When my family and I were hiking in northern New York state we got lost. I waved down a passing car and inside I could just about, through the haze of purple cigarette smoke, make out a couple of very obese people in the car; they looked like mother and son. They very kindly agreed to take us to our car, several miles away, and during the journey I asked them what had brought them to this remote mountain road. “We (...) come here once a week to draw water from a mountain stream”, said the elderly woman. “Most people round here don't know how to keep healthy”, she and her son opined almost in unison. This experience, for me, captured many of the attitudes those of us in the West have towards health, health promotion, and disease prevention. This cameo shows how difficult …. (shrink)

Peter Abelard (1079–1142 ce) was the most wide‐ranging philosopher of the twelfth century. He quickly established himself as a leading teacher of logic in and near Paris shortly after 1100. After his affair with Heloise, and his subsequent castration, Abelard became a monk, but he returned to teaching in the Paris schools until 1140, when his work was condemned by a Church Council at Sens. His logical writings were based around discussion of the “Old Logic”: Porphyry's Isagoge, aristotle'S Categories and (...) On Interpretation and boethius'S textbook on topical inference. They comprise a freestanding Dialectica (“Logic”; probably c.1116), a set of commentaries (known as the Logica [Ingredientibus], c. 1119) and a later (c. 1125) commentary on the Isagoge (Logica Nostrorum Petititoni Sociorum or Glossulae). In a work Abelard called his Theologia, issued in three main versions (between 1120 and c.1134), he attempted a logical analysis of trinitarian relations and explored the philosophical problems surrounding God's claims to omnipotence and omniscience. The Collationes (“Debates,” also known as “Dialogue between a Christian, a Philosopher and a Jew”; probably c.1130) present a rational investigation into the nature of the highest good, in which the Christian and the Philosopher (who seems to be modeled on a philosopher of pagan antiquity) are remarkably in agreement. The unfinished Scito teipsum (“Know thyself,” also known as the “Ethics”; c.1138) analyses moral action. (shrink)

Contemporary literature on consciousness, with some exceptions, rarely considers the olfactory system. In this article the characteristics of olfactory consciousness, viewed from the standpoint of the phenomenal /access distinction, are examined relative to the major senses. The review details several qualitative differences in both olfactory P consciousness and A consciousness . The basis for these differences is argued to arise from the functions that the olfactory system performs and from the unique neural architecture needed to instantiate them. These data suggest, (...) at a minimum, that P and A consciousness are uniquely configured in olfaction and an argument can be made that the P and A distinction may not hold for this sensory system. (shrink)

The expression ‘cultural pluralism’ was popularized by Horace Kallen, a student of William James. I explore the meaning of pluralism in the context of the American pragmatic tradition with emphasis on the meaning of pluralism for William James. Kallen sought to characterize cultural pluralism in contrast with the idea of America as a ‘melting-pot’. I also examine the contributions of Randolph Bourne and the African-American philosopher Alain Locke to the discussion of cultural pluralism. I conclude by indicating that the idea (...) of a democratic society that respects and is enriched by differences is highly relevant to contemporary discussions of cultural pluralism in a global context. (shrink)

This paper focuses on two key issues in Nicholas Wolterstorff's Justice: Rights and Wrongs . It argues that Wolterstorff's theistic grounding of inherent rights is not successful. It also argues that Wolterstorff does not provide adequate criteria for determining what exactly these natural inherent rights are or criteria that can help us to evaluate competing and contradictory claims about these rights. However, most of Wolterstorff's book is not concerned with the theistic grounding of inherent rights. Instead, it is devoted to (...) a detailed and rigorous articulation of the meaning and defense of a theory of justice as consisting of inherent rights and with showing why this theory of justice is superior to the alternative right order theories that Wolterstorff criticizes. The paper concludes that these accomplishments are not diminished even if Wolterstorff has failed to provide us with a satisfactory theistic grounding of his theory. (shrink)

Martin Guggenheim, What's Wrong with Children's Rights Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005, pp. 320.

The present article has three sections. The first one discusses the relationship of the theological theory of transubstantiation to that of transignification and transfinalization , ideas that were introduced just before the time of Vatican II by northern European theologians. The second section develops a holistic view of the nature of matter. Our present scientific knowledge seems to require that we abandon the Aristotelian theory of hylomorphism in favor of a theory in which real beings of a certain level ‘sublate’ (...) real but subordinate beings of lower levels. For example, a human being is a substance that includes within itself many smaller substances. When he was in the flesh, the physical body of Christ included within itself a vast number of interconnected atoms and molecules. The third section discusses ideas of Teilhard de Chardin about the relationship of Christ to matter. (shrink)

There has been no attempt in this introduction to put forward a particular method for dealing with these challenges nor to assess the full contribution of the articles in this issue. This outline and discussion has been intended merely to stimulate interdisciplinary debate and provide some of the background to assist in making this possible. A full account would at least have involved a broader review of the background of McLoughlin and Aicholzer and Schienstock in developments within the industrial sociology (...) or industrial relations discipline. Their contributions do, however, provide a good introduction to the traditions within which they are working and so it is not necessary to provide more information here. It is nevertheless important to note in McLoughlin's case that his analysis of “technological systems” and “system architectures” is based on earlier work by McLoughlin and his colleagues, cited in the article, on the complex nature of “engineering systems” and the importance of taking this complexity into account in any discussion of “the impact” of “technology” on organisation. If the result of this issue is the stimulation of system designers to read further in such areas or the encouragement of industrial sociologists to become more involved in research directed towards human-oriented system design then it will have served its purpose. (shrink)

I first started reading Derrida during the 1970s. Like many others, I was initially perplexed, confused, and sometimes downright infuriated. I could not make sense of what he was “up to” or why there was so much fuss about him. Frankly, I wondered if it was worth the effort. Much of his writing seemed like overindulgent word play. But I stuck with it. A primary reason was my wife, Carol. She is a professor of English and Comparative Literature at Bryn (...) Mawr College and is a great admirer of Derrida. Because of my respect for Carol’s intelligence and insight, I was determined to discover for myself what she found so intriguing and exciting. The breakthrough came when I read his classic essay, “Metaphysics and Violence,” one of the most sensitive, perceptive, and illuminating discussions of Emmanuel Levinas. Many thinkers “discovered” Levinas because of Derrida’s essay. There is a special quality about this eloquent essay that riveted my attention. It is an act of profound friendship and extremely moving. Derrida not only beautifully and delicately explores the intricacies of Levinas’ intellectual development, but also probes the crevices in Levinas’ thought. I still find this essay to be an intensely exquisite tribute to Levinas—a thinker that deeply influenced Derrida’s own ethical thinking. When I first read “Metaphysics and Violence,” I felt that its passion and seriousness did not “fit” with the popular image of Derrida as an irresponsible and irritatingly playful nihilist. So I started to read him again. I began to notice something that few commentators discussed: the way in which ethical-political themes are woven into the texture of virtually all his writings. There is a pervasive—almost obsessive—concern with response, responsibility, and decision. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Ideas and Forms of Tragedy from Aristotle to the Middle AgesRichard J. UtzIdeas and Forms of Tragedy from Aristotle to the Middle Ages, by Henry Ansgar Kelly; xvii & 257 pp. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993, $59.95.If H. A. Kelly had wanted to sing the tune of Norman Cantor’s recent book on nineteenth- and twentieth-century medievalists, he could have called his study “Inventing Tragedy.” However, besides a certain (...) revisionistic attitude, there are no correspondences between the hasty, essayistic Inventing the Middle Ages (1991) and the scholarly, thoroughly philological Ideas and Forms of Tragedy. Where Cantor attempts to convince his readers that the various critical appropriations of the Middle Ages say more about the cultures of their modern reinventors than about the subject of their researches, Kelly is positive that sound source study and textual criticism can provide secure data for a more accurate application of perhaps the most famous of all genre terms to respective historical authors and individual plays. Thus, Kelly considers his book to be a necessary critical corrective of faulty and preconceived (modern) ideas about classical and medieval notions of tragedy. His methodological insistence on a purely philological investigation is responsible for some of the [End Page 253] outstanding virtues of this investigation such as authority, exactitude, and scholarliness; at the same time it is also the cause for the omission of questions essential to a study which purports to present an account not only of the forms but also the “ideas” of tragedy from classical antiquity through late medieval times.Chapters one and two examine various ideas and practices associated with tragedy in ancient Greece and Rome. This concise survey should become assigned reading for students of literary drama because it debunks the belief that the term tragedy conjures up a uniform idea, one that has been relatively constant throughout the ages and that can be attributed to Aristotle’s discussion of the best kind of tragedy in his Poetics. Kelly demonstrates how Aristotle’s broad definition of the term (any serious story, even with a happy ending) was transformed in late antiquity to mean a story ending in irremediable misfortune.Chapter three studies the semantic shifts the word tragedy underwent in the early Middle Ages. Kelly establishes convincingly that the various early medieval lexicographers and commentators (the most intriguing discussions include Isidore of Seville, Remigius of Auxerre, and Papias) knew much less about tragedy and had a much less unified idea of tragedy than is assumed by many modern-day scholars of drama. A vague knowledge of the genre also characterizes the twelfth century (chapter four), when—with the exception of John of Salisbury—creative mélanges of authentic classical traits and postclassical distortions dominated.The fifth chapter demonstrates that most commentators in the high Middle Ages, despite the reception of Aristotle directly from the Greek or through Arabic intermediaries, vary widely on the meanings they attach to the word “tragedy.” Most of them, such as John Garland, even consider it an empty, obsolete genre, one practiced only by very few poets of classical antiquity. Only Dante Aligheri believed that tragedy was a current genre and that he had made his contribution to it.The study concludes by surveying the developments in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century England, France, Italy, and Spain. Kelly argues that in spite of the greatly increased currency of ideas of tragedy in the later Middle Ages, other genres (vitae of famous men or saints, exempla, complaints) negotiated stories of disaster and death. It seems problematic, however, that Kelly does not further investigate any of the cultural ramifications for and the “ideas” behind the existence and nature of these other genres and the coeval absence of (Aristotelian) tragedy. While he rightly states that medieval vitae, exempla, and planctus all do without discussions of the empathic sorrow for the misfortune of others which characterizes Aristotle’s (and Chaucer’s) ideas of tragedy, his exclusively philological approach—one concerned with sources and textual traditions but not with society or mentalities—makes him circumnavigate essential deliberations about the causes for these conspicuous medieval notions. [End Page 254] Thus, Kelly’s book does not even attempt to answer the... (shrink)