French naturalists at the Muséum Nationale d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris in the early nineteenth century recognized that their individual and collective successes were intimately linked to questions of power over specimens. France’s strength abroad affected the growth of the museum’s collections. At the museum, preserving, naming, classifying, displaying, interpreting, and otherwise deploying specimens went hand in hand with promoting scientific theories, advancing scientific careers, and instructing the public. The control of specimens, both literally and figuratively, was the museum’s ongoing concern. (...) The leopard in this essay’s title, a live specimen confiscated from the streets of Paris in 1793, serves here to represent the tensions created in an existing order of things by the introduction of a potentially disruptive agent. The essay explores the life of the museum and the interrelations among its naturalists, the special challenges created by the establishment of a menagerie, and the histories of particular specimens and ideas. (shrink)

Leopards break into the temple and drink to the dregs what is in the sacrificial pitchers; this is repeated over and over again; finally it can be calculated in advance, and it becomes part of the ceremony.–Franz KaflaFor more than two decades, significant controversies have been brewing over the efficacy and safety of Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors and other treatments for depression, and also over the expansion of their use for the treatment of a variety of other conditions. These controversies (...) culminated, in June 2004, with alawsuit intended by Eliot Spitzer, Attorney General of the State of New York. The lawsuit accused pharmaceutical giant GlaxoSmith-Kline of “repeated and persistent fraud by misrepresentation, concealing and otherwise failing to disclose to physicians information in its control concerning the safety and effectiveness of its antidepressant medication paroxetine” in treating children and adolescents suffering from depression. (shrink)

Leopards break into the temple and drink to the dregs what is in the sacrificial pitchers; this is repeated over and over again; finally it can be calculated in advance, and it becomes part of the ceremony.–Franz KaflaFor more than two decades, significant controversies have been brewing over the efficacy and safety of Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors and other treatments for depression, and also over the expansion of their use for the treatment of a variety of other conditions. These controversies (...) culminated, in June 2004, with alawsuit intended by Eliot Spitzer, Attorney General of the State of New York. The lawsuit accused pharmaceutical giant GlaxoSmith-Kline of “repeated and persistent fraud by misrepresentation, concealing and otherwise failing to disclose to physicians information in its control concerning the safety and effectiveness of its antidepressant medication paroxetine” in treating children and adolescents suffering from depression. (shrink)

This paper sets out to undermine the view that a commitment to the early modern conception of the mind as immortalized in Ryle’s metaphor of the (Cartesian) ghost in the machine and in Quine’s metaphor of the (Lockean) myth of the museum is required to articulate a defence of the sui generis character of humanistic explanations. These powerful metaphors have not only contributed to undermining the claim for methodological pluralism by caricaturizing the arguments for disunity in the sciences; they have (...) also, and more worryingly, planted red herrings that have diverted attention away from the genuine issues at stake. This paper is an exercise in removing these false clues to reveal what the claim for the autonomy of humanistic explanations really amounts to. (shrink)

A Teaching Memoir That Crosses the Barriers Between Worlds A shaman is one who has learned to move between two worlds: our physical reality and the realm of spirits. For John Lockley, shamanic training also meant learning to cross the immense divide of race and culture in South Africa. As a medic drafted into the South African military in 1990, John Lockley had a powerful dream. "Even though I am a white man of Irish and English descent, I knew in (...) my bones that I had received my calling to become a sangoma, a traditional South African shaman," John writes. "I felt blessed by the ancient spirit of Africa, and I knew that I had started on a journey filled with magic and danger." His path took him from the hills of South Korea, where he trained as a student under Zen Master Su Bong, to the rural African landscape of the Eastern Cape and the world of the sangoma mystic healers, where he found his teacher in the medicine woman called MaMngwevu. In Leopard Warrior, John shares a gripping account of his experiences and the wisdom he learned over years of training. Here he invites you to discover: • Powerful insights into the spiritual tradition of the Xhosa lineage of South Africa—the tribe of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu • Ubuntu—a core concept for recognizing and embracing our deep interconnection with all living things • Ancestor medicine—how we can learn to honor the blood in our veins, the heritage of our soul, and our shared humanity • Recovering our forgotten knowledge about the wisdom of our dreams, the spirits of plants and animals, and the power of the unseen world In traditional African healing circles, the leopard represents intuition, instinct, and harmony with nature and the spirit world. As John Lockley writes, "A leopard warrior is a spiritual soldier who mirrors the natural world and directs their gaze inward to answer the call of their spirit." With Leopard Warrior, he brings us an inspiring call to action—showing how we can bridge the barriers that divide us, embrace the gifts of our ancestors, and reclaim our rightful place as compassionate caretakers of our world. (shrink)

This paper contrasts the personal experiences of a man with learning disabilities and autism with staff in two different settings: a long-stay institution for people with learning disabilities, and the community. These experiences highlight some of the potential personal, professional and ethical conflicts facing staff working in learning disability services.

Geckos have gained ecological access to novel microhabitats by exploiting intermolecular van der Waals forces, which allow them to climb smooth vertical surfaces. They use microscopic surface‐based phenomena to thrive in a macroscopic mass‐ and kinetic energy‐based world. Here we detail this as a premier example of integrative biology, spanning seven orders of magnitude and a lot of interesting biology. Emergent properties arising from molecular adhesion include several adaptive radiations that have produced a great diversity of geckos worldwide. BioEssays 27:647–652, (...) 2005. © 2005 Wiley Periodicals, Inc. (shrink)

For twenty-five years Eduard Fischer returned to the Trans-Himalayan region of Ladakh, enthralled by the unique culture of this ancient Buddhist kingdom, and seeking to catch just a glimpse of the elusive snow leopard. This is the tale of that quest, but also an exploration of myth, art, science, and the sacred space of high mountains.

Banded geckos (Coleonyx variegatus) were trained, at the rate of five daily trials, on eight intradimensional spatial shifts to a criterion of 80% correct per reversal. In contrast to several previously reported failures to obtain reversal learning, Coleonyx demonstrated significant improvement on both errors and trials to criterion. Their reversal performance compares favorably with that of birds and mammals and a common index of reversal ability, the mean total error, did not differentiate between taxa.

We develop a formal semantic analysis of the alarm calls used by Campbell’s monkeys in the Tai forest and on Tiwai island —two sites that differ in the main predators that the monkeys are exposed to. Building on data discussed in Ouattara et al. :e7808, 2009a; PNAS 106: 22026–22031, 2009b and Arnold et al., we argue that on both sites alarm calls include the roots krak and hok, which can optionally be affixed with -oo, a kind of attenuating suffix; in (...) addition, sentences can start with boom boom, which indicates that the context is not one of predation. In line with Arnold et al., we show that the meaning of the roots is not quite the same in Tai and on Tiwai: krak often functions as a leopard alarm call in Tai, but as a general alarm call on Tiwai. We develop models based on a compositional semantics in which concatenation is interpreted as conjunction, roots have lexical meanings, -oo is an attenuating suffix, and an all-purpose alarm parameter is raised with each individual call. The first model accounts for the difference between Tai and Tiwai by way of different lexical entries for krak. The second model gives the same underspecified entry to krak in both locations, but it makes use of a competition mechanism akin to scalar implicatures. In Tai, strengthening yields a meaning equivalent to non-aerial dangerous predator and turns out to single out leopards. On Tiwai, strengthening yields a nearly contradictory meaning due to the absence of ground predators, and only the unstrengthened meaning is used. (shrink)

People frequently see design in nature that reflects intuitive teleological thinking– that is, the order in nature that supports life suggests it was designed for that purpose. This research proposes that inferences are stronger when nature supports human life in particular. Five studies (total N = 1788) examine evidence for an anthro-teleological bias. People agreed more with design statements framed to aid humans (e.g., “trees produce oxygen so that humans can breathe”) than the same statements framed to aid other targets (...) (“trees produce oxygen so that leopards can breathe”). The bias was greatest when advantages for humans were well-known and salient (e.g., the ozone layer) and decreased when advantages for other targets were made explicit. The bias was not eliminated by highlighting the benefits for other species, however, and emerged spontaneously for novel phenomena (Jupiter’s gravity protects Earth from asteroids). We conclude that anthropocentric biases enhance existing teleological biases to see stronger design in phenomena where it enables human survival. (shrink)

It is only through the duality of the `masculine' and the `feminine' that the `human' finds full realization.Pope John Paul IISee the power of national emblems. Some stars, lilies, leopards, a crescent, a lion, an eagle, or other figure, which came into credit, God knows how, on an old rag of bunting, blowing in the wind, on a fort, at the ends of the earth, shall make the blood tingle under the rudest or the most conventional exterior. The people fancy (...) they hate poetry, and they are all poets and mystics! Ralph Waldo Emerson. (shrink)

Brian Goodwin, author of How the Leopard Changed Its Spots, argues for a view of nature as complex, interrelated networks of relationships. He proposes that, in order for us to once again work with nature to achieve true sustainability on our planet, we need to adopt a new science, new art, new design, new economies and new patterns of responsibility. We must be willing to pay nature its due: to recognize what we owe to the natural world and resist (...) exploiting it solely for our own ends. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Sacredness of Nature: Response to Six Objections to Religious NaturalismDonald A. Crosby (bio)The poet Mary Oliver speaks as a kind of religious naturalist when she writes in her book of prose and poetry Winter Hours, “I would not be a poet without the natural world. Someone else could. But not me. For me, the door to the woods is the door to the temple. Under the trees, along (...) the pale slopes of sand, I walk in an ascendent relationship to rapture, and with words, I celebrate the rapture. I see, and dote upon, the manifest.”1 She speaks as a poet and not as a philosopher or religious scholar, but she does so as one who is ardently in touch with the sacredness of nature. Her vocation as a poet is testimony to this constant attunement. Her daily walks in the woods and by the sea are her portals of access to the temple of the natural world. Her every step makes contact with holy ground.Oliver’s poetic vocation shows itself to be in deep sympathy with all of the living and nonliving aspects of nature, and thus with the imminent ecological crisis of our time, when she reflects later in this same book, “The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense of honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves—we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together. We are each other’s destiny.”2Poet, philosopher, religious scholar, ecologist, and perceptive human being are bound together in Mary Oliver’s alert responses to the sacredness of nature. She captures in both her poetic and prose writing the essential spirit and outlook of religious naturalism. I do not claim that she is a religious naturalist; that would be going beyond what I am capable of knowing. But she certainly sounds like one in many respects throughout the poetry and prose of this book.I want us to keep constantly in mind her spirit and outlook as we ponder the cogency, adequacy, and appeal of religious naturalism as a way of thinking and living religiously, for they are the ultimate tests of that adequacy. I want us to do so by considering objections of various sorts arguing that religious [End Page 24] naturalism fails to be sufficiently religious in the way of satisfying the deepest discernments, needs, hopes, and foundations of authentic religious faith. My plan for this essay is to present what I surmise to be some of the most substantive objections, and to reply to each of them in turn.I do so in defense of the thesis that religious naturalism—at least as I have come to interpret and understand it over many years—is a strong contender for having an honored place among the religions of the world. My personal conception of religious naturalism is of course only one of many, and other religious naturalists might have different kinds of response to at least some of these objections. But my responses indicate the capability of religious naturalism to take such objections seriously into account and to provide plausible answers to them.The objections I want to respond to in this essay are six in number. All of them, as will be seen, assume a kind of panpsychism or the primordiality of some kind of mind or spirit, a view I find unnecessary and tending strongly toward an untenable mind-matter dualism in my defense of religious naturalism. 3 The first one is that nature by itself has no overarching purpose or reason for being. The second is that if mind and spirit are emergent rather than primordial, then they are reducible to blind physical processes, meaning that religion is implausibly reduced to physics. The third objection is that nature is just a mass of meaningless facts, with no objective, dependable values of any kind, including religious values. The fourth objection is that with impersonal nature rather than a personal, loving, God as its focus, religious naturalism lacks essential divine... (shrink)

In Book IV of The Odyssey , Menelaus tells Telemachus as much as he knows of Odysseus' wanderings. He reports that Odysseus, wanting to learn the end of his travels and needing directions for returning safely home through the dangerous seas, captured Proteus and held fast to him, though Proteus transformed himself into a bearded lion, a snake, a leopard, a bear, running water and finally into a flowering tree. Proteus eventually wearied, and consented to tell Odysseus something of (...) what he wished to know. (shrink)

This chapter contains sections titled: Story One: Sewn into My Skin is Written into My Story Story Two: Tattooing at Auschwitz – Ink, Terror, Death Story Three: Tattooing as a Practice of Writing, Unwriting, Inscription, and Counterinscription Story Four: ‘Real’ Tattoos and the Excesses of Meaning A Final Story: My Geckos.

A. Whisper; utter softly; speak privately; [fig.] confide; make known Breathe in Ear more modern God's old fashioned vows B. Inhale and exhale; process air through the lungs; [fig.] live; subsist And now, by Life deprived, In my own Grave I breathe C. Exist; show life force; [fig.] purr; yowl; make vibrant animal sounds With thee in the Tamarind wood -- Leopard breathes -- at last! D. Absorb; assimilate; internalize; infuse; gather. And now, removed from Air -- I simulate (...) the Breath, so well -- E. Gasp; draw in air; respond with admiration 'Tis Costly -- So are purples! 'Tis just the price of Breath -- F. Flutter; flicker; waver; hover; palpitate; [fig.] betray; vacillate; be unfaithful: An hour behind... Read More. (shrink)

Although this book is about the newly emerging academic field of environmental communication, it is also about voice and practical activism. I contend that a deeply pragmatic form of environmental communication has the potential to transform the way environmental activists speak about their methods and goals – moving them toward a rhetoric of eco-justice. Sometimes looking forward requires stepping back – in this case back to two progressive era thinkers who revolutionised our outlook on social and environmental justice: John Dewey (...) and Aldo Leopard. I argue that the impoverished state of present day studies in environmental communication can be traced to a shallow conception of the pragmatic – a conception that can be made deeper through recourse to Dewey’s and Leopold’s ideas. Originating from their philosophies are twin rhetorics — control and restraint — that when balanced constitute a rhetoric of eco-justice. This new approach to speaking about environmental matters proves helpful for contemporary environmental activists – particularly when working in the areas of wilderness preservation, gardening politics, global climate change and environmental justice. (shrink)

Analysis of the light‐induced changes of cytosolic Ca2+ ([Ca2+]i) in photoreceptor cells has been taken a step further with two recently published studies(1,2). In one, changes in [Ca2+]i were measured in single detached rod outer segments from Gecko in response to various light intensities. The advances of the other(2) are embodied in its employment of transgenic Drosophila, whose photoreceptors express a visual pigment that is insensitive to the wavelength of light used in the fluorescence imaging of [Ca2+]i. These studies (...) provide a better basis for understanding the regulation of Ca2+‐mediated events in photoreceptor cells. (shrink)

Animals have always been important for human life due to the ecological, cultural and economic functions that they represent. This has allowed building several kinds of relationships that have promoted different emotions in human societies. The objective of this review was to identify the main emotions that humans show towards wildlife species and the impact of such emotions on animal populations’ management. We reviewed academic databases to identify previous studies on this topic worldwide. An analysis of the emotions on wildlife (...) and factors causing them is described here. We identified a controversy about these emotions. Large predators such as wolves, coyotes, bears, big felids, as well as reptiles such as snakes and geckos promote mainly anger, fear, and disgust. This is likely due to the perceptions, beliefs and experiences that societies have historically built around them. However, in some social groups these animals have promoted emotions such as happiness due to their values for people. Likewise, sadness is an emotion expressed for the threatening situations that animals are facing nowadays. Furthermore, we associated the conservation status of wildlife species identified in the study with human emotions to discuss their relevance for emerging conservation strategies, particularly focused on endangered species promoting ambiguous emotions in different social groups. (shrink)

Bringing Flowers HomeWe try to put a bandage on the wound,offering a vague apology:Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.Towers turn out to have been built on sand.Regimes collapse. No use in asking whywe ripped the bandage off that bleeding wound.An earthquake followed by a hurricane,fires, floods: they've passed some of us by.Us. And who is we? And what is home?Last week an enormous yellow moonhung low in a corner of the sky.Beauty is no bandage for the wound,hole in (...) the future much too big to mendor even to imagine, though we tryto camouflage it, bringing flowers home.You said, when we were talking of the end,that no one teaches us to say goodbye,or how to ease the bandage from the wound.Forgive me, death. I brought these flowers home.Moving the PianoCompact, gleaming, black and white,this sturdy Yamaha uprightstood staunchly in one room for yearsuntil, maneuvered through several doorstoday by two young slender menand up a ramp into their van,it ventured briefly out into the world again.The change of space, the space of change:the walls look naked, empty, strange.Heavy has given way to light.Habitual soliditytoo familiar to seeyields to possibilitytoo unfamiliar to see.Late and early, early, late,end, beginning—all are swirledinto a mist that veils the world.The black and white of status quoblends to a color I don't know,transition that I cannot name,but I salute it all the same.Goodbye, piano, and hello.So where is the piano going?Where will it find another life,music and memories unpackedin an unfolding second act?North Carolina, near a riverwhose stream, like time, is always flowing.My son lives there with his wife.Beloved, nothing is forever.You can't step twice into this life.Nap at Stony PointMy cousin and my friendon their respective recent deathbedsslid from my mind. I noticedthe scarlet splash of a cardinal perched on a cannonon a bluff above the Hudson.I lay down on a picnic table,sun on my face, five turkey vulturescircling overhead, and closed my eyes.And when I opened them I felt as pleasedas if I had completed some needful taskinstead of having forgottenhow my friend in January and my cousin in March,both of them alert and wry and tranquil,had faced what each of them clearly saw approaching—more, had recognized and greeted it,instead of ignoring it by looking through it,the way some people, even iftheir office is two doors down the hall,look right through you, pretending not to see you.Or maybe they don't see youany more than one envisions deathon a sunny April afternoon.The Last Lecture HallTheaters that were never ours,classrooms empty and refill.Nor do the trees belong to us.We cross the stage and disappearor venture in among the treesand lose ourselves there.Feverish categories blur.Genre distinctions: what for?The empty theater becomesa lecture hall. A classroom morphsinto a forest murmuringwith voices. Words pelt down like rainor rise like mist and dissipate.The rustling trees swell to a roar.But they were never still.Theater, classroom, maple, fir:feverish categories blur,presences pressing through the veilof the phenomenal;a leopard padding down the aisle.Tiger-masked students fill the seatsof the amphitheater.The old professor, looking outover the upturned faces, said“You are all allegoricalfigures to me. I will not learnyour names.” Did the students laugh?Tragedy, satire, comedy:genres are deciduous.Modes blur, leaves spin and fall.The leaves of memory seemed to makeA mournful rustling in the dark(Longfellow, “The Fire of Driftwood”).Lights go on in the theater.Class is over. We stumble out.The GatesWhen I woke up I had walked through a gate.I looked around the room—trickle or torrent, stepping into time—and bent my head to drink at a black stream.I look around a roomthick with the dust of after and before.Am I meant to drink from this black stream?My lips are dry,thick with the crust of after and before,gate of ivory and gate of horn.My lips are dry, I'm thirsty.Heat, cold, fire, snow, sun.Gate of ivory and gate of horn:to cross a threshold ends one story(firelight; snow squeaking; winter sun)and begins another.To cross a threshold ends one story(ever after? or a transformation?)and begins anotherthere is no law compelling us to enter.Ever after or a transformation.Torrent, trickle: we set foot in time,but there's no law compelling us to enterstory once we've latched the gate of dream.FilamentsYour past is thickening. You can seeits filaments, as carefullyyou begin to part the strands(they're all connected) with both hands,and clear a path. Now warilyenter the web—not all the way,but toward some kind of clarity.We have been rightly taught that wecan't finish, but must do, the work.Partway through the leafy murk,crisscrossing dapple of the trees,so tough and so precarious,you find yourself in the dawn air,the circle's center everywhere.Along the PromenadeReading a book about transitioningin the twenty-first-century meaning of the wordblends with plans for my son's upcoming weddingand scraps of conversation overheardat the Japanese-themed street fair today.Somnambulists along the promenadefloat in the warm currents of Broadway,eat talk look linger in the sun and shade.Then to the park: October leaves still green(climate change or merely Indian summer?).Snatched memories, I catch them on the wing:Samos Septembers, pomegranate tree,lemon tree, okra, a chameleon,the little summer of Saint Dimitri,they called it. All this happened; but to me?Streams of conversation flowing by.The sound artist described his work like this(if work is the right word): “Accidentallyuploading seemingly private messages,”which describes, also, dreams and poetry,the drifting crowd, incessant carousel,city and weather, time and holiday,all lived, palped, tasted, tested, overheard.Somnambulists along the promenadehave set up booths, their dreams... Bookending my dawn dream: symmetricalsoaking sponges dripping... DNA?Destiny, temperament, personality:the cards we're dealt and that we have to play,except we now can change them gradually.Transition: he or she or rather they,constructed, deconstructed, rearranged,the tarot spread of genealogy,inheritance as aleatoric play.We walked west to Eleventh Avenue,drawn by rumors of Ad Reinhardt's blue,which buzzed and throbbed. Stand still: my head was spinning.Allusions to water or to sky,dense, deep, alarming, ending or beginning... I sat awhile and watched the crowd glide by,enchanted promenaders all drawn inon the exhibition's last dayby the silence's cerulean humming.And then they climbed the stairs, and so did we,to lighter textures on an upper floorwhere Ruth Asawa's baskets in midairweightlessly demonstrated gravity,twigs, trees, crowns, bubbles dancing in white space.Next week my class will read “On Being Ill.”“Blogs,” I'll tell them, is the word we nowuse, not “essay,” for the moving mind,that saunterer who takes note and leaves behindand doubles back and ponders and regretsamidst the wash of vision, the flowand tidal pull of what we see and know,what we've dreamed, what we have said and heard,the thrumming colors and the floating crowd,as if the bubbly brew of sunny dayand anxious dreams could somehow all be caughtup in one enormous, one all-encompassing word. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Kings and Gods as Ecological Agents:From Reciprocity to Unilateralism in the Management of Natural ResourcesSimon Simonse (bio)1. IntroductionThe questions this article addresses are as follows: do non-Western societies have a qualitatively better, more balanced relationship with nature than modern Western societies? Can the difference between the two be described in terms of an opposition between a reciprocal and an exploitative relationship? What difference does the Judeo-Christian tradition make in (...) shaping the modern relationship with nature?To answer these questions I will give brief descriptions of the way in which three cultural traditions have structured the relationship between man and nature: societies that are ruled by sacred kings, societies where power over nature is attributed to divinities, and the Old Testament tradition. As cases of sacred kinship, I present ethnographic material taken from my anthropological fieldwork among the Lulubo, Lokoya, and Lotuho peoples from the East Bank of the Nile in Southern Sudan. I will use the term "Eastern Nilotic" as shorthand for this complex of peoples. For the societies where divinities play the central role, I take the Western Nilotic Dinka, Nuer, and Atuot living in the flood plains of the Nile north of the kingship societies.In comparing these three traditions my point of departure is René Girard's analysis of culture as a mechanism to resolve conflict by directing the aggression of the members of society onto a victim and so achieving a new consensus. We shall see that in the kingship societies what we call natural phenomena play an integral part in culturally staging the scapegoat mechanism. They are the stage of human rivalries and their resolution. Among the polytheistic Western Nilotes they are the instrument through which the gods make their power felt and demand attention from humans. In the Old Testament, natural phenomena remain the domain of God's power. Humans should not try to interfere. Their mission is to combat human evil as defined in Mosaic law. [End Page 31]2. Kings as Ecological AgentsThe survival of the communities of the Lokoya and Lulubo on the East Bank of the Nile who traditionally live in well-fortified village-polities, counting in the precolonial period between 1500 and 2500 inhabitants, is dependent on forces that are unpredictable (Simonse 1992). As agriculturists they are dependent on regular rains. However, the rains in their area are erratic and localized. As a result there is always a risk that the harvest may fail. The soil is of varying quality, giving varying yields in different places. The birth rate is another major concern. It determines the security of the community in its relationship to neighboring, frequently hostile, communities. There is the concern for epidemics, crop-eating insects and birds, and root-eating worms. Violent winds may destroy the crop, and lions and leopards may kill humans and cattle. A concern of a different order is the extent of the effectiveness of weapons, spears, and bows and arrows, in assuring security.When adversity affects the community, the first question asked by those affected is that regarding its cause. Frequently the cause is a breach of the social rules: an act of violence and a failure to perform or properly perform a ritual of purification necessitated by the violence. It may also be unconscious resentment on the part of a person or group that feels excluded from benefits enjoyed by others. It may be the cry of a neglected relative. It may be incest. It may be an attack by outsiders.Among the Lulubo and Lokoya, responsibility for the various aspects of the natural environment that can be critical for community survival is allocated to the different clans. In the case of a crisis (drought, infertility) the clan associated with the problem is the target of investigations. The main investigation strategy is to check, one by one, the quarrels in which members of that clan have been involved. When a conflict has been identified, a solution is suggested by way of reconciliation or restitution. Of particular interest are attempts to provoke the responsible clan official. If a settlement of the dispute fails to bring the required result, there will be more rounds of investigation... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Hume Studies Volume 30, Number 2, November 2004, pp. 213-236 Pleased and Afflicted: Hume on the Paradox of Tragic Pleasure E. M. DADLEZ How fast can you run? As fast as a leopard. How fast are you going to run? A whistle sounds the order that sends Archie Hamilton and his comrades over the top of the trench to certain death. Racing to circumvent that order and arriving (...) seconds too late, Archie's friend Frank screams in rage and despair. Archie is cut down before he has run twenty yards. Peter Weir's film Gallipoli is a chronicle of the disastrous Dardanelles campaign of the first World War, but it is also a film about racing. Archie is trained by his uncle Jack to run "as fast as a leopard." The film begins as it ends, with Archie sprinting in response to a whistle. Frank is first shown racing after a train, along with friends who are on their way to enlist. Archie and Frank meet while competing in a race, they race in Cairo once they have enlisted, and they finally race death. From the beginning, Archie has been faster; even at the end he is the first to die. And from the beginning he has swept Frank along in his wake, encouraging him, pushing him, inspiring him, and helping him to positions for which he is inadequately qualified. In the end, Archie's compassion and kindness prompt a decision which has grim consequences both for himself and for hundreds of others. Knowing that his friend fears death in the trenches, Archie recommends Frank as a substitute for himself, a designated message runner. But Frank is not fast enough, and falls short by mere seconds which Archie would not have lost. This is what leads to the failure of the one real effort to countermand the fatal charge. E. M. Dadlez is Professor of Humanities and Philosophy, University of Central Oklahoma, Edmond, OK 73034, USA. e-mail: [email protected] 214 E. M. Dadlez I am an emotional wreck by the time the movie is over, though I should admit that most of my tears are the result of sheer rage. Both my dogs exited the room in some haste once I began to shout at the television and the unpardonably dimwitted British officers who sat sipping tea at a comfortable distance as they gave the order for soldiers to commit suicide. But it isn't just the scope of the real human disaster, or the enormity of the blunder, or the pointlessness of the entire enterprise, or even my renewed conviction that stupidity is, in fact, evil, that is so unsettling. The film unnerves with respect to personal as well as global concerns, focusing attention on the chance of vanity's leading one to undertake responsibilities beyond one's competence, the possibility of advancement or security being achievable only at the expense of another, and the realization of how easy it might be to let those things happen. Gallipoli is a sad, disturbing film, and the spectator is grieved and disturbed in the course of watching it. Yet, having said that, I must own to having a copy in my possession, and to having watched it more than once. I recommend it to friends, offering to lend them my videotape. In fact, I press it on them. I say that it is a terrific, rewarding work which they should take the time to see. How is it that I can describe my experience of the film in such glowing terms and at the same time acknowledge the extreme distress I felt in the course of watching it? How can I reconcile the discordant aspects of my experience? David Hume explores some possible answers in his essay "Of Tragedy."1 He begins by calling attention to the paradox of tragic pleasure: It seems an unaccountable pleasure, which the spectators of a well written tragedy receive from sorrow, terror... and other passions, which are in themselves disagreeable and uneasy. The more they are touched and affected, the more are they delighted with the spectacle.... The whole art of the poet is employed in rousing and supporting the compassion and... (shrink)

Alstin, Zac At a March lecture in Canberra, Australian ethicist and pro-abortion activist Dr Leslie Cannold, spoke about the 'unfinished business' of abortion law reform in Australia. A frustrated friend sent me the transcript of this lecture and asked me to write something in response. But given the context of Cannold's lecture: a pro-abortion speech to a pro-abortion audience about pro-abortion law reform, a direct response seems impertinent. Plus, as a rule of thumb, when you play 'Pin the Tail' on (...) a live donkey you're liable to get a kick in the teeth. It makes more sense to take Cannold's speech at face value as evidence of an abortion activist's self-imposed mission in our society. To attack her for saying what she believes is perhaps in Cannold's own words "like blaming a leopard for having spots.". (shrink)

Der 9. Band der Reihe behandelt das Thema der Identität, allerdings von einer ganz anderen Seite, von seinem Gegenbegriff der Verwandlung aus. Es geht dabei um die Frage: Was ist der Mensch? Ist er der Verwandlungskünstler, Rollenspieler, Maskenträger gegenüber der Welt der Tiere, die sich immer treu bleiben und immer dieselben sind? Hat er sich im Laufe der Kulturgeschichte vom archaischen Menschen, der als Schamane Tiergestalt annimmt, als Benandante zum Werwolf wird, im Ritus ein Leopard ist, zum modernen Menschen (...) entwickelt, der sich festlegen muß und festgelegt wird auf eine Identität, die ihm zum stahlhart unentrinnbaren Gehäuse wird? Und welche Rolle spielt die Schrift in diesem Prozeß? Bedeutet der Gegensatz von Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit zugleich den Übergang von der labilen zur stabilen, zugeschriebenen und festgeschriebenen Identität? Diese und andere Fragen werden an archaischen Gesellschaften und Werken der Hochkultur ebenso erörtert wie an popkulturellen Phänomenen der Gegenwart. (shrink)

Western Buddhist travel narratives are autobiographical accounts of a journey to a Buddhist culture. Dozens of such narratives have since the 1970s describe treks in Tibet, periods of residence in a Zen monastery, pilgrimages to Buddhist sites and teachers, and other Asian odysseys. The best known of these works is Peter Matthiessen's The Snow Leopard; further reflections emerge from thirty writers including John Blofeld, Jan Van de Wetering, Thomas Merton, Oliver Statler, Robert Thurman, Gretel Ehrlich, and Bill Porter. The (...) Buddhist concept of 'no-self' helps these authors interpret certain pivotal experiences of 'unselfing' and is also a catalyst that provokes and enables such events. The writers' spiritual memoirs describe how their journeys brought about a new understanding of Buddhist enlightenment and so transformed their lives. Showing how travel can elicit self-transformation, this book is a compelling exploration of the journeys and religious changes of both individuals and Buddhism itself. (shrink)

This chapter contains sections titled: Dante's Mission The Journey Begins Vestibule (Ante‐Hell): The Indecisive Neutrals Upper Hell: Sins of Unrestrained Desire (the Wolf) River Styx, Walls of the City of Dis Lower Hell: Sins of Malice Leading to Violence (the Lion) Lower Hell: Sins of Malice Leading to Fraud (the Leopard) Dante's Existential Lessons in Hell.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Art and Evolution:Spiegelman's The Narrative CorpseBrian BoydIHas art evolved, like opposable thumbs and the whites of our eyes? If it has, will knowing so help us understand better not just art in general but particular works, even works of avant-garde art? Over recent decades many have come to accept that not only have humans evolved from other animals but that many features of their minds and behavior can be (...) explained by the deep past of evolution.1 Yet art remains a puzzle for biocultural analysis. How can we explain art in the hard-nosed terms of biological advantage, especially if it lacks analogies or precursors in other species and seems so pleasurably part of being distinctly human?2Nevertheless we have good reasons to examine whether art might be an adaptation. All cognitively normal individuals in all known societies engage in some form of art, actively or at least passively: music and dance, story, visual art. No one has to be pressured into listening to music on a radio or an iPod. And like language but unlike reading and writing, art develops reliably to a basic level without special training.Art could be what evolutionary biologists call a byproduct, a mere side-effect of our bigger brains or of culture. Yet that seems unlikely. Byproducts by definition do not offer advantages in terms of survival and reproduction: a bodily or behavioral feature whose design offers such advantages we classify as an adaptation. But if art were a byproduct, if it offered on average no advantage in terms of survival and reproduction, many generations of intense evolutionary competition would have eliminated it. If art offered no benefits but exacted the costs it does in time, [End Page 31] energy and resources, it would over many generations have been selected against through the superior fitness of those less inclined to pay such costs, those who preferred to devote their time and energy to securing material or social advantage or simply to save energy by resting.We can understand art in all its varieties, I suggest, as cognitive play with pattern, with multiple, high-intensity patterns. Play exists throughout much of the animal kingdom: in all mammals in which it has been looked for, in birds, and even in invertebrates like octopi. Play, like sleep and dreaming, puzzles and fascinates biologists because it is so widespread and so highly conserved (evolutionary lineages in which play has arisen do not lose it as they continue to evolve) that it must fulfill some function, because it has high costs in energy and risk, and because its functions are not as evident as those of "serious" behavior.3The amount of play in a species correlates highly with the flexibility of its behavior. In all species in which it occurs, play seems remarkably self-rewarding. Animals like pigs and rats play compulsively. In fact this seems the core of play: the self-rewarding nature of play makes animals engage in exuberant, intense behaviors that, under conditions of relative security, allow them to extend their capacities and improve their competence in situations of minimal risk. The skills honed will prove of advantage in real world situations where it is too late to learn on the job, in situations like fight or flight. Because play is compulsive, animals engage in it again and again, incrementally altering their neural wiring, strengthening and speeding up synaptic pathways, improving their capacity and performance.Humans uniquely inhabit what has been called "the cognitive niche":4 we gain most of our advantages from intelligence. We have an appetite for information, and especially for pattern, for information that falls into meaningful arrays from which we can make rich inferences. We therefore like bright, distinct colors, crisp outlines, complex shape or surface design: think of our special fondness for butterflies and flowers. And we have an appetite for open-ended pattern, new kinds of patterns, not only the patterns we have evolved to detect automatically. Vervet monkeys signal to one another in different ways when they see snakes, or leopards, or eagles, because they need to react in different ways to different threats, but they never learn to associate... (shrink)

After the Second World War, a renaissance in field primatology took place in the United States under the aegis of the ‘new physical anthropology’. Its leader, Sherwood Washburn, envisioned a science uniting studies of hominid fossils with Darwinian population genetics, experimental functional anatomy, and field observation of non-human primates and human hunter–gatherers. Thanks to Washburn’s stimulus, his colleague at Berkeley, the bird ethologist Peter Marler, took up the study of the natural communicative behaviour of apes and monkeys. When Marler’s first (...) primatological student, Thomas Struhsaker, reported in the mid-1960s that the vervet monkeys of Amboseli, Kenya, give acoustically distinct alarm calls to different predators, and respond to alarm calls as if to the sight of those predators, a debate broke out over whether the vervet calls thus function as names, translating as ‘leopard’, ‘eagle’ and ‘python’. Washburn and his students argued that no matter what the behavioural evidence, vervet calls could not be predator names, since monkeys had been shown to lack the neuroanatomical basis of naming. This controversy thus reveals, first, the persistence of older patterns of disciplinary allegiance within the new, synthetic physical anthropology; and second, the impotence of adaptationist Darwinism — common to both sides of the debate — as a force for unity. (shrink)

The Nothing That Is and the Nothing That Is Not is the final volume in a trilogy on interpretations of otherness in the postmodern era. The first two volumes are A Do-It-Yourself Dystopia: The Americanization of Big Brother and Leopards in the Temple: Selected Essays 1990-2000.

Fairly recently, I came upon the following passage in a review of a book by Colin M. Turnbull, called The Mountain People : A child dumped on the ground is seized and eaten by a leopard. The mother is delighted; for not only does she no longer have to carry the child about and feed it, but it follows that there is likely to be a gorged leopard near by, a sleepy animal which can easily be killed and (...) eaten. An old woman who has been abandoned falls down the mountainside because she is blind, so a crowd gathers to laugh at the spectacle of her distress. A man about to die of gunshot wounds makes a last request for tea. As he feebly raises it to his lips, it is snatched from him by his sister, who runs away delighted. A child develops intestinal obstruction; so his father calls in the neighbours to enjoy the joke of his distended belly. (shrink)

Fairly recently, I came upon the following passage in a review of a book by Colin M. Turnbull, called The Mountain People:A child dumped on the ground is seized and eaten by a leopard. The mother is delighted; for not only does she no longer have to carry the child about and feed it, but it follows that there is likely to be a gorged leopard near by, a sleepy animal which can easily be killed and eaten. An (...) old woman who has been abandoned falls down the mountainside because she is blind, so a crowd gathers to laugh at the spectacle of her distress. A man about to die of gunshot wounds makes a last request for tea. As he feebly raises it to his lips, it is snatched from him by his sister, who runs away delighted. A child develops intestinal obstruction; so his father calls in the neighbours to enjoy the joke of his distended belly. (shrink)

« Déconstruire l’idée que l’animal serait sans intelligence, sans conscience, sans langage, etc., n’est qu’une étape vers une entreprise plus essentielle : la reconnaissance de la richesse des mondes animaux, dans leur diversité, sans céder à la tentation de les hiérarchiser. Tel est l’esprit qui m’anime dans cet ouvrage. Parce que les animaux, humains ou non humains, ne sont pas les jouets passifs du monde qui les entoure et qu’ils en sont au contraire les créateurs actifs, parce qu’ils sont porteurs (...) d’une vision du monde, je les considère comme des philosophes. Ils ne se contentent pas de percevoir passivement leur environnement, ils l’élaborent, ils l’anticipent. Ils donnent du sens aux choses. » Y. C. Biologiste et journaliste scientifique, Yves Christen préside la Fondation Ipsen. Il a notamment publié Le Peuple léopard, Les Surdoués du monde animal et L’animal est-il une personne?. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Hume Studies Volume 30, Number 2, November 2004, pp. 213-236 Pleased and Afflicted: Hume on the Paradox of Tragic Pleasure E. M. DADLEZ How fast can you run? As fast as a leopard. How fast are you going to run? A whistle sounds the order that sends Archie Hamilton and his comrades over the top of the trench to certain death. Racing to circumvent that order and arriving (...) seconds too late, Archie's friend Frank screams in rage and despair. Archie is cut down before he has run twenty yards. Peter Weir's film Gallipoli is a chronicle of the disastrous Dardanelles campaign of the first World War, but it is also a film about racing. Archie is trained by his uncle Jack to run "as fast as a leopard." The film begins as it ends, with Archie sprinting in response to a whistle. Frank is first shown racing after a train, along with friends who are on their way to enlist. Archie and Frank meet while competing in a race, they race in Cairo once they have enlisted, and they finally race death. From the beginning, Archie has been faster; even at the end he is the first to die. And from the beginning he has swept Frank along in his wake, encouraging him, pushing him, inspiring him, and helping him to positions for which he is inadequately qualified. In the end, Archie's compassion and kindness prompt a decision which has grim consequences both for himself and for hundreds of others. Knowing that his friend fears death in the trenches, Archie recommends Frank as a substitute for himself, a designated message runner. But Frank is not fast enough, and falls short by mere seconds which Archie would not have lost. This is what leads to the failure of the one real effort to countermand the fatal charge. E. M. Dadlez is Professor of Humanities and Philosophy, University of Central Oklahoma, Edmond, OK 73034, USA. e-mail: [email protected] 214 E. M. Dadlez I am an emotional wreck by the time the movie is over, though I should admit that most of my tears are the result of sheer rage. Both my dogs exited the room in some haste once I began to shout at the television and the unpardonably dimwitted British officers who sat sipping tea at a comfortable distance as they gave the order for soldiers to commit suicide. But it isn't just the scope of the real human disaster, or the enormity of the blunder, or the pointlessness of the entire enterprise, or even my renewed conviction that stupidity is, in fact, evil, that is so unsettling. The film unnerves with respect to personal as well as global concerns, focusing attention on the chance of vanity's leading one to undertake responsibilities beyond one's competence, the possibility of advancement or security being achievable only at the expense of another, and the realization of how easy it might be to let those things happen. Gallipoli is a sad, disturbing film, and the spectator is grieved and disturbed in the course of watching it. Yet, having said that, I must own to having a copy in my possession, and to having watched it more than once. I recommend it to friends, offering to lend them my videotape. In fact, I press it on them. I say that it is a terrific, rewarding work which they should take the time to see. How is it that I can describe my experience of the film in such glowing terms and at the same time acknowledge the extreme distress I felt in the course of watching it? How can I reconcile the discordant aspects of my experience? David Hume explores some possible answers in his essay "Of Tragedy."1 He begins by calling attention to the paradox of tragic pleasure: It seems an unaccountable pleasure, which the spectators of a well written tragedy receive from sorrow, terror... and other passions, which are in themselves disagreeable and uneasy. The more they are touched and affected, the more are they delighted with the spectacle.... The whole art of the poet is employed in rousing and supporting the compassion and... (shrink)

Aus dem Inhalt: Das wissende und wollende Subjekt im Tractatus. - Die gemeinsame menschliche Handlungsweise: das Verstehen des anderen in Wittgenstein's Spatphilosophie. - Das Rot, der Schmerz, der Leopard und die Sprache: aussersprachliche Gegenstande und die Grenzen des Relativismus im Spatwerk. - Schmerzen und Schmerzausserungen als vorsprachliche Phanomene: Nachtrag zum Kapitel Das Rot, der Schmerz, der Leopard und die Sprache. - Bedeutungserlebnisse: Privatsprachenkritik und Gebrauchstheorie der Bedeutung im Licht der psychologischen Aufzeichnungen.".

This paper is a twenty-five year retrospective on the development of environmental consciousness in the US The Clean Air Act is taken as proxy for companion measures in water and other areas of the environment, and the emphasis on "efficiency" and "market compatibility" is noted with a mixture of caution and hope. The work of an eminent pragmatic ethicist, Ado Leopard, is re-visited. From the pages of A Sand County Almanac, his notion that right and wrong, good and bad, (...) be assessed in terms of the tendency to produce or preserve "the integrity, beauty, and stability of the biotic community" is explicitly adopted. Leopold''s ethical consciousness raises a question: what reasons do we have to believe that an efficient, booming economy can be made compatible with a finite natural system? Are there boundaries that the economy must respect, or can we "out run" those limits with our technology and expertise? (shrink)