in the Roman Law evolution) and “counter-will material succession”.According to the first one, testator has a duty to disinherit all of his sons (sui heredes) in the clear and precise words (exhereditatio nominatim). He should also disinherit all of the other members of his family (such as daughters or grandchildren); however he has possibility to do so in a general clause. His will would be overthrown if he has not disinherited members of his family. In that case entitled persons acquired the status of the heirs. This system gave no property rights to descendants of the deceased - they had only right to be an heir or to be disinherit (which was described in the rule that sui heredes should be set up as heirs or should be disinherit - sui heredes aut instituendi sunt aut exheredandi).According to the second type of protection if deceased did not gave part of his property (so called pars legitima) to the entitled persons they have a legal claim (querela inofficiosi testamenti) to declare his will void. On the ground of that regulation existed fiction that testator, who disinherit the members of his closed family, acting in the mental disorder (cum colore insaniae) and violates his father duties (action contra officium pietatis). Roman Law protects the entitled person also against all of the donationes (those performing during the live of testator and mortis causa donations) in which deceased try to evade statutory protection of his family members.

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AbstractAfter nearly twenty years of teaching Roman law at Orléans (1278–1296), Petrus de Bellapertica was called to sit in King Philip the Fair's council. Bellapertica, sometimes referred to as “the father of experts”, was valued for his experience in all the major political negotiations of the decade during which he held office in the King's service. These issues included the ecclesiastical tithes, the peace negotiations with the Empire and with England, the conflicts with some of the most powerful feudal lords in the realm, and the great dispute with pope Boniface VIII against the backdrop of the confrontation between spiritual and temporal power. Bellapertica may be credited with the Reform Ordinance of March 1303, with the coronation of pope Clement V in Lyons, and with bringing Lyons closer into the orbit of the French kingdom through the “Philippines” treaties. Unable to prevent the trial of the Templars, he left the political scene three months before he died on 17 January 1308.

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In Romans 4 Paul appealed to the precedent of the patriarch Abraham to argue three points on the basis of the Jewish scriptures. First, righteousness was reckoned to Abraham because of his faith and not because of his observance of the law (Rom 4:1–8); second, righteousness was reckoned to Abraham before Abraham's circumcision (4:9–12); and third, God's promise to Abraham and his “seed” came through faith, not through the Mosaic Law (4:13–17a). All three points are based on Paul's interpretation of Gen 15:6 and closely related texts. Paul appealed to Abraham in order to show that Abraham was meant to be the father not only of the circumcised but also of the uncircumcised (Rom 4:11–12,16–17). Paul also insisted that what was written about Abraham was meant not only for Abraham but also for those who believe that God raised Jesus from the dead (4:23–25).

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La Santa Sede es el órgano de gobierno de la Iglesia católica, que se encuentra físicamente en el diminuto territorio del Estado de la Ciudad del Vaticano; que se encuentra sujeta al Derecho Internacional con personalidad jurídica internacional. La Curia romana es el brazo ejecutivo del gobierno de la Sede Apostólica. La autoridad suprema del Santo Padre se extiende por igual a la jerarquía eclesiástica como a los fieles cristianos; tanto individual como colectivamente. En virtud de su oficio pastoral, le corresponde dirigir al Estado de la Ciudad del Vaticano, como su Jefe de Estado; de llevar adelante la misión de Pedro como su sucesor al frente de la Sede Apostólica y ejercer el servicio de Supremo Pastor de la Iglesia católica en cuanto Vicario de Cristo, como ejercicio del ministerio petrino___________________________________________The Holy See is the organism of Catholic Church’s government which is found physically in the small territory of the Vatican City State. This one is subject of International Law with international judicial personality. The Roman Curia is the executive branch of the Apostolic See government. The higher authority of the Holy Father spreads equally for ecclesiastical hierarchy and the faithful Christians, individually and collectively. The Pope, in virtue of his pastoral function, is the responsible of leading the Vatican City State as his chief of State. He also has to carry forward Peter’s mission as his successor in front of the Apostolic See and exercise the service as Supreme Shepherd of the Catholic Church as Vicar of Christ, exercising the Petrine Ministry.

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Screenwriter Howard Rodman offers a poignant appreciation of Walter Bernstein, the blacklisted screenwriter and director who died in January 2021 at the age of 101. Bernstein had been a fixture in Rodman’s life since the 1950s, when Rodman’s father served as a “front” for Bernstein’s television work. Bernstein would later use that experience as inspiration for The Front (dir. Martin Ritt, 1977), his trenchant and mordantly funny account of life on the blacklist. Rodman surveys Bernstein’s long career, from his years as a journalist for the US Army publication Yank and The New Yorker, to his post-blacklist work of the 1960s and 1970s, to his work at the Sundance Screenwriting Lab, where he and Rodman both served as advisors, closing the circle.

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Declamation was an essential component of elite male rhetorical education in the Roman imperial period. In the controversia, the most advanced exercise in the standard sequence of rhetorical pedagogy, students would deliver speeches on both sides of fictional law cases. Several of the controversiae involve scenarios of torture. Masters torture their slaves and then choose to report or withhold the testimony they extract thereby; or a tyrant who has usurped control of the community tortures free persons. In a small number of cases, an abusive father or the declamatory court itself subjects a free person to torture as part of punishment for a conviction. Not long after completing their training, some of the elite male students who practised declamation would present appeals before governors, courts, and public audiences. Others would become magistrates empowered to use torture as part of judicial quaestiones (investigations). By examining several controversiae that involve scenarios of torture, this article looks at how rhetorical education in the Roman imperial period guided elite male students to think critically about both the ethical and the pragmatic considerations involved in the employment of torture.

Abstract:

The Apology of Apuleius is a rare example of a complete forensic speech in Latin from the High Roman Empire. The prosecution on the charge of magia of a renowned rhetor in the court of a Roman proconsul, who might himself have been a distinguished Stoic philosopher, offers modern scholars a remarkable opportunity to observe an encounter between scholarship and legal practice. Apuleius arrived in the city of Oea en route to Alexandria as part of a life of learning and travel. While visiting Oea, Apuleius met his old schoolfriend Sicinius Pontianus, who encouraged him to wed his recently widowed mother Aemilia Pudentilla. The reason for this unusual request was Pontianus' wish that his mother would not marry someone unsuitable. Apuleius agreed and the marriage took place. However, it left Sicinius Aemilianus, a brother of Pudentilla's first husband, and Herennius Rufinus, Pontianus' father-in-law, aggrieved and they decided to pursue Apuleius through the courts. The Apology, which Apuleius later published as a record of his defence, has long attracted scholarly interest. Two commentaries have been published, the literary aspects analysed and the authenticity of the speech scrutinized.

Abstract:

Marriage has always been a concern of the Church. Christian doctrine gave matrimonium sacred meaning and at the same time fully endorsed the concept of mutual consent which originated from Roman law. The act of abduction with its legal and ethical consequences was described in detail in the Decretum Gratiani. The punishment for the abductor was public penance and prohibition of marriage. If the fiancé was unwilling to take back the abducted bride he was allowed to marry another woman. However, if the fiancé and the bride wanted to get married afresh, they were to be both excommunicated until they had made their reparation. The Decretum Gratiani clearly indicated that the raptus puellae was an obstacle which prevented marriage. The reason was the duress of abduction, which was contrasted with free will, voluntarily consent and the approval of father, parents or guardians.

Abstract:

<p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; -ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Book Antiqua','serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-fareast-language: ES;" lang="ES">En el año 1995 el Instituto de Investigación Social de Hamburgo puso en marcha la exposición itinerante Guerra de Exterminio. Los Crímenes del Ejército 1941-1944, desmantelando la existente diferenciación entre el ejército alemán y las SS, mientras se demostraba la participación del ejército en los crímenes durante las "operaciones de limpieza étnica" de la población en el este de Europa. Autores como Klaus Schlesinger (1971) o Ulla Hahn (2003) intentaron de destabuizar a través de su escritura esta etapa oscura de Alemania, empleando como detonante de la desconfianza las fotografías que dejaron como prueba los soldados del ejército alemán. Mi ponencia se centrará en el enfrentamiento literario con las fotografías de los verdugos nazis, que hoy ocupa un espacio importante en el trabajo analítico de los crímenes contra la humanidad cometidos por los nazis.</span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; -ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Book Antiqua','serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-fareast-language: ES;" lang="ES"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; -ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Book Antiqua','serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: ES; mso-fareast-language: ES;" lang="ES">In 1995 the Social Research Institute of Hamburg launched the traveling exhibition War of Extermination. The Army Crimes 1941-1944, dismantling the existing differentiation between the German army and the SS. He demonstrated the participation of the Wehrmacht in crimes against humanity during the "ethnic cleansing operations" of the population in Eastern Europe. Authors like Klaus Schlesinger (1971) or Ulla Hahn (2003) tried to destabilize through this writing this dark stage of Germany, using as a trigger of distrust the photographs that the German soldiers left as proof. My article will focus on the literary confrontation with the photographs of the Nazi executioners, which today occupies an important place in the analytical work of crimes against humanity committed by the Nazis.</span></p>

Abstract:

En este artículo, intentaremos mostrar el papel de las confidencias en la construcción y el mantenimiento de las relaciones interpersonales de Assia DJEBAR en su novela autobiográfica "Nowhere en la casa de mi padre". Esta novela íntima revela la identidad de una escritora, ansiosa por la libertad y apegada a las tradiciones, que se encuentra dividida entre Argelia y Francia. Nuestro análisis se centra en un capítulo de la novela titulado El Pequeño Hermano, con el objetivo d’estudiar dos tipos de confidencias: provocó la confidencia y la confidencia confesional Veremos que estas confidencias son, al mismo tiempo, un regulador de las relaciones interpersonales y una fuente de distanciamiento. In this article, we will try to show the role of confidences in the construction and maintenance of interpersonal relationships of Assia DJEBAR in her autobiographical novel ''Nowhere in my father's house''. This intimate novel reveals the identity of a woman writer, eager for freedom and attached to traditions, who is torn between Algeria and France. Our analysis is based on a chapter of the novel entitled "The Little Brother", with the aim of studying two types of confidences: provoked confidence and avowed confidence. We will see that these confidences are both a regulator of interpersonal relations and a source of distancing. Dans ce présent article, nous essayerons de montrer le rôle des confidences dans la construction et le maintien des relations interpersonnelles d’Assia DJEBAR dans son roman autobiographique Nulle part dans la maison de mon père. Ce roman intimiste nous dévoile l’identité d’une femme écrivaine, avide de liberté et attachée aux traditions, qui se retrouve ainsi déchirée entre l’Algérie et la France. Notre analyse se penche sur un chapitre du roman intitulé Le petit frère, dans le but d’étudier deux types de confidences: confidence provoquée et confidence-aveu. Nous verrons que ces confidences sont, à la fois, un régulateur de la relation interpersonnelle et une source de l’éloignement

Abstract:

Between about 1951 and the early 1960s, the basic structure of molecular biology was revealed. Central to our understanding was the unraveling of the various roles of RNA, culminating in the identification of messenger RNA (mRNA) and the deciphering of the genetic code. We know a great deal about the role of Brenner, Crick, Jacob, and Nirenberg in these discoveries, but many others played important supporting parts. One of these is a little-known scientist, Martynas Yčas, who appears in histories, generally without explanation, as the “archivist of the RNA Tie Club.” Yčas was born in Lithuania. His father helped write the Lithuanian Constitution in 1919. He studied Roman Law and served in the Lithuanian army before escaping from the Russians in 1940. The records of correspondence of Yčas with the physicist George Gamow and with Francis Crick throw some light on the genesis of our understanding of the role of mRNA. The story of the “RNA Tie Club” illustrates the difficulty in assigning credit for important discoveries and underscores the importance of a free exchange of information, even (or especially) among competitors.

Abstract:

The subject of this paper is the multiplicity of meaning of the word pietas as it is used in the famous inscription CIL VI, 1527 called Laudatio Turiae. In revealing traditional and innovative aspects of this notion, the author tries to see the ideology of relations in the Roman family of the laudator and the laudata behind it, and to set it into the context of the changing world in the times of the Late Republic and the Principate within the Roman history.The inscription reveals that, in the eyes of laudator, pietas is the most important virtue of his defunct wife, laudata. In the course of the research, three features of pietas are marked out: 1) the virtue of pietas is operative exclusively in the sphere of family relations; 2) pietas relations always presuppose the hierarchical ones (e.g. children to the father / mother, wife to husband, younger brother / sister to the elder one); 3) the virtue of pietas always implies a strong action. Some new aspects of the functioning of the virtue of pietas can be observed when exploring the usage of the word in the inscription. For the first time in the Latin literature, the word pietas signifies the transfer of the virtue of pietas into the female domain, using it to describe the relation of the younger sister to the elder. But the most striking innovation is an inversion of the hierarchical order of children to the parents. For the first time, pietas means the duty of the parents to bring up their children in the best manner possible – an obligation which will find its place in the Roman law codes.The large usage of the notion of pietas and experimentation with its meaning, which finds parallels in the poetry of the Augustan age (Virgil, Ovid) signifies the susceptibility of the laudator to the ideas of the Augustan policies and his ideological stances.The article is preceded by a Lithuanian translation of the inscription with a short introduction.

Abstract:

Tacitus' Agricola is one of the most tantalizingly enigmatic of ancient texts. Coming from the pen of one who was to become a renowned historian, it is notoriously hard to place in generic terms. It fails to conform to any commonly accepted model of political history, and yet, as I shall argue, it has much to tell us about Tacitus' views of Roman political life. We can turn to the parallel of the Germania for another possible way out of the dilemma, and yet the ethnographic details which the Agricola undoubtedly encompasses could hardly be seen as its main focus. The most natural cast to give the work draws on its ostensibly biographical aspect. Commemorating the res gestae of Tacitus' father-in-law, Agricola, is the purpose signalled to the reader from the first sentence onwards: ‘to hand on to future generations the deeds and values of distinguished men’ (‘clarorum virorum facta moresque posteris tradere’). All of these interpretations have had their proponents. But I shall argue here for a different reading of the Agricola, one which not only highlights an aspect of the text which has tended to be sidelined, but also provides an interpretative framework within which some of the other, more extensively treated, themes may be reconsidered. My reading of the Agricola is focused not on the state of Rome under the emperor Domitian, nor on the customs of the inhabitants of Britain, nor even on the figure of Agricola himself, but on the actual location of his res gestae. I shall consider how Tacitus' portrayal of Britain itself may ultimately offer us insights into Agricola, Domitian, and Roman political life.

Abstract:

Thomas Grant was born at Ligny-Les-Aires near Arras in France on November 25th 1816. His father was a sergeant in the British army and had just fought at Waterloo. He was at the time serving in the army of occupation following Napoleon’s defeat. For the first twelve years of his life Thomas followed his family to many assignments with the army. He grew accustomed to army life and this would serve him well when later he became a bishop. In 1829 he entered Ushaw seminary and from there was sent to the English College in Rome in 1836. He was ordained in 1841 and was created Doctor of Divinity immediately after his ordination. Already acclaimed for his great learning, he was named as secretary to Cardinal Acton. In his service he became proficient in canon law and the workings of the Roman curia. He became Rector of the English College in 1844 and was nominated to the see of Southwark in 1851. At that time he had not been in England since he left for Rome in 1836. Indeed he had only lived ten years in England altogether.

Abstract:

Participation of Unauthorised Persons in Issuance of Decisions in Civil Proceedings - Remarks on the Basis D. 1,14,3 and D. 41,3,44 pr.SummaryAccording to Polish civil procedure a sentence given by an unauthorized person is invalid. This was not always the case in ancien Roman law. Ulpianus declared that when a slave, who escaped from his master, became a praetor, his acts were valid. He took into consideration serious problems of those who had put their trust in the praetor’s office as well as the respect for humanitas. A basic common sense requires that what was well decided, should be considered valid. According to the author, Ulpianus realized that the rule of ius civile which determined the requirements for entering in a praetor’s duties had the character of a guarantee. If the purpose, for which this rule was established, was achieved, such acts should be accepted as valid.The question arises whether that approach could be applied to contemporary cases of iudex incompetens. Furthermore, whether it would be justifiable to extend this solution to other - not only procedural – but also material, guarantee rules?The answer is not easy. In D. 41,3,44 pr., a pater familias conducted the procedure of adrogation (adoption) improperly. Papinianus decided that, although pater familias made a justifiable mistake, all that the son enacted in the name of the father, was invalid. Nevertheless a different rule, as the jurist says in D. 41,3,44 pr., must be observed in the case of hom*o liber bona fide serviens - a person, who being unaware of his free man status, served as a slave. Actions taken by such a person were valid (the purchaser of a slave had to be protected), since transactions of that kind happened very often. More importantly, any other solution would be against the public interest. O n the other hand, it was very rare for a pater familias to wrongly adrogate, therefore the example of pater familias did not create a general rule.It seems quite difficult to indicate one principle which could be applied to all the guarantee rules. As far as the case of an unauthorized person giving sentence is concerned, the Roman private law shows that the regard for the public interest may sometimes justify solutions different from those preferred by Polish law.

Abstract:

The article is devoted to the problem of Good Faith Subjects` status in law. For a better understanding of the problem, image ofgood faith subjects of law in Ancient Rome was analyzed. In particular, it was found that in roman law, the term bonus pater familias(good family father) refers to a standard of good faith subjects of law. In the English version, this concept was translated as «that of aman of ordinary prudence in managing his own affairs».The concept of a gentleman in the English legal tradition is specially studied.English noun ‘gentleman’ dates back to the Old French word ‘gentilz hom’ (graceful, refined man). That was why the social ca -te gory of gentleman is considered as “the nearest, contemporary English equivalent of the noblesse of France.” (Maurice Hugh Keen).Now, a gentleman is not just any man of good and courteous conduct, but a certain person having legal personality in accordancewith the standard of common law.In conformity with the dimension of public law, the English social category of gentleman captures a right of certen classe of theBritish nobility.But in accordance with modern private law the connotation of the term gentleman corresponds to the Rome legal institute ofbonus pater familias.The double origin of this term from the status of a knight and the social position of the merchant causes a controversial interpretationsof its meaning.In contemporary usage, the word gentleman is ambiguously defined, because “to behave like a gentleman” communicates as littlepraise or as much criticism as the speaker means to imply; thus, “to spend money like a gentleman” is criticism, but “to conduct a businesslike a gentleman” is praise (Walter Alison Phillips).In modern International Trade Law a gentleman is essentially a ‘man of sense’, ‘а man of judgment’ or a reasonable person.So United Nations Convention on Contracts for the International Sale of Goods (1980), The UNIDROIT Principles of InternationalCommercial Contract and the Principles of European Contract Law provided a rule, which offers an opportunity for such an interpretation.‘the contract is to be interpreted according to the meaning that reasonable persons of the same kind as the parties would giveto it in the same circ*mstances’.It led to the conclusion that the modern image of a good faith subject to the greatest extent actualizes the criterion of commonsense.

Abstract:

This article refers to St. Justin, who was one of the Church Fathers, one of the first Christian philosophers and Greek apologists and also a martyr for the Christian faith when this was spreading throughout the Roman Empire. In the preface, it is shown that a hostile attitude existed at the time of both the Roman Empire and the Jews towards Christianity at its very beginning. Christians were being stultified and sentenced to death. Each part of the article shows Justin in a different cultural role. First, we can see the beginnings of his life. Justin lived in the second century after Christ. He was born in Samaria, which was firmly hellenised and that is why he was well prepared to live in a multinational empire in those times. As a Christian philosopher Justin was entering into relations with the Jews and pagans, always seeking the truth. The next part is about Justin – as a philosopher. He was also the most popular and the most outstanding Christian philosopher of the second century after Christ. He kept a positive attitude towards philosophy. He valued Stoics, Platonics, Socrates and Plato in some areas, so that he could notice elements of truth in the teachings of Greek philosophers. But Justin was against religious syncretism. We owe to Justin the demonstration of Christian true faith through pagan philo­sophical concepts. He was looking for dialogue between Christianity and pagan philosophy and used its terms to show others the only true wisdom which he had got to know by himself. Since the mid-second century the pastoral purpose of patristic literature was changing to become a means of defence of Christianity against attacks from out­side and inside – meaning heretics. He also started the new type of discussion with heretics. Then Justin as a theologian – he refers many times to the Old Testament and Prophets announcing the coming of Jesus – Logos, whose grain of truth Justin noticed in every ancient teaching. Justin also refers to the parallel between Socrates and Christ, something we can find everywhere in the Apology of Justin. He also left us the oldest descriptions of the sacrament of Baptism and the Eucharist. He is the person who created the dialogue between faith and intellect. Another part speaks about apologies which first of all were to demand equa­lity with other religions and philosophies. Then as an apologist – he defended Christianity from unfounded accusations by Roman emperors and cultural elites. He defended the Christian faith through the use of rational arguments. He wanted to show universal truth via rational discourse. Finally Justin as the righteous man , which we can say he was called because of his name (Lat. iustinus – righteous) and which was the way he acted in his life. He was searching for the truth in his life, the true knowledge. He founded a philosophical school in Rome in which he taught one true wisdom and as a true philosopher he did this free of charge. He was accused of being a Christian and brought before the judge, because he did not accept the pagan gods, and did not obey the Emperor. The best apology for Christians was their readiness for martyrdom. As a Christian philosopher he ended his life and sealed it by shedding his blood shed for Christ. He is regarded as one of the early Church Fathers. This early witness of Tradition became one of the first who tried to bring Christian thinking closer to Greek philosophy; Justin became a something of a keystone which linked antiquity with the novelty of Christianity. In conclusion, Justin brought Christianity closer to philosophy by explaining it using philoso­phical language.

Abstract:

AbstractThe knowledge we have of the so called 'Nicodemites' is based on Calvin's polemical treatises against them. By 'Nicodemite' we mean someone who did not confess his-evangelical-faith openly but kept his conviction a secret in face of persecution. Calvin's treatise Response à un certain Holandois is remarkable, because it is his only work against a known Nicodemite: the Dutchman D.V. Coornhert. All his life Calvin combatted those who, in spite of evangelical opinions, did not break with the Roman Catholic Church. The arguments he used against them, were also used by Marcourt, Viret and Farel: They all stated that one should choose between God and Baal; one should follow the example of Daniel and his friends; and those who pretend not to know the Lord on earth, would not be known by Christ at the last judgement. The other arguments were aimed at the mass: the mass was idolatrous so therefore one should not attend. The central focus was the eucharist: Christ was in heaven at the right hand of the Father and not in the bread and wine; the mass had nothing to do with the true celebration of the Lord's supper; one should pray to the Lord in spirit and truth, not in physical things. Ceremonies belonged to the Mosaic law which is why they were abolished. These arguments had been used before by Oecolampadius. In 1560 Coornhert reacted against Calvin with his treatise Verschooninghe van Roomsche Afgoderye. He argued against ceremonies in general with the same arguments Calvin had used against the mass. Coornhert, inspired by S. Franck, defended a spiritualistic point of view. The external, visible things were unimportant, so one should not put one's life at risk for it. Ceremonies did not help the believer. On the contrary: they obstructed him. In the apostle Paul Coornhert saw the example of a spiritualistic man: one who was not bound anymore to the Old Testament ceremonies. Outwardly, corporal things did not count. All a believer had to do was to love the Lord and his neighbour. Coornhert blamed Calvin for bringing back his followers to the Mosaic law, and for making them suffer for 'childish things'. Supposing it was by some Dutch evangelicals, Calvin got Coornhert's Verschooninghe and wrote his last anti-Nicodemite work. The translation Calvin used must have been accurate. He maintained the arguments he had used before. There is one specific element in the controversy between Calvin and Coornhert and that is their focus on Saint Paul. The polemic between the two makes clear that the position of Calvin and his followers was not that easy. Arguments against an outward Roman Catholic religion, could be used to defend a spiritualistic point of view as well.

Abstract:

Section 211(3) of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996 provides that no recognition of customary norms may be upheld if such norms are in conflict with either the constitution or any other law that deals specifically with customary law: “The courts must apply customary law when that law is applicable, subject to the Constitution and any legislation that specifically deals with customary law.” The current Recognition of Customary Marriages Act 120 of 1998 deals explicitly with the recognition of customary marriages which are concluded in accordance with customary law (s 1). Customary law is defined as the “customs and usages traditionally observed among the indigenous African peoples of South Africa and which form part of the culture of those peoples”. It follows from a further reading of section 1 that a customary marriage is reserved for those indigenous African peoples who observe such customs and usages. It is provided in section 10(4) that “[d]espite subsection (1), no spouse of a marriage entered into under the Marriage Act, 1961, is, during the subsistence of such marriage, competent to enter into any other marriage”. This must be read with the definitions contained in section 1: “‘customary law’ means the customs and usages traditionally observed among the indigenous African peoples of South Africa and which form part of the culture of those peoples; ‘customary marriage’ means a marriage concluded in accordance with customary law”. Without the requisite legal competency, no legal subject can enter into any relationship to which the law may attach any consequences. Nobody can enter into a customary marriage if any of the presumed future spouses is already in a civil marriage according to the Marriage Act 25 of 1961, not even if the two parties are married to each other. According to the custom of various indigenous nations, if a man enters into a valid customary marriage with a woman who had never been married before but who is the mother of children born out of wedlock (spurii), the metaphor applies that he “who takes the cow also acquires the calf”. He will as part and parcel of the lobola ceremony be seen as the adopting stepfather of his wife’s children, with all the accompanying consequences. He will automatically be responsible for the future maintenance of those children as his adoptive children and they will acquire all rights and privileges that are bestowed on a child, including the right to inheritance and the right to his family name. As a consequence of this new relationship, all legal ties with the biological father of the adopted child are severed and the biological father will no longer be responsible for the maintenance of his offspring. In January 2019 an erstwhile law professor from UNISA who still retained his German citizenship, was gravely ill and cared for on life-support at a hospital in the Pretoria district. While in hospital, he tied the marriage knot with Miss Vilakazi, a Zulu woman with whom he had been in a relationship for the past five years. Miss Vilakazi was a spinster, but she had a Zulu daughter who was born out of wedlock more than eight years previously out of a relationship with an erstwhile Zulu lover. This child had been in the care of her maternal grandmother in Natal and, according to Zulu customary norms, was considered part of the house of her maternal grandfather, Vilakazi. She consequently carried the name Vilakazi as her registered surname on her official birth certificate. The marriage, which was conducted on 29 January 2019 in the hospital in Pretoria, was concluded with adherence to all the requirements of Act 25 of 1961. The civil marriage was duly registered as such. The late professor passed away in the hospital barely three weeks later on 19 February 2019. Less than 24 hours before the demise of the professor a purported customary marriage was concluded, apparently on behalf of the professor with the recently married Mrs Schulze by proxy by a friend of his in the Newcastle district in Natal after having paid R60 000 as ilobolo. The ceremony was concluded with the ceremonial slaughtering of the prescribed goat. However, during this ceremony the groom was not present but on life support in a Pretoria hospital and not necessarily compos mentis – the court was told that he was represented by a friend. Zulu customary law, however, does not recognise a marriage concluded by proxy with a substitude bridegroom as was known in Roman-Dutch law as “a wedding with the glove”. Neither the Marriage Act nor the Recognition of Customary Marriages Act, however, recognises a second marriage after the conclusion of a civil marriage by any of the purported newly weds – even if both “spouses” had been present in person. The mother of the late Professor Schulze, after his demise in South Africa, amended her last will in Germany and appointed her lifelong partner as sole beneficiary of her significant estate. She passed away in Germany in October 2019. In November 2019 the recently married Mrs Schulze, on behalf of her minor daughter, successfully approached the high court in Pietermaritzburg, where Zaca AJ issued an order compelling the South African department of home affairs to issue the daughter with a new birth certificate that reflects the late Professor Schulze as her father. Notwithstanding the unease of the officials at home affairs with this court order, the minister of home affairs, Mr Motsoaledi, personally intervened in August 2020 and the new birth certificate was issued as requested. Relying on this newly issued birth certificate, the applicant claims an amount of not less than R8 million in Germany from the estate of the late mother of Professor Schulze. For this purpose, the applicant relies on a principle in German law, the Pflichtteilsanspruch, according to which any descendant of the deceased has a right to a prescribed portion, a so-called legitimate portion of the estate, if not mentioned or sufficiently bestowed in the last will. This raises a number of seriously flawed legal arguments that are analysed in this article. It is submitted that the perceived lobola marriage ceremony conducted on behalf of the late professor on 18 February 2019 in Newcastle, less than 24 hours before his demise, is void because of the explicit constitutional provision and the relevant section 10(4) of the Recognition of Customary Marriages Act 120 of 1998, which excludes any competency to enter into a customary marriage if any of the parties involved is already married. At the date of the perceived lobola ceremony, Mrs Schulze had already been civilly married to Professor Schulze for more than three weeks and thus both spouses lacked the necessary competency to enter into a valid customary marriage. Whether a valid customary marriage could have been concluded at all with a man who did not live according to the customs and usages of the Zulu, is also highly questionable. Because the perceived lobola marriage is a nullity, no legal consequences can flow from this nullity and the so-called customary adoption of the daughter (“the calf with the cow”) is a nullity too. At no stage was any of the requirements for a valid adoption as governed by the Children’s Act 38 of 2005 adhered to. The minister of home affairs should have immediately given notice of appeal after the unconvincing judgment of Zaca AJ was handed down in January 2020. As the responsible minister, he should guard the upholding of the constitution and the applicable legal provisions unambiguously contained in the relevant section 10(4) of Act 120 of 1998. It is a pity that the so-called adherence to the principles of the “rule of law” is not even paid lip service in this case. Bennett, as a renowned expert on customary law, correctly pointed out that the legal orders are not unconnected. It may never be assumed that the people concerned are unaware of how to manipulate the resources offered them by legal pluralism (A Sourcebook of African Customary Law for Southern Africa (1991) 50).

Abstract:

The article tells about the transformation of a wandering ancient story about the passion of a mother to her stepson, shows how each era brings about changes in the depiction of the heroine, set in a boundary situation between happiness and duty. In the tragedy of Euripides &#34;Hippolytus&#34; the main character is the king&#180;s son, and Phaedra is a performer of the will of the goddess Cypris. Without knowing, Hippolytus violated ethics law that prescribed to honor equally all the gods and goddesses: he loved to worship the goddess of the hunt Artemis and didn&#180;t bring enough victims to Aphrodite. According to the mythological sources, the election of Phaedra as the instrument of revenge can be explained by the fact that Phaedra carries the burden of a tragic guilt for her grandfather, who told Hephaestus about the affair between Aphrodite and Ares. Euripides describes the suffering of Phaedra. His character brings her life as a gift to the children. The tragedy of the debt victory is displayed brighter by the Greek author than by the French one. But the image of Phaedra, made by Jean Racine, is nobler than it was made by Euripides. The heroine of Euripides sacrifices herself for the sake of duty and commits suicide, but makes a low act, leaving a note that slanders Hippolytus, but the queen by Racine, dying, emphasizes the innocence of her stepson. The stepson&#180;s attitude to the passion of his stepmother changes too. For Hippolytus by Euripides the passion of Phaedra is the evidence of low-lying nature of women, for Hippolytus by Jean Racine it is the touching continuation of conjugal love at first, and then, when Phaedra separates him in her mind from the father, and emphasizes that loves Hippolytus, it is a horrible discover, but not the reason for the generalization, reasoning and discrimination against all women. The continuation of the incarnation of vagrant story about Phaedra we see in the poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva in the tragedy &#34;Phaedra&#34;. Tsvetaeva simplifies antique tragedy, removing the problem of choosing between happiness and duty, but in the poem she returns to the tragic beginning of it, highlighting the theme of the sublime punishments with passion that is emphasized in the interpretation ofR. Viktyuk, who created a cinema play &#34;Passion about Phaedra in four dreams of Roman Viktyuk&#34; on the basis ofTsvetayeva&#180;s texts.

Abstract:

The year 2014 was considered as the twentieth anniversary year of the family and in a sense acknowledges the important role of the family in society. Families are central to communities and one could almost consider the family-community connection to be a loop. In other words, when families are functioning well communities fare very well, which then relates back to families. But how are we to understand this important role of the family? Families are defined in different ways. According to Braithwaite and Baxter [1] “a family is a social group of two or more persons characterized by ongoing interdependence, with long term commitments that stem from blood, law and affection”. Chambers [2] believes that families are not a fixed concept but can rather be described beyond blood lines into a socially constructed concept. In South Africa, in terms of family policy, the family is defined “as a public group of people that is directly related (by blood), related by adoption or fostering or through marriage” [3]. In describing a family, there are often two very broad terms used which are functional and dysfunctional families. These descriptions are often determined by the processes or functions/practices between and amongst family members. Family functioning includes the manner in which family members relate to and with one another including how they search for goals, activities the family engages in together and separately, and acceptance of family practices. Furthermore, when a family is functioning well, family members hardly develop psychological problems, they perform tasks together, are able to deal with problems, and have understandable restrictions [4]. These are well functioning families, but families also do not function very well and these families could be considered as unhealthy and dysfunctional, often described as at-risk [5]. Both terms have consequences especially for future adults. In describing a family, there are often two very broad terms used which are functional and dysfunctional families. These descriptions are often determined by the processes or functions/practices between and amongst family members. Family functioning includes the manner in which family members relate to and with one another including how they search for goals, activities the family engages in together and separately, and acceptance of family practices. Furthermore, when a family is functioning well, family members hardly develop psychological problems, they perform tasks together, are able to deal with problems, and have understandable restrictions [4]. These are well functioning families, but families also do not function very well and these families could be considered as unhealthy and dysfunctional, often described as at-risk [5]. Both terms have consequences especially for future adults.the control and responsibility rests with the family. In this special issue, six articles highlight issues in the family which have consequences for family members and the community, either overtly or covertly. The article of Frantz, Sixaba & Smith focuses on family structure and the effects on health risk behavior of young people in Africa. This article highlights the plight of orphans living with caregivers, the definitive relationship between sexual risk behavior and family structure and provides the evidence that sexual risk behaviors loops back to HIV/AIDS in African countries. In this article gender, race and culture play a role in the relationship. In the article by Ryan, Roman & Okwany parental monitoring and communication are explored as important in the prevention, delay and reduction of substance abuse and risky sexual activity. These studies suggest that culture acts as a buffer against adolescent risk behaviors and that the mental health of parents is also important in the monitoring and communication with their adolescents. The Jacobs & Jacobs study focuses on mothers who are alcoholics and provides family narrations of secrecy, shame and silence but also highlights coping and recovery for alcoholics. Londt, Davids & Wilson used Social Learning Theory as a lens to understand the role of the family in the chronic denial of imprisoned sex offenders. These imprisoned sex offenders were raised in single-parent households with absent fathers, domestic violence substance abuse, unsatisfactory support and compromised parenting styles were prevalent. In the Mukasano, Schenck & van der Merwe article, a qualitative study explores parents’ experiences of their adolescents engaging in mobile texting. Parents find themselves having to monitor and negotiate rules and expectations with their adolescents. The study emphasizes the importance of communication and trust, respect and preparing for the disengagement process between members. Furthermore, substances are abused, physical, sexual and emotional abuse are present and children lack support and care. Within these families, there is the daily challenge of meeting the needs of family members. This could be due to the socio-economic circ*mstances of the family which in turn deprives family members of necessary resources and other social support. As a result, this undermines the ability of family members to perform expected functions and consequently results in the exposure to risk. Subsequently, at-risk families need additional support in order to cope with the myriad of challenges they face. This support may be in the form of other family members, community members or from government. Additionally, this support could also strengthen the family. Families should be seen as the entry point for service delivery and the subsequent building and development of communities [3]. Therefore, family relations, which are good and strong are important for the wellbeing of the individual, family and community [7]. In other words, family wellbeing is a concept that goes beyond economic wealth and includes physical and emotional health as well as safety and good quality relationships [7]. Similarly, family well-being and family functioning assume that families work best and contribute to society when there is a balance between the economic and non-economic factors [8] but it is very complex because family wellbeing is a multi-dimensional concept with different dimensions. These include providing financial support, good housing or access to services [9]. How does family well-being then relate to community development? The creation, development and growth of communities is dependent on families. For example, when families are not doing well, the family members will act out that is outside of the family. This acting out often occurs within the community and could be the engaging in antisocial behavior, substance abuse, violence, etc. These behaviours subsequently break down communities instead of building them up. The same could be said for the effects of family wellbeing. Tsey et al. [10] found that family wellbeing is an enabler for people to take control and responsibility of their own situations but more importantly, once they are able to do this, there is a ripple effect on increasing harmony and capacity to address issues within the wider community. Clearly, there is a relationship between family wellbeing and the overt and covert development of communities but parent and child. The final article of Jooste & Maritz is an exploration of the perceptions of healthcare professionals and family members regarding youth’s experiences of trauma. This article found that when youth experience trauma, there is a ripple effect onto other family members and the larger community which resulted in the entire system feeling helpless and depleted of resources to cope.

Abstract:

The Chronotope of Exile in the Post-Yugoslav Novel and the Boundaries of Imaginary HomelandsAlthough the chronotopic approach to the novels of exile is almost self-explanatory, certain specifics expressed by post-Yugoslav exile narrations evoke a separate chronotope interpretation. First and foremost, post-Yugoslav literature is additionally encumbered with the identity issue because the abandoned areas of the nineties for the exiled writer do not disappear at a metaphorical level, by turning into a mnemotope, but in the actual break-up of the political entity, the imaginary supranational heritage transforms itself into a kind of counterculture, mostly affirmed by exile writers. Therefore, returning to the abandoned place often becomes possible only as a return to the past. In this paper, the literary theme of exile will be followed comparatively, starting from the reflective nostalgia in the prose of Dubravka Ugrešić (The Ministry of Pain), through a global exile which reflects the history of the relationship between European persecutions and America as an unfair homeland, which breaks all identity support in the novels of Aleksandar Hemon (The Nowhere Man; The Lazarus Project), to the intra-Yugoslav, "hereditary" exile in the novels of Goran Vojnović (Chefurs Raus!; Yugoslavia, My Homeland), which fathers left to their sons like a curse of the genus. In the texts mentioned above, the chronotope of exile is dealt with at the level of genre, as the major, supreme chronotope, which includes or opens space to a series of specific local chronotopes, which are fundamental to exile narration. These motifs are also encountered in other genres, but in exile narration they are the bearing pillars of the genre. They are, by their nature, chronotopic because they are realised through the binary spatial-temporal categories of presence and absence, affiliation and non-affiliation, anchoring and nomadism. In this paper, I will look at three such chronotope motifs: 1) the motif of home as a non-place or a place of absence; 2) the motif of other/mirror country and other/”mirror” history; 3) the motif of return and travel (by train), which regularly invokes the stereotypical representation of the place and the past. Chronotop wygnania w powieści postjugosłowiańskiej i granice ojczyzn wyobrażonychChociaż chronotopiczne podejście do analizy powieści problematyzujących wygnanie wydaje się oczywiste, to specyficzne cechy postjugosłowiańskich powieści tego rodzaju wymagają szczególnej interpretacji koncepcji chronotopu, ponieważ literatura postjugosłowiańska jest dodatkowo obciążona kwestią tożsamości. Dla wygnanego pisarza opuszczone przestrzenie lat dziewięćdziesiątych nie znikają jedynie na poziomie metaforycznym, zamieniając się w przestrzeń pamięci (mnemotop), ale faktycznie przestają istnieć jako rzeczywisty byt polityczny. Tym samym, wyobrażone dziedzictwo ponadnarodowe przekształca się w swoistą kontrkulturę, w większości afirmowaną przez pisarzy na wygnaniu. Dlatego też powrót do opuszczonej przestrzeni często jest możliwy jedynie jako powrót do przeszłości. Artykuł omawia literacki motyw wygnania w perspektywie komparatystycznej. Rozpoczyna się od refleksyjnej nostalgii w prozie Dubravki Ugrešić (Ministerstwo bólu). Następnie wiedzie poprzez globalne wygnanie, które odzwierciedla historię związków między europejskimi prześladowaniami a Ameryką jako niesprawiedliwą ojczyzną łamiącą wszelkie tożsamości, w powieściach Aleksandra Hemona (Nowhere Man, The Lazarus Project). Wreszcie, dochodzi do wewnątrzjugosłowiańskiego wygnania „dziedzicznego” w powieściach Gorana Vojnovicia (Chefurs Raus!, Yugoslavia, My Homeland) – wygnania, które ojcowie pozostawili swoim synom niczym przekleństwo rodzaju. W wyżej wymienionych tekstach chronotop wygnania jest rozpatrywany na poziomie gatunku jako główny, nadrzędny chronotop, który zawiera w sobie lub otwiera przestrzeń dla szeregu specyficznych chronotopów lokalnych, fundamentalnych dla narracji wygnańczych. Chociaż podobne motywy występują także w innych gatunkach, to są one filarami w przypadku narracji wygnańczych, z natury chronotopicznych, gdyż realizowanych za pomocą binarnych kategorii czasoprzestrzennych: obecności i nieobecności, przynależności i braku przynależności, zakotwiczenia i nomadyzmu. W tym artykule przyjrzę się trzem takim motywom chronotopu: 1) motywowi domu jako nie-miejsca lub miejsca nieobecności; 2) motywowi innych/lustrzanych krajów i innych/lustrzanych historii; 3) motywowi powrotu i podróży (pociągiem), który regularnie przywołuje stereotypowe przedstawienie miejsca i przeszłości. Kronotop egzila u postjugoslavenskom romanu i granice imaginarnih domovinaPremda je kronotopski pristup romanima egzila gotovo samorazumljiv, određene specifičnosti koje iskazuje postjugoslavenske egzilne naracije prizivaju zasebnu kronotopsku interpretaciju. Prije svega, postjugoslavenska književnost opterećena je dodatnim identitetskim bremenom jer napušteni prostori devedesetih godina za pisca u egzilu ne nestaju na nekoj metaforičkoj razini seleći se u mnemotope, nego se stvarnim raspadom političke cjeline, imaginarna supranacionalna baština transformira u svojevrsnu kontrakulturu, najčešće afirmiranu upravo posredstvom egzilnih pisaca. Stoga i povratak na napušteno mjesto često postaje moguć samo kao povratak u prošlost. U ovom će se radu književna tema egzila pratiti komparativno, počevši od refleksivne nostalgije u prozi Dubravke Ugrešić (Ministarstvo boli), preko globalnog egzila u kojemu se zrcali povijest odnosa europskih progona i Amerike kao maćehinske domovine koja rastače sve identitetske oslonce u romanima Aleksandra Hemona (Čovjek bez prošlosti; Projekat Lazarus), do unutarjugoslavenskog, „naslijeđenog“ egzila u romanima Gorana Vojnovića (Čefuri raus!; Jugoslavija, moja domovina), koje, poput prokletstva roda, očevi ostavljaju sinovima. U navedenim tekstovima o kronotopu egzila govorimo na razini žanra, kao glavnom, nadređenom kronotopu koji uključuje ili otvara prostor nizu specifičnih lokalnih kronotopa ili motiva, ključnih za egzilnu naraciju. Te se motivske jedinice susreću i u drugim žanrovima, no u egzilnoj su naraciji nosivi stupovi žanra. Po svojoj su naravi kronotopični jer se realiziraju kroz binarne prostorno-vremenske kategorije prisutnosti i odsutnosti, pripadanja i nepripadanja, usidrenosti i skitalaštva. U ovom radu osvrnut ću se na tri takva kronotopska motiva: 1. motiv doma kao ne-mjesta ili mjesta odsustva; 2. motiv druge/zrcalne domovine i druge/zrcalne povijesti; 3. motiv povratka i putovanja (vlakom), koje redovito priziva stereotipnu reprezentaciju mjesta i prošlosti.

Abstract:

Most historical narratives have overlooked women’s roles in and Indigenous peoples’ relationships with the Roman Catholic church, such as that of Lac Ste. Anne, a 19th century Roman Catholic community in Alberta. Lac Ste. Anne was the first permanent Catholic mission west of the Red River settlement and frequently appears in historical documents and missionary histories. Women and Indigenous peoples, however, are scantily mentioned. In contrast to the dominant patriarchal narratives built from decades of male-based stories, I propose that women’s accounts from the settlement illuminate life and relationships between its inhabitants. Drawing on historical sources left by three Sisters of Charity (Grey Nuns), who maintained the chapel and founded the school and hospital in 1859, and oral histories from Victoria Callihoo, a Métis woman who lived in the settlement as a young girl, I will argue that the Catholic Fathers conflated women’s lives at Lac Ste. Anne into one over-simplistic patriarchal narrative. Additionally, when re-examined with a 21st century lens, these stories can inform the anthropological study of women at Lac Ste. Anne including their roles and responsibilities, living conditions, physical and social mobility, and rela­tionships with colonialism.

Abstract:

Dentro de la Asociación Católica Nacional de Propagandistas, fundada por el padre Ayala en los años finales de la primera década del siglo xx, se promueven diversas fórmulas de participación de los católicos en la vida pública española, una de las cuales va a ser la de los Estudiantes Católicos, cuyo ámbito será el mundo universitario, si bien intentará más adelante desarrollar también su labor en los centros de Bachillerato. Aunque la vida de la Confederación comprende los años 1920 a 1939, se recogen en este trabajo algunos aspectos de sus primeros años (1920- 1923), como su fundación en 1920, el crecimiento y desarrollo manifestado en la Primera Asamblea Confederal de Zaragoza, el enfrentamiento con otras asociaciones de estudiantes o su presencia relevante en organizaciones internacionales como Pax Romana.Several formulas of participation of Roman Catholics in public life in Spain were originated within the Catholic National Association of Propagandistas, founded by father Ayala towards the end of the first decade of twentieth century; one of such was the National Confederation of Catholic Students. The scope of this confederation was targeted primarily to the university world, but later on it was succesfully extended also to high schools. Although the life span of the Confederation comprises the years 1920 until 1939, this paper covers some aspects of the early period only (1920-1923); namely its birth in 1920, growth and development as being manifest during the First Confederal Assambly in Zaragoza; its confrontations with different students' associations, and its relevant role in International organizations, i. e. Pax Romana.

Abstract:

The Constitution has laid the foundation of checks and balances amongst the main state organs namely the executive, the legislative and the judicial power. This order as a guideline in the state and society, till the Village level and within groups in the village such as the Neighborhood and citizen groups. Servitut Rights and neighbors law answer challenges of development of human settlements sustainably and resilient. Servitut rights as a property rights regulated in Neighbor law book II Indonsian Civil Code of 1848 or in adat law term called easem*nt (hak melalui tanah orang lain) which known by adat community entity is not older than the easem*nt is recognized by customary law in almost adat law community entity throughout the territory of Indonesia. The servitut right is the easem*nt of yard (erfdiensbaarheid) or burden to rest on the grounds that one for the benefit of the another yard such that the owner of the yard were crushed should let the owner of the yard oppressor to pass through, drain the water (clear) on it, take view out through the window etc. This devotion land does not end with the death or replacement of yard owners concerned (Article 674 of the Indon. Civil Code). There are still remnants of feudalism and colonialism in tribal society, reflecting the concrete cases in the community there is disturbance against the rights of servitut with vigilante, then the rule of law invoked repeatedly and generating permanent jurisprudence. Kedudukannya hak servitut tidak tergoyahkan dengan adanya UUPA 1960 yang mengatakan semua hak atas tanah mempunyai fungsi sosial dan hukum adat dijadikan dasar dari hukum agraria nasional. The position of Servitut rights is impregnable with the Basic Agrarian Law 1960 (BAL) that says all rights on land has social functions and customary law form the basis of the national agrarian law. In Article I point 6 of BAL No. 5 year 1960 proves Indonesia is in a row of civilized countries that accommodates this legal institution. Jurisprudence confirm customary law as a living law as well as the Civil Code 1848 according to Supreme Court Circuler of 1963 treat as unwritten customary law in order to prevent the legal vacuum and reaching the objectives of the law. Jurisprudence has been recognized as one of the legitimate source of law in the Republic of Indonesia. Indonesian Judges have shown its class in the world of justice, who did not want to look different in servitut rights issues which is an universal phenomenon. Almost all civilized countries of the UN members have recognized the existence of this institute servitut rights, both in the Code book as well as in its jurisprudence. Servitut rights institution is rooted in the common law ius commune since Roman Empire, which can not be ignored, despite overall individualistic Roman law, but in particular there are elements of social function. Servitut (lat.) is accommodated into the book of the law in almost all countries in the world, through colonialize, import law, voluntary transplants in the law of one self. Boedi Harsono, as nationalist and socialist thinker and R. Supomo as father of Indonesian customary law and by youth in 1928 is regarded as a national law with the smooth call it "right through another person's land" which is also known by the common law. The permanent Jurisprudence remains threngthen unwritten norm servitut rights or land rights through anothers person’s land showed the class of Indonesian Judges comparabele with justices of developed nations in assessing this servitut rights. Implementation build without displacing has been regulated in Law No. 4 year 1992 art. 22-32 and Act No. 1 year 2011 on Housing and Settlement Region art. 106-113 law institute land consolidation, which is compatible with the institute servitut right and reconfirmed the servitut. Implementation, if one developer alone could make the plot and make the land ready to build cosolidate up to 6,000 ha orderly development of land, so a province or a local government / city are challenged to be able to hold up to 6,000 ha of land consolidation to reduce the backlog and combating land speculators. For the assessment of achievement of the Governor / Regional Office of BPN how long had a special local street, public street or road of servitut rights through land consolidation and how many special streets that have been submitted become public streets.Keywords: Reinforcement, top notch institutions, rights servituut

Abstract:

Introduction Crime fiction is one of the world’s most popular genres. Indeed, it has been estimated that as many as one in every three new novels, published in English, is classified within the crime fiction category (Knight xi). These new entrants to the market are forced to jostle for space on bookstore and library shelves with reprints of classic crime novels; such works placed in, often fierce, competition against their contemporaries as well as many of their predecessors. Raymond Chandler, in his well-known essay The Simple Art of Murder, noted Ernest Hemingway’s observation that “the good writer competes only with the dead. The good detective story writer […] competes not only with all the unburied dead but with all the hosts of the living as well” (3). In fact, there are so many examples of crime fiction works that, as early as the 1920s, one of the original ‘Queens of Crime’, Dorothy L. Sayers, complained: It is impossible to keep track of all the detective-stories produced to-day [sic]. Book upon book, magazine upon magazine pour out from the Press, crammed with murders, thefts, arsons, frauds, conspiracies, problems, puzzles, mysteries, thrills, maniacs, crooks, poisoners, forgers, garrotters, police, spies, secret-service men, detectives, until it seems that half the world must be engaged in setting riddles for the other half to solve (95). Twenty years after Sayers wrote on the matter of the vast quantities of crime fiction available, W.H. Auden wrote one of the more famous essays on the genre: The Guilty Vicarage: Notes on the Detective Story, by an Addict. Auden is, perhaps, better known as a poet but his connection to the crime fiction genre is undisputed. As well as his poetic works that reference crime fiction and commentaries on crime fiction, one of Auden’s fellow poets, Cecil Day-Lewis, wrote a series of crime fiction novels under the pseudonym Nicholas Blake: the central protagonist of these novels, Nigel Strangeways, was modelled upon Auden (Scaggs 27). Interestingly, some writers whose names are now synonymous with the genre, such as Edgar Allan Poe and Raymond Chandler, established the link between poetry and crime fiction many years before the publication of The Guilty Vicarage. Edmund Wilson suggested that “reading detective stories is simply a kind of vice that, for silliness and minor harmfulness, ranks somewhere between crossword puzzles and smoking” (395). In the first line of The Guilty Vicarage, Auden supports Wilson’s claim and confesses that: “For me, as for many others, the reading of detective stories is an addiction like tobacco or alcohol” (406). This indicates that the genre is at best a trivial pursuit, at worst a pursuit that is bad for your health and is, increasingly, socially unacceptable, while Auden’s ideas around taste—high and low—are made clear when he declares that “detective stories have nothing to do with works of art” (406). The debates that surround genre and taste are many and varied. The mid-1920s was a point in time which had witnessed crime fiction writers produce some of the finest examples of fiction to ever be published and when readers and publishers were watching, with anticipation, as a new generation of crime fiction writers were readying themselves to enter what would become known as the genre’s Golden Age. At this time, R. Austin Freeman wrote that: By the critic and the professedly literary person the detective story is apt to be dismissed contemptuously as outside the pale of literature, to be conceived of as a type of work produced by half-educated and wholly incompetent writers for consumption by office boys, factory girls, and other persons devoid of culture and literary taste (7). This article responds to Auden’s essay and explores how crime fiction appeals to many different tastes: tastes that are acquired, change over time, are embraced, or kept as guilty secrets. In addition, this article will challenge Auden’s very narrow definition of crime fiction and suggest how Auden’s religious imagery, deployed to explain why many people choose to read crime fiction, can be incorporated into a broader popular discourse on punishment. This latter argument demonstrates that a taste for crime fiction and a taste for justice are inextricably intertwined. Crime Fiction: A Type For Every Taste Cathy Cole has observed that “crime novels are housed in their own section in many bookshops, separated from literary novels much as you’d keep a child with measles away from the rest of the class” (116). Times have changed. So too, have our tastes. Crime fiction, once sequestered in corners, now demands vast tracts of prime real estate in bookstores allowing readers to “make their way to the appropriate shelves, and begin to browse […] sorting through a wide variety of very different types of novels” (Malmgren 115). This is a result of the sheer size of the genre, noted above, as well as the genre’s expanding scope. Indeed, those who worked to re-invent crime fiction in the 1800s could not have envisaged the “taxonomic exuberance” (Derrida 206) of the writers who have defined crime fiction sub-genres, as well as how readers would respond by not only wanting to read crime fiction but also wanting to read many different types of crime fiction tailored to their particular tastes. To understand the demand for this diversity, it is important to reflect upon some of the appeal factors of crime fiction for readers. Many rules have been promulgated for the writers of crime fiction to follow. Ronald Knox produced a set of 10 rules in 1928. These included Rule 3 “Not more than one secret room or passage is allowable”, and Rule 10 “Twin brothers, and doubles generally, must not appear unless we have been duly prepared for them” (194–6). In the same year, S.S. Van Dine produced another list of 20 rules, which included Rule 3 “There must be no love interest: The business in hand is to bring a criminal to the bar of justice, not to bring a lovelorn couple to the hymeneal altar”, and Rule 7 “There simply must be a corpse in a detective novel, and the deader the corpse the better” (189–93). Some of these directives have been deliberately ignored or have become out-of-date over time while others continue to be followed in contemporary crime writing practice. In sharp contrast, there are no rules for reading this genre. Individuals are, generally, free to choose what, where, when, why, and how they read crime fiction. There are, however, different appeal factors for readers. The most common of these appeal factors, often described as doorways, are story, setting, character, and language. As the following passage explains: The story doorway beckons those who enjoy reading to find out what happens next. The setting doorway opens widest for readers who enjoy being immersed in an evocation of place or time. The doorway of character is for readers who enjoy looking at the world through others’ eyes. Readers who most appreciate skilful writing enter through the doorway of language (Wyatt online). These doorways draw readers to the crime fiction genre. There are stories that allow us to easily predict what will come next or make us hold our breath until the very last page, the books that we will cheerfully lend to a family member or a friend and those that we keep close to hand to re-read again and again. There are settings as diverse as country manors, exotic locations, and familiar city streets, places we have been and others that we might want to explore. There are characters such as the accidental sleuth, the hardboiled detective, and the refined police officer, amongst many others, the men and women—complete with idiosyncrasies and flaws—who we have grown to admire and trust. There is also the language that all writers, regardless of genre, depend upon to tell their tales. In crime fiction, even the most basic task of describing where the murder victim was found can range from words that convey the genteel—“The room of the tragedy” (Christie 62)—to the absurd: “There it was, jammed between a pallet load of best export boneless beef and half a tonne of spring lamb” (Maloney 1). These appeal factors indicate why readers might choose crime fiction over another genre, or choose one type of crime fiction over another. Yet such factors fail to explain what crime fiction is or adequately answer why the genre is devoured in such vast quantities. Firstly, crime fiction stories are those in which there is the committing of a crime, or at least the suspicion of a crime (Cole), and the story that unfolds revolves around the efforts of an amateur or professional detective to solve that crime (Scaggs). Secondly, crime fiction offers the reassurance of resolution, a guarantee that from “previous experience and from certain cultural conventions associated with this genre that ultimately the mystery will be fully explained” (Zunshine 122). For Auden, the definition of the crime novel was quite specific, and he argued that referring to the genre by “the vulgar definition, ‘a Whodunit’ is correct” (407). Auden went on to offer a basic formula stating that: “a murder occurs; many are suspected; all but one suspect, who is the murderer, are eliminated; the murderer is arrested or dies” (407). The idea of a formula is certainly a useful one, particularly when production demands—in terms of both quality and quantity—are so high, because the formula facilitates creators in the “rapid and efficient production of new works” (Cawelti 9). For contemporary crime fiction readers, the doorways to reading, discussed briefly above, have been cast wide open. Stories relying upon the basic crime fiction formula as a foundation can be gothic tales, clue puzzles, forensic procedurals, spy thrillers, hardboiled narratives, or violent crime narratives, amongst many others. The settings can be quiet villages or busy metropolises, landscapes that readers actually inhabit or that provide a form of affordable tourism. These stories can be set in the past, the here and now, or the future. Characters can range from Edgar Allan Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin to Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade, from Agatha Christie’s Miss Jane Marple to Kerry Greenwood’s Honourable Phryne Fisher. Similarly, language can come in numerous styles from the direct (even rough) words of Carter Brown to the literary prose of Peter Temple. Anything is possible, meaning everything is available to readers. For Auden—although he required a crime to be committed and expected that crime to be resolved—these doorways were only slightly ajar. For him, the story had to be a Whodunit; the setting had to be rural England, though a college setting was also considered suitable; the characters had to be “eccentric (aesthetically interesting individuals) and good (instinctively ethical)” and there needed to be a “completely satisfactory detective” (Sherlock Holmes, Inspector French, and Father Brown were identified as “satisfactory”); and the language descriptive and detailed (406, 409, 408). To illustrate this point, Auden’s concept of crime fiction has been plotted on a taxonomy, below, that traces the genre’s main developments over a period of three centuries. As can be seen, much of what is, today, taken for granted as being classified as crime fiction is completely excluded from Auden’s ideal. Figure 1: Taxonomy of Crime Fiction (Adapted from Franks, Murder 136) Crime Fiction: A Personal Journey I discovered crime fiction the summer before I started high school when I saw the film version of The Big Sleep starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. A few days after I had seen the film I started reading the Raymond Chandler novel of the same title, featuring his famous detective Philip Marlowe, and was transfixed by the second paragraph: The main hallway of the Sternwood place was two stories high. Over the entrance doors, which would have let in a troop of Indian elephants, there was a broad stained-glass panel showing a knight in dark armour rescuing a lady who was tied to a tree and didn’t have any clothes on but some very long and convenient hair. The knight had pushed the visor of his helmet back to be sociable, and he was fiddling with the knots on the ropes that tied the lady to the tree and not getting anywhere. I stood there and thought that if I lived in the house, I would sooner or later have to climb up there and help him. He didn’t seem to be really trying (9). John Scaggs has written that this passage indicates Marlowe is an idealised figure, a knight of romance rewritten onto the mean streets of mid-20th century Los Angeles (62); a relocation Susan Roland calls a “secular form of the divinely sanctioned knight errant on a quest for metaphysical justice” (139): my kind of guy. Like many young people I looked for adventure and escape in books, a search that was realised with Raymond Chandler and his contemporaries. On the escapism scale, these men with their stories of tough-talking detectives taking on murderers and other criminals, law enforcement officers, and the occasional femme fatale, were certainly a sharp upgrade from C.S. Lewis and the Chronicles of Narnia. After reading the works written by the pioneers of the hardboiled and roman noir traditions, I looked to other American authors such as Edgar Allan Poe who, in the mid-1800s, became the father of the modern detective story, and Thorne Smith who, in the 1920s and 1930s, produced magical realist tales with characters who often chose to dabble on the wrong side of the law. This led me to the works of British crime writers including Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, and Dorothy L. Sayers. My personal library then became dominated by Australian writers of crime fiction, from the stories of bushrangers and convicts of the Colonial era to contemporary tales of police and private investigators. There have been various attempts to “improve” or “refine” my tastes: to convince me that serious literature is real reading and frivolous fiction is merely a distraction. Certainly, the reading of those novels, often described as classics, provide perfect combinations of beauty and brilliance. Their narratives, however, do not often result in satisfactory endings. This routinely frustrates me because, while I understand the philosophical frameworks that many writers operate within, I believe the characters of such works are too often treated unfairly in the final pages. For example, at the end of Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, Frederick Henry “left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain” after his son is stillborn and “Mrs Henry” becomes “very ill” and dies (292–93). Another example can be found on the last page of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four when Winston Smith “gazed up at the enormous face” and he realised that he “loved Big Brother” (311). Endings such as these provide a space for reflection about the world around us but rarely spark an immediate response of how great that world is to live in (Franks Motive). The subject matter of crime fiction does not easily facilitate fairy-tale finishes, yet, people continue to read the genre because, generally, the concluding chapter will show that justice, of some form, will be done. Punishment will be meted out to the ‘bad characters’ that have broken society’s moral or legal laws; the ‘good characters’ may experience hardships and may suffer but they will, generally, prevail. Crime Fiction: A Taste For Justice Superimposed upon Auden’s parameters around crime fiction, are his ideas of the law in the real world and how such laws are interwoven with the Christian-based system of ethics. This can be seen in Auden’s listing of three classes of crime: “(a) offenses against God and one’s neighbor or neighbors; (b) offenses against God and society; (c) offenses against God” (407). Murder, in Auden’s opinion, is a class (b) offense: for the crime fiction novel, the society reflected within the story should be one in “a state of grace, i.e., a society where there is no need of the law, no contradiction between the aesthetic individual and the ethical universal, and where murder, therefore, is the unheard-of act which precipitates a crisis” (408). Additionally, in the crime novel “as in its mirror image, the Quest for the Grail, maps (the ritual of space) and timetables (the ritual of time) are desirable. Nature should reflect its human inhabitants, i.e., it should be the Great Good Place; for the more Eden-like it is, the greater the contradiction of murder” (408). Thus, as Charles J. Rzepka notes, “according to W.H. Auden, the ‘classical’ English detective story typically re-enacts rites of scapegoating and expulsion that affirm the innocence of a community of good people supposedly ignorant of evil” (12). This premise—of good versus evil—supports Auden’s claim that the punishment of wrongdoers, particularly those who claim the “right to be omnipotent” and commit murder (409), should be swift and final: As to the murderer’s end, of the three alternatives—execution, suicide, and madness—the first is preferable; for if he commits suicide he refuses to repent, and if he goes mad he cannot repent, but if he does not repent society cannot forgive. Execution, on the other hand, is the act of atonement by which the murderer is forgiven by society (409). The unilateral endorsem*nt of state-sanctioned murder is problematic, however, because—of the main justifications for punishment: retribution; deterrence; incapacitation; and rehabilitation (Carter Snead 1245)—punishment, in this context, focuses exclusively upon retribution and deterrence, incapacitation is achieved by default, but the idea of rehabilitation is completely ignored. This, in turn, ignores how the reading of crime fiction can be incorporated into a broader popular discourse on punishment and how a taste for crime fiction and a taste for justice are inextricably intertwined. One of the ways to explore the connection between crime fiction and justice is through the lens of Emile Durkheim’s thesis on the conscience collective which proposes punishment is a process allowing for the demonstration of group norms and the strengthening of moral boundaries. David Garland, in summarising this thesis, states: So although the modern state has a near monopoly of penal violence and controls the administration of penalties, a much wider population feels itself to be involved in the process of punishment, and supplies the context of social support and valorization within which state punishment takes place (32). It is claimed here that this “much wider population” connecting with the task of punishment can be taken further. Crime fiction, above all other forms of literary production, which, for those who do not directly contribute to the maintenance of their respective legal systems, facilitates a feeling of active participation in the penalising of a variety of perpetrators: from the issuing of fines to incarceration (Franks Punishment). Crime fiction readers are therefore, temporarily at least, direct contributors to a more stable society: one that is clearly based upon right and wrong and reliant upon the conscience collective to maintain and reaffirm order. In this context, the reader is no longer alone, with only their crime fiction novel for company, but has become an active member of “a moral framework which binds individuals to each other and to its conventions and institutions” (Garland 51). This allows crime fiction, once viewed as a “vice” (Wilson 395) or an “addiction” (Auden 406), to be seen as playing a crucial role in the preservation of social mores. It has been argued “only the most literal of literary minds would dispute the claim that fictional characters help shape the way we think of ourselves, and hence help us articulate more clearly what it means to be human” (Galgut 190). Crime fiction focuses on what it means to be human, and how complex humans are, because stories of murders, and the men and women who perpetrate and solve them, comment on what drives some people to take a life and others to avenge that life which is lost and, by extension, engages with a broad community of readers around ideas of justice and punishment. It is, furthermore, argued here that the idea of the story is one of the more important doorways for crime fiction and, more specifically, the conclusions that these stories, traditionally, offer. For Auden, the ending should be one of restoration of the spirit, as he suspected that “the typical reader of detective stories is, like myself, a person who suffers from a sense of sin” (411). In this way, the “phantasy, then, which the detective story addict indulges is the phantasy of being restored to the Garden of Eden, to a state of innocence, where he may know love as love and not as the law” (412), indicating that it was not necessarily an accident that “the detective story has flourished most in predominantly Protestant countries” (408). Today, modern crime fiction is a “broad church, where talented authors raise questions and cast light on a variety of societal and other issues through the prism of an exciting, page-turning story” (Sisterson). Moreover, our tastes in crime fiction have been tempered by a growing fear of real crime, particularly murder, “a crime of unique horror” (Hitchens 200). This has seen some readers develop a taste for crime fiction that is not produced within a framework of ecclesiastical faith but is rather grounded in reliance upon those who enact punishment in both the fictional and real worlds. As P.D. James has written: [N]ot by luck or divine intervention, but by human ingenuity, human intelligence and human courage. It confirms our hope that, despite some evidence to the contrary, we live in a beneficent and moral universe in which problems can be solved by rational means and peace and order restored from communal or personal disruption and chaos (174). Dorothy L. Sayers, despite her work to legitimise crime fiction, wrote that there: “certainly does seem a possibility that the detective story will some time come to an end, simply because the public will have learnt all the tricks” (108). Of course, many readers have “learnt all the tricks”, or most of them. This does not, however, detract from the genre’s overall appeal. We have not grown bored with, or become tired of, the formula that revolves around good and evil, and justice and punishment. Quite the opposite. Our knowledge of, as well as our faith in, the genre’s “tricks” gives a level of confidence to readers who are looking for endings that punish murderers and other wrongdoers, allowing for more satisfactory conclusions than the, rather depressing, ends given to Mr. Henry and Mr. Smith by Ernest Hemingway and George Orwell noted above. Conclusion For some, the popularity of crime fiction is a curious case indeed. When Penguin and Collins published the Marsh Million—100,000 copies each of 10 Ngaio Marsh titles in 1949—the author’s relief at the success of the project was palpable when she commented that “it was pleasant to find detective fiction being discussed as a tolerable form of reading by people whose opinion one valued” (172). More recently, upon the announcement that a Miles Franklin Award would be given to Peter Temple for his crime novel Truth, John Sutherland, a former chairman of the judges for one of the world’s most famous literary awards, suggested that submitting a crime novel for the Booker Prize would be: “like putting a donkey into the Grand National”. Much like art, fashion, food, and home furnishings or any one of the innumerable fields of activity and endeavour that are subject to opinion, there will always be those within the world of fiction who claim positions as arbiters of taste. Yet reading is intensely personal. I like a strong, well-plotted story, appreciate a carefully researched setting, and can admire elegant language, but if a character is too difficult to embrace—if I find I cannot make an emotional connection, if I find myself ambivalent about their fate—then a book is discarded as not being to my taste. It is also important to recognise that some tastes are transient. Crime fiction stories that are popular today could be forgotten tomorrow. Some stories appeal to such a broad range of tastes they are immediately included in the crime fiction canon. Yet others evolve over time to accommodate widespread changes in taste (an excellent example of this can be seen in the continual re-imagining of the stories of Sherlock Holmes). Personal tastes also adapt to our experiences and our surroundings. A book that someone adores in their 20s might be dismissed in their 40s. A storyline that was meaningful when read abroad may lose some of its magic when read at home. Personal events, from a change in employment to the loss of a loved one, can also impact upon what we want to read. Similarly, world events, such as economic crises and military conflicts, can also influence our reading preferences. Auden professed an almost insatiable appetite for crime fiction, describing the reading of detective stories as an addiction, and listed a very specific set of criteria to define the Whodunit. Today, such self-imposed restrictions are rare as, while there are many rules for writing crime fiction, there are no rules for reading this (or any other) genre. People are, generally, free to choose what, where, when, why, and how they read crime fiction, and to follow the deliberate or whimsical paths that their tastes may lay down for them. Crime fiction writers, past and present, offer: an incredible array of detective stories from the locked room to the clue puzzle; settings that range from the English country estate to city skyscrapers in glamorous locations around the world; numerous characters from cerebral sleuths who can solve a crime in their living room over a nice, hot cup of tea to weapon wielding heroes who track down villains on foot in darkened alleyways; and, language that ranges from the cultured conversations from the novels of the genre’s Golden Age to the hard-hitting terminology of forensic and legal procedurals. Overlaid on these appeal factors is the capacity of crime fiction to feed a taste for justice: to engage, vicariously at least, in the establishment of a more stable society. Of course, there are those who turn to the genre for a temporary distraction, an occasional guilty pleasure. There are those who stumble across the genre by accident or deliberately seek it out. There are also those, like Auden, who are addicted to crime fiction. So there are corpses for the conservative and dead bodies for the bloodthirsty. There is, indeed, a murder victim, and a murder story, to suit every reader’s taste. References Auden, W.H. “The Guilty Vicarage: Notes on The Detective Story, By an Addict.” Harper’s Magazine May (1948): 406–12. 1 Dec. 2013 ‹http://www.harpers.org/archive/1948/05/0033206›. Carter Snead, O. “Memory and Punishment.” Vanderbilt Law Review 64.4 (2011): 1195–264. Cawelti, John G. Adventure, Mystery and Romance: Formula Stories as Art and Popular Culture. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1976/1977. Chandler, Raymond. The Big Sleep. London: Penguin, 1939/1970. ––. The Simple Art of Murder. New York: Vintage Books, 1950/1988. Christie, Agatha. The Mysterious Affair at Styles. London: HarperCollins, 1920/2007. Cole, Cathy. Private Dicks and Feisty Chicks: An Interrogation of Crime Fiction. Fremantle: Curtin UP, 2004. Derrida, Jacques. “The Law of Genre.” Glyph 7 (1980): 202–32. Franks, Rachel. “May I Suggest Murder?: An Overview of Crime Fiction for Readers’ Advisory Services Staff.” Australian Library Journal 60.2 (2011): 133–43. ––. “Motive for Murder: Reading Crime Fiction.” The Australian Library and Information Association Biennial Conference. Sydney: Jul. 2012. ––. “Punishment by the Book: Delivering and Evading Punishment in Crime Fiction.” Inter-Disciplinary.Net 3rd Global Conference on Punishment. Oxford: Sep. 2013. Freeman, R.A. “The Art of the Detective Story.” The Art of the Mystery Story: A Collection of Critical Essays. Ed. Howard Haycraft. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1924/1947. 7–17. Galgut, E. “Poetic Faith and Prosaic Concerns: A Defense of Suspension of Disbelief.” South African Journal of Philosophy 21.3 (2002): 190–99. Garland, David. Punishment and Modern Society: A Study in Social Theory. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1993. Hemingway, Ernest. A Farewell to Arms. London: Random House, 1929/2004. ––. in R. Chandler. The Simple Art of Murder. New York: Vintage Books, 1950/1988. Hitchens, P. A Brief History of Crime: The Decline of Order, Justice and Liberty in England. London: Atlantic Books, 2003. James, P.D. Talking About Detective Fiction. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009. Knight, Stephen. Crime Fiction since 1800: Death, Detection, Diversity, 2nd ed. New York: Palgrave Macmillian, 2010. Knox, Ronald A. “Club Rules: The 10 Commandments for Detective Novelists, 1928.” Ronald Knox Society of North America. 1 Dec. 2013 ‹http://www.ronaldknoxsociety.com/detective.html›. Malmgren, C.D. “Anatomy of Murder: Mystery, Detective and Crime Fiction.” Journal of Popular Culture Spring (1997): 115–21. Maloney, Shane. The Murray Whelan Trilogy: Stiff, The Brush-Off and Nice Try. Melbourne: Text Publishing, 1994/2008. Marsh, Ngaio in J. Drayton. Ngaio Marsh: Her Life in Crime. Auckland: Harper Collins, 2008. Orwell, George. Nineteen Eighty-Four. London: Penguin Books, 1949/1989. Roland, Susan. From Agatha Christie to Ruth Rendell: British Women Writers in Detective and Crime Fiction. London: Palgrave, 2001. Rzepka, Charles J. Detective Fiction. Cambridge: Polity, 2005. Sayers, Dorothy L. “The Omnibus of Crime.” The Art of the Mystery Story: A Collection of Critical Essays. Ed. Howard Haycraft. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1928/1947. 71–109. Scaggs, John. Crime Fiction: The New Critical Idiom. London: Routledge, 2005. Sisterson, C. “Battle for the Marsh: Awards 2013.” Black Mask: Pulps, Noir and News of Same. 1 Jan. 2014 http://www.blackmask.com/category/awards-2013/ Sutherland, John. in A. Flood. “Could Miles Franklin turn the Booker Prize to Crime?” The Guardian. 1 Jan. 2014 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/jun/25/miles-franklin-booker-prize-crime›. Van Dine, S.S. “Twenty Rules for Writing Detective Stories.” The Art of the Mystery Story: A Collection of Critical Essays. Ed. Howard Haycraft. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1928/1947. 189-93. Wilson, Edmund. “Who Cares Who Killed Roger Ackroyd.” The Art of the Mystery Story: A Collection of Critical Essays. Ed. Howard Haycraft. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1944/1947. 390–97. Wyatt, N. “Redefining RA: A RA Big Think.” Library Journal Online. 1 Jan. 2014 ‹http://lj.libraryjournal.com/2007/07/ljarchives/lj-series-redefining-ra-an-ra-big-think›. Zunshine, Lisa. Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 2006.

Abstract:

Despite the now-traditional tendency of noir scholarship to call attention to the retrospective and constructed nature of this genre— James Naremore argues that film noir is best regarded as a “mythology”— one feature that has rarely come under question is its association with the city (2). Despite the existence of numerous rural noirs, the depiction of urban space is associated with this genre more consistently than any other element. Even in critical accounts that attempt to deconstruct the solidity of the noir genre, the city is left as an implicit inclusion, and the country, an implict exclusion. Naremore, for example, does not include the urban environment in a list of the central tenets of film noir that he calls into question: “nothing links together all the things described as noir—not the theme of crime, not a cinematographic technique, not even a resistance to Aristotelian narratives or happy endings” (10). Elizabeth Cowie identifies film noir a “fantasy,” whose “tenuous critical status” has been compensated for “by a tenacity of critical use” (121). As part of Cowie’s project, to revise the assumption that noirs are almost exclusively male-centered, she cites character types, visual style, and narrative tendencies, but never urban spaces, as familiar elements of noir that ought to be reconsidered. If the city is rarely tackled as an unnecessary or part-time element of film noir in discursive studies, it is often the first trait identified by critics in the kind of formative, characteristic-compiling studies that Cowie and Naremore work against.Andrew Dickos opens Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir with a list of noir’s key attributes. The first item is “an urban setting or at least an urban influence” (6). Nicholas Christopher maintains that “the city is the seedbed of film noir. […] However one tries to define or explain noir, the common denominator must always be the city. The two are inseparable” (37). Though the tendencies of noir scholars— both constructive and deconstructive— might lead readers to believe otherwise, rural locations figure prominently in a number of noir films. I will show that the noir genre is, indeed, flexible enough to encompass many films set predominantly or partly in rural locations. Steve Neale, who encourages scholars to work with genre terms familiar to original audiences, would point out that the rural noir is an academic discovery not an industry term, or one with much popular currency (166). Still, this does not lessen the critical usefulness of this subgenre, or its implications for noir scholarship.While structuralist and post-structuralist modes of criticism dominated film genre criticism in the 1970s and 80s, as Thomas Schatz has pointed out, these approaches often sacrifice close attention to film texts, for more abstract, high-stakes observations: “while there is certainly a degree to which virtually every mass-mediated cultural artifact can be examined from [a mythical or ideological] perspective, there appears to be a point at which we tend to lose sight of the initial object of inquiry” (100). Though my reading of these films sidesteps attention to social and political concerns, this article performs the no-less-important task of clarifying the textual features of this sub-genre. To this end, I will survey the tendencies of the rural noir more generally, mentioning more than ten films that fit this subgenre, before narrowing my analysis to a reading of Moonrise (Frank Borzage, 1948), Thieves’ Highway (Jules Dassin, 1949), They Live By Night (Nicholas Ray, 1949) and On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952). Robert Mitchum tries to escape his criminal life by settling in a small, mountain-side town in Out of the Past (Jacques Tourneur, 1947). A foggy marsh provides a dramatic setting for the Bonnie and Clyde-like demise of lovers on the run in Gun Crazy (Joseph Lewis, 1950). In The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston, 1950), Sterling Hayden longs to return home after he is forced to abandon his childhood horse farm for a life of organised crime in the city. Rob Ryan plays a cop unable to control his violent impulses in On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952). He is re-assigned from New York City to a rural community up-state in hopes that a less chaotic environment will have a curative effect. The apple orchards of Thieves’ Highway are no refuge from networks of criminal corruption. In They Live By Night, a pair of young lovers, try to leave their criminal lives behind, hiding out in farmhouses, cabins, and other pastoral locations in the American South. Finally, the location of prisons explains a number of sequences set in spare, road-side locations such as those in The Killer is Loose (Budd Boetticher, 1956), The Hitch-Hiker (Ida Lupino, 1953), and Raw Deal (Anthony Mann, 1948). What are some common tendencies of the rural noir? First, they usually feature both rural and urban settings, which allows the portrayal of one to be measured against the other. What we see of the city structures the definition of the country, and vice versa. Second, the lead character moves between these two locations by driving. For criminals, the car is more essential for survival in the country than in the city, so nearly all rural noirs are also road movies. Third, nature often figures as a redemptive force for urbanites steeped in lives of crime. Fourth, the curative quality of the country is usually tied to a love interest in this location: the “nurturing woman” as defined by Janey Place, who encourages the protagonist to forsake his criminal life (60). Fifth, the country is never fully crime-free. In The Killer is Loose, for example, an escaped convict’s first victim is a farmer, whom he clubs before stealing his truck. The convict (Wendell Corey), then, easily slips through a motorcade with the farmer’s identification. Here, the sprawling countryside provides an effective cover for the killer. This farmland is not an innocent locale, but the criminal’s safety-net. In films where a well-intentioned lead attempts to put his criminal life behind him by moving to a remote location, urban associates have little trouble tracking him down. While the country often appears, to protagonists like Jeff in Out of the Past or Bowie in They Live By Night, as an ideal place to escape from crime, as these films unfold, violence reaches the countryside. If these are similar points, what are some differences among rural noirs? First, there are many differences by degree among the common elements listed above. For instance, some rural noirs present their location with unabashed romanticism, while others critique the idealisation of these locations; some “nurturing women” are complicit with criminal activity, while others are entirely innocent. Second, while noir films are commonly known for treating similar urban locations, Los Angeles in particular, these films feature a wide variety of locations: Out of the Past and Thieves’ Highway take place in California, the most common setting for rural noirs, but On Dangerous Ground is set in northern New England, They Live by Night takes place in the Depression-era South, Moonrise in Southern swampland, and the most dynamic scene of The Asphalt Jungle is in rural Kentucky. Third, these films also vary considerably in the balance of settings. If the three typical locations of the rural noir are the country, the city, and the road, the distribution of these three locations varies widely across these films. The location of The Asphalt Jungle matches the title until its dramatic conclusion. The Hitch-hiker, arguably a rural noir, is set in travelling cars, with just brief stops in the barren landscape outside. Two of the films I analyse, They Live By Night and Moonrise are set entirely in the country; a remarkable exception to the majority of films in this subgenre. There are only two other critical essays on the rural noir. In “Shadows in the Hinterland: Rural Noir,” Jonathan F. Bell contextualises the rural noir in terms of post-war transformations of the American landscape. He argues that these films express a forlorn faith in the agrarian myth while the U.S. was becoming increasingly developed and suburbanised. That is to say, the rural noir simultaneously reflects anxiety over the loss of rural land, but also the stubborn belief that the countryside will always exist, if the urbanite needs it as a refuge. Garry Morris suggests the following equation as the shortest way to state the thematic interest of this genre: “Noir = industrialisation + (thwarted) spirituality.” He attributes much of the malaise of noir protagonists to the inhospitable urban environment, “far from [society’s] pastoral and romantic and spiritual origins.” Where Bell focuses on nine films— Detour (1945), The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), Out of the Past (1947), Key Largo (1948), Gun Crazy (1949), On Dangerous Ground (1952), The Hitch-Hiker (1953), Split Second (1953), and Killer’s Kiss (1955)— Morris’s much shorter article includes just The Asphalt Jungle (1950) and Gun Crazy. Of the four films I discuss, only On Dangerous Ground has previously been treated as part of this subgenre, though it has never been discussed alongside Nicholas Ray’s other rural noir. To further the development of the project that these authors have started— the formation of a rural noir corpus— I propose the inclusion of three additional films in this subgenre: Moonrise (1948), They Live by Night (1949), and Thieves’ Highway (1949). With both On Dangerous Ground and They Live by Night to his credit, Nicholas Ray has the distinction of being the most prolific director of rural noirs. In They Live by Night, two young lovers, Bowie (Farley Granger) and Keechie (Cathy O’Donnell), attempt to escape from their established criminal lives. Twenty-three year old Bowie has just been released from juvenile prison and finds rural Texas refreshing: “Out here, the air smells different,” he says. He meets Keechie through her father, a small time criminal organiser who would be happy to keep her secluded for life. When one of Bowie’s accomplices, Chicamaw (Howard DaSilva), shoots a policeman after a robbing a bank with Bowie, the young couple is forced to run. Foster Hirsch calls They Live by Night “a genre rarity, a sentimental noir” (34). The naïve blissfulness of their affection is associated with the primitive settings they navigate. Though Bowie and Keechie are the most sympathetic protagonists of any rural noir, this is no safeguard against an inevitable, characteristically noir demise. Janey Place writes, “the young lovers are doomed, but the possibility of their love transcends and redeems them both, and its failure criticises the urbanised world that will not let them live” (63). As indicated here, the country offers the young lovers refuge for some time, and their bond is depicted as wonderfully strong, but it is doomed by the stronger force of the law.Raymond Williams discusses how different characteristics are associated with urban and rural spaces:On the country has gathered the idea of a natural way of life: of peace, innocence, and simple virtue. On the city has gathered the idea of an achieved center: of learning, communication, light. Powerful hostile associations have also developed: on the city as a place of noise, worldliness and ambition; on the country as a place of backwardness, ignorance, limitation. (1) They Live By Night breaks down these dichotomies, showing the persistence of crime rooted in rural areas.Bowie desires to “get squared around” and live a more natural life with Keechie. Williams’ country adjectives— “peace, innocence, and simple virtue”— describe the nature of this relationship perfectly. Yet, criminal activity, usually associated with the city, has an overwhelmingly strong presence in this region and their lives. Bowie, following the doomed logic of many a crime film character, plans to launch a new, more honest life with cash raised in a heist. Keechie recognises the contradictions in this plan: “Fine way to get squared around, teaming with them. Stealing money and robbing banks. You’ll get in so deep trying to get squared, they’ll have enough to keep you in for two life times.” For Bowie, crime and the pursuit of love are inseparably bound, refuting the illusion of the pure and innocent countryside personified by characters like Mary Malden in On Dangerous Ground and Ann Miller in Out of the Past.In Ray’s other rural noir, On Dangerous Ground, a lonely, angry, and otherwise burned out cop, Wilson (Rob Ryan), finds both love and peace in his time away from the city. While on his up-state assignment, Wilson meets Mary Walden (Ida Lupino), a blind woman who lives a secluded life miles away from this already desolate, rural community. Mary has a calming influence on Wilson, and fits well within Janey Place’s notion of the archetypal nurturing woman in film noir: “The redemptive woman often represents or is part of a primal connection with nature and/or with the past, which are safe, static states rather than active, exciting ones, but she can sometimes offer the only transcendence possible in film noir” (63).If, as Colin McArthur observes, Ray’s characters frequently seek redemption in rural locales— “[protagonists] may reject progress and modernity; they may choose to go or are sent into primitive areas. […] The journeys which bring them closer to nature may also offer them hope of salvation” (124) — the conclusions of On Dangerous Ground versus They Live By Night offer two markedly different resolutions to this narrative. Where Bowie and Keechie’s life on the lam cannot be sustained, On Dangerous Ground, against the wishes of its director, portrays a much more romanticised version of pastoral life. According to Andrew Dickos, “Ray wanted to end the film on the ambivalent image of Jim Wilson returning to the bleak city,” after he had restored order up-state (132). The actual ending is more sentimental. Jim rushes back north to be with Mary. They passionately kiss in close-up, cueing an exuberant orchestral score as The End appears over a slow tracking shot of the majestic, snow covered landscape. In this way, On Dangerous Ground overturns the usual temporal associations of rural versus urban spaces. As Raymond Williams identifies, “The common image of the country is now an image of the past, and the common image of the city an image of the future” (297). For Wilson, by contrast, city life was no longer sustainable and rurality offers his best means for a future. Leo Marx noted in a variety of American pop culture, from Mark Twain to TV westerns and magazine advertising, a “yearning for a simpler, more harmonious style of life, and existence ‘closer to nature,’ that is the psychic root of all pastoralism— genuine and spurious” (Marx 6). Where most rural noirs expose the agrarian myth as a fantasy and a sham, On Dangerous Ground, exceptionally, perpetuates it as actual and effectual. Here, a bad cop is made good with a few days spent in a sparsely populated area and with a woman shaped by her rural upbringing.As opposed to On Dangerous Ground, where the protagonist’s movement from city to country matches his split identity as a formerly corrupt man wishing to be pure, Frank Borzage’s B-film Moonrise (1948) is located entirely in rural or small-town locations. Set in the fictional Southern town of Woodville, which spans swamps, lushly wooded streets and aging Antebellum mansions, the lead character finds good and bad within the same rural location and himself. Dan (Dane Clark) struggles to escape his legacy as the son of a murderer. This conflict is irreparably heightened when Dan kills a man (who had repeatedly teased and bullied him) in self-defence. The instability of Dan’s moral compass is expressed in the way he treats innocent elements of the natural world: flies, dogs, and, recalling Out of the Past, a local deaf boy. He is alternately cruel and kind. Dan is finally redeemed after seeking the advice of a black hermit, Mose (Rex Ingram), who lives in a ramshackle cabin by the swamp. He counsels Dan with the advice that men turn evil from “being lonesome,” not for having “bad blood.” When Dan, eventually, decides to confess to his crime, the sheriff finds him tenderly holding a search hound against a bucolic, rural backdrop. His complete comfortability with the landscape and its creatures finally allows Dan to reconcile the film’s opening opposition. He is no longer torturously in between good and evil, but openly recognises his wrongs and commits to do good in the future. If I had to select just a single shot to illustrate that noirs are set in rural locations more often than most scholarship would have us believe, it would be the opening sequence of Moonrise. From the first shot, this film associates rural locations with criminal elements. The credit sequence juxtaposes pooling water with an ominous brass score. In this disorienting opening, the camera travels from an image of water, to a group of men framed from the knees down. The camera dollies out and pans left, showing that these men, trudging solemnly, are another’s legal executioners. The frame tilts upward and we see a man hung in silhouette. This dense shot is followed by an image of a baby in a crib, also shadowed, the water again, and finally the execution scene. If this sequence is a thematic montage, it can also be discussed, more simply, as a series of establishing shots: a series of images that, seemingly, could not be more opposed— a baby, a universal symbol of innocence, set against the ominous execution, cruel experience— are paired together by virtue of their common location. The montage continues, showing that the baby is the son of the condemned man. As Dan struggles with the legacy of his father throughout the film, this opening shot continues to inform our reading of this character, split between the potential for good or evil.What a baby is to Moonrise, or, to cite a more familiar reference, what the insurance business is to many a James M. Cain roman noir, produce distribution is to Jules Dassin’s Thieves’ Highway (1949). The apple, often a part of wholesome American myths, is at the centre of this story about corruption. Here, a distribution network that brings Americans this hearty, simple product is connected with criminal activity and violent abuses of power more commonly portrayed in connection with cinematic staples of organised crime such as bootlegging or robbery. This film portrays bad apples in the apple business, showing that no profit driven enterprise— no matter how traditional or rural— is beyond the reach of corruption.Fitting the nature of this subject, numerous scenes in the Dassin film take place in the daylight (in addition to darkness), and in the countryside (in addition to the city) as we move between wine and apple country to the market districts of San Francisco. But if the subject and setting of Thieves’ Highway are unusual for a noir, the behaviour of its characters is not. Spare, bright country landscapes form the backdrop for prototypical noir behaviour: predatory competition for money and power.As one would expect of a film noir, the subject of apple distribution is portrayed with dynamic violence. In the most exciting scene of the film, a truck careens off the road after a long pursuit from rival sellers. Apples scatter across a hillside as the truck bursts into flames. This scene is held in a long-shot, as unscrupulous thugs gather the produce for sale while the unfortunate driver burns to death. Here, the reputedly innocent American apple is subject to cold-blooded, profit-maximizing calculations as much as the more typical topics of noir such as blackmail, fraud, or murder. Passages on desolate roads and at apple orchards qualify Thieves’ Highway as a rural noir; the dark, cynical manner in which capitalist enterprise is treated is resonant with nearly all film noirs. Thieves’ Highway follows a common narrative pattern amongst rural noirs to gradually reveal rural spaces as connected to criminality in urban locations. Typically, this disillusioning fact is narrated from the perspective of a lead character who first has a greater sense of safety in rural settings but learns, over the course of the story, to be more wary in all locations. In Thieves’, Nick’s hope that apple-delivery might earn an honest dollar (he is the only driver to treat the orchard owners fairly) gradually gives way to an awareness of the inevitable corruption that has taken over this enterprise at all levels of production, from farmer, to trucker, to wholesaler, and thus, at all locations, the country, the road, and the city.Between this essay, and the previous work of Morris and Bell on the subject, we are developing a more complete survey of the rural noir. Where Bell’s and Morris’s essays focus more resolutely on rural noirs that relied on the contrast of the city versus the country— which, significantly, was the first tendency of this subgenre that I observed— Moonrise and They Live By Night demonstrate that this genre can work entirely apart from the city. From start to finish, these films take place in small towns and rural locations. As opposed to Out of the Past, On Dangerous Ground, or The Asphalt Jungle, characters are never pulled back to, nor flee from, an urban life of crime. Instead, vices that are commonly associated with the city have a free-standing life in the rural locations that are often thought of as a refuge from these harsh elements. If both Bell and Morris study the way that rural noirs draw differences between the city and country, two of the three films I add to the subgenre constitute more complete rural noirs, films that work wholly outside urban locations, not just in contrast with it. Bell, like me, notes considerable variety in rural noirs locations, “desert landscapes, farms, mountains, and forests all qualify as settings for consideration,” but he also notes that “Diverse as these landscapes are, this set of films uses them in surprisingly like-minded fashion to achieve a counterpoint to the ubiquitous noir city” (219). In Bell’s analysis, all nine films he studies, feature significant urban segments. He is, in fact, so inclusive as to discuss Stanley Kubrick’s Killer’s Kiss as a rural noir even though it does not contain a single frame shot or set outside of New York City. Rurality is evoked only as a possibility, as alienated urbanite Davy (Jamie Smith) receives letters from his horse-farm-running relatives. Reading these letters offers Davy brief moments of respite from drudgerous city spaces such as the subway and his cramped apartment. In its emphasis on the centrality of rural locations, my project is more similar to David Bell’s work on the rural in horror films than to Jonathan F. Bell’s work on the rural noir. David Bell analyses the way that contemporary horror films work against a “long tradition” of the “idyllic rural” in many Western texts (95). As opposed to works “from Henry David Thoreau and Walt Whitman to contemporary television shows like Northern Exposure and films such as A River Runs Through It or Grand Canyon” in which the rural is positioned as “a restorative to urban anomie,” David Bell analyses films such as Deliverance and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre that depict “a series of anti-idyllic visions of the rural” (95). Moonrise and They Live By Night, like these horror films, portray the crime and the country as coexistent spheres at the same time that the majority of other popular culture, including noirs like Killer’s Kiss or On Dangerous Ground, portray them as mutually exclusive.To use a mode of generic analysis developed by Rick Altman, the rural noir, while preserving the dominant syntax of other noirs, presents a remarkably different semantic element (31). Consider the following description of the genre, from the introduction to Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference Guide: “The darkness that fills the mirror of the past, which lurks in a dark corner or obscures a dark passage out of the oppressively dark city, is not merely the key adjective of so many film noir titles but the obvious metaphor for the condition of the protagonist’s mind” (Silver and Ward, 4). In this instance, the narrative elements, or syntax, of film noir outlined by Silver and Ward do not require revision, but the urban location, a semantic element, does. Moonrise and They Live By Night demonstrate the sustainability of the aforementioned syntactic elements— the dark, psychological experience of the leads and their inescapable criminal past— apart from the familiar semantic element of the city.The rural noir must also cause us to reconsider— beyond rural representations or film noir— more generally pitched genre theories. Consider the importance of place to film genre, the majority of which are defined by a typical setting: for melodramas, it is the family home, for Westerns, the American west, and for musicals, the stage. Thomas Schatz separates American genres according to their setting, between genres which deal with “determinate” versus “indeterminate” space:There is a vital distinction between kinds of generic settings and conflicts. Certain genres […] have conflicts that, indigenous to the environment, reflect the physical and ideological struggle for its control. […] Other genres have conflicts that are not indigenous to the locale but are the results of the conflict between the values, attitudes, and actions of its principal characters and the ‘civilised’ setting they inhabit. (26) Schatz discusses noirs, along with detective films, as films which trade in “determinate” settings, limited to the space of the city. The rural noir slips between Schatz’s dichotomy, moving past the space of the city, but not into the civilised, tame settings of the genres of “indeterminate spaces.” It is only fitting that a genre whose very definition lies in its disruption of Hollywood norms— trading high- for low-key lighting, effectual male protagonists for helpless ones, and a confident, coherent worldview for a more paranoid, unstable one would, finally, be able to accommodate a variation— the rural noir— that would seem to upset one of its central tenets, an urban locale. Considering the long list of Hollywood standards that film noirs violated, according to two of its original explicators, Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton— “a logical action, an evident distinction between good and evil, well-defined characters with clear motives, scenes that are more spectacular than brutal, a heroine who is exquisitely feminine and a hero who is honest”— it should, perhaps, not be so surprising that the genre is flexible enough to accommodate the existence of the rural noir after all (14). AcknowledgmentsIn addition to M/C Journal's anonymous readers, the author would like to thank Corey Creekmur, Mike Slowik, Barbara Steinson, and Andrew Gorman-Murray for their helpful suggestions. ReferencesAltman, Rick. “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 27-41.The Asphalt Jungle. Dir. John Huston. MGM/UA, 1950.Bell, David. “Anti-Idyll: Rural Horror.” Contested Countryside Cultures. Eds. Paul Cloke and Jo Little. London, Routledge, 1997. 94-108.Bell, Jonathan F. “Shadows in the Hinterland: Rural Noir.” Architecture and Film. Ed. Mark Lamster. New York: Princeton Architectural P, 2000. 217-230.Borde, Raymond and Etienne Chaumeton. A Panorama of American Film Noir. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2002.Christopher, Nicholas. Somewhere in the Night: Film Noir and the American City. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997.Cowie, Elizabeth. “Film Noir and Women.” Shades of Noir. Ed. Joan Copjec. New York: Verso, 1993. 121-166.Dickos, Andrew. Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 2002.Hirsch, Foster. Detours and Lost Highways: A Map of Neo-Noir. New York: Limelight Editions, 1999.Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. New York: Oxford UP, 1964.McArthur, Colin. Underworld U.S.A. London: BFI, 1972.Moonrise. Dir. Frank Borzage. Republic, 1948.Morris, Gary. “Noir Country: Alien Nation.” Bright Lights Film Journal Nov. 2006. 13. Jun. 2008 http://www.brightlightsfilm.com/54/noircountry.htm Muller, Eddie. Dark City: The Lost World of Film Noir. New York: St. Martin’s P, 1998.Naremore, James. More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts. Berkeley, C.A.: U of California P, 2008.Neale, Steve. “Questions of Genre.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 160-184.On Dangerous Ground. Dir. Nicholas Ray. RKO, 1951.Out of the Past. Dir. Jacques Tourneur. RKO, 1947.Place, Janey. “Women in Film Noir.” Women in Film Noir. Ed. E. Ann Kaplan. London: BFI, 1999. 47-68.Schatz, Thomas. Hollywood Genres. New York: Random House, 1981.Schatz, Thomas. “The Structural Influence: New Directions in Film Genre Study.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 92-102.Silver, Alain and Elizabeth Ward. Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference Guide. London: Bloomsbury, 1980.They Live by Night. Dir. Nicholas Ray. RKO, 1949.Thieves’ Highway. Dir. Jules Dassin. Fox, 1949.Williams, Raymond. The Country and the City. New York: Oxford UP, 1973.