This chapter discusses an underexplored and relatively unappreciated, but essential, aspect of Samuel Johnson’s writing and thinking: his intellectual relationship with Renaissance humanism. Looking at representative figures such as Sir Thomas More, Sir Francis Bacon, and Michel de Montaigne, Lee explores the influence these writers and thinkers had upon Johnson, describing his lifelong interest in the kinds of scholarly works for which they were known (dictionary, scholarly edition, biography, satire, skeptical essay) and also detecting their presence in Johnson’s moral and philosophical commitment to an “active” life, and even in his very prose style. In so doing so, the chapter concludes that Johnson embraced Renaissance humanism while simultaneously adapting it into a project relevant and responsive to the demands of his own day and age – and, indeed, suggesting a model for our own potential humanism today.

As shown in Chapter 6, Q’eqchi’ mas is not at all similar in function to Spanish más. The closest equivalent to Spanish más is rather the Q’eqchi’ particle chik, especially in regards to the types of constructions that incorporate it and the kinds of presupposition such constructions carry. To show this, Chapter 8 details the wide range of arguments that the form chik ‘more/else’ can take as an operator: verbal and stative predicates, wh-words, and quantities, inter alia. It shows that, across all these constructions, chik presupposes that a proposition is true of some quantity (degree, event, entity, or time), and it asserts that the proposition is true for a larger quantity (greater degree, subsequent event, other entity, or later time). It shows that, while chik behaves very similarly to Spanish más and English ‘more’ (as well as English ‘else’, ‘(no) longer’, and ‘(not) again’), it does not serve the same comparative function as its Spanish and English counterparts, except in the relatively marked case of self-comparison. Finally, it compares and contrasts the meaning of chik with two closely related forms: ajwi’ ‘also’ and ka’ajwi’ ‘only’.

Comparison involves morphology and syntax for describing something as ranking above or below something else, as being equivalent to something, or as falling at the very top or the very bottom of the scale. Many adjectives do this by inflecting for grade, having plain, comparative and superlative forms. This inflectional system applies also to a small number of determinatives and adverbs. Others are modified by ‘more’ or ‘less’.

Superlatives express set comparison, with one item outranking all of the others. The comparative form, by contrast, is predominantly used in term comparison – comparison between a primary term and a secondary term. There are also comparisons of equality, which are always marked by a modifying phrase rather than by inflection, along with a type of non-scalar comparison where the issue is simply of identity or similarity.

The prepositions ‘than’ and ‘as’ often license as complements a distinctive type of subordinate clause called a comparative clause. Comparative clauses constitute one of the three major kinds of tensed subordinate clause, being distinctive in that they are obligatorily reduced in certain ways relative to the structure of main clauses.

This chapter explores the emergence of a new kind of anatomical knowledge in the early modern period, arguing that such anatomical knowledge inaugurates a new conception of the relation between the body and the state. This conception can be seen in the work of Hobbes, Descartes and Locke and is also bodied forth in the art and literature of the period. The chapter reads this emerging prosthetic imagination as it is pictured in Rembrandt’s images of anatomised bodies, and in the development of a novelistic account of interior being, as it imagined in More, Francis Bacon and Margaret Cavendish. The chapter ends with an exploration of the prosthetic imagination as it is given its fullest early modern expression in Cervantes’ Don Quixote.

Notions of decadence, decline, and decay are intrinsically linked to the history of art. The discipline’s three recognized forefathers ? Giorgio Vasari, Johann Joachim Winckelmann, and Heinrich Wölfflin ? all relied on the concept of decadence (and its antonym, progress) to make sense of the history of the visual arts and to evaluate the art of their times. A developmental model of art was central to the interpretative schemes of these art historians. In this organicist model, earlier developments prepare the stage for what comes later; and after a particular style flourishes for a time, its decline is inevitable as newer styles overtake it. Decadent artists such as Gustave Moreau and Aubrey Beardsley mock aesthetic standards and moral rules, precluding universal appreciation, and proudly so. Decadent artists and decadent audiences are estranged from their society and feel disdain for those who are scandalized by decadent art’s innovative form and immoral subject matter.

The philosophical origins of the concept of decadence lie with the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860). These ‘origins’ are retrospective, in that Schopenhauer was interpreted as the philosopher of decadence only in the late nineteenth century largely because of the work of Friedrich Nietzsche. More than any other philosopher of his era, Nietzsche conceptualized modern decadence on a grand and influential scale. He held decadence to be any condition, deceptively thought good, which limits what something or someone can be. This concept informs his critical and affirmative projects, acting as a versatile tool to identify and overcome his own decadence, and to resist the decadence of Western culture in five major areas of concern to Nietzsche: physiology; psychology; art and artists; politics; and philosophy. In each of these five areas the concept of decadence for Nietzsche serves to unmask valued cultural phenomena as corrupt; to name and analyse degenerate effects; and to spur reflection on how to respond.