The author discusses Claudia Card's life work in that it concerns character development under heteronormative patriarchy as pertaining to the American Girl Just Like You doll. American Girl advertises this doll as a doll that can help little girls feel strong, powerful, unique, and ready to take on the world. The word "feminist" is not used in any of the company's marketing, but the company is clearly trying to market the idea that the Just (...) Like You line is empowering for girls. The author argues that the Just Like You doll discourages learning the skills that are required for world traveling, and that it also implies that such skills are not important. In order to successfully engage in cross‐cultural world traveling, one must leave arrogant perception behind and begin to understand how the other sees himself or herself as a subject in that world. (shrink)

This essay explores the American Girl Just Like You doll through a variety of feminist lenses. It was inspired by my experiences chaperoning my friend Grace to the American Girl Store in New York City, and returning to the store to shop for my own doll. I returned to the store because I was not sure why I was so extremely disturbed by this doll. The doll is not emaciated, not overtly sexy, and marketed (...) along with outfits that supposedly send girls the message that they can achieve their goals. She comes in a variety of skin, eye, and hair colors, and the line is therefore marketed as racially and ethnically sensitive. I argue that although the Just Like You line appears to be empowering and racially sensitive on a superficial level, an in-depth feminist analysis indicates that it is not. In fact, the Just Like You line is highly problematic from a feminist perspective. (shrink)

Civil society organizations (CSOs) have significantly impacted on the politics of health research and the field of bioethics. In the global HIV epidemic, CSOs have served a pivotal stakeholder role. The dire need for development of new prevention technologies has raised critical challenges for the ethical engagement of community stakeholders in HIV research. This study explored the perspectives of CSO representatives involved in HIV prevention trials (HPTs) on the impact of premature trial closures on stakeholder engagement. Fourteen respondents from South (...) African and international CSOs representing activist and advocacy groups, community mobilisation initiatives, and human and legal rights groups were purposively sampled based on involvement in HPTs. Interviews were conducted from February-May 2010. Descriptive analysis was undertaken across interviews and key themes were developed inductively. CSO representatives largely described positive outcomes of recent microbicide and HIV vaccine trial terminations, particularly in South Africa, which they attributed to improvements in stakeholder engagement. Ongoing challenges to community engagement included the need for principled justifications for selective stakeholder engagement at strategic time-points, as well as the need for legitimate alternatives to CABs as mechanisms for engagement. Key issues for CSOs in relation to research were also raised. (shrink)

Civil society organizations (CSOs) have significantly impacted on the politics of health research and the field of bioethics. In the globalHIVepidemic,CSOs have served a pivotal stakeholder role. The dire need for development of new prevention technologies has raised critical challenges for the ethical engagement of community stakeholders inHIVresearch. This study explored the perspectives ofCSOrepresentatives involved inHIVprevention trials (HPTs) on the impact of premature trial closures on stakeholder engagement. Fourteen respondents fromSouthAfrican and internationalCSOs representing activist and advocacy groups, community mobilisation initiatives, (...) and human and legal rights groups were purposively sampled based on involvement inHPTs. Interviews were conducted fromFebruary‐May 2010. Descriptive analysis was undertaken across interviews and key themes were developed inductively.CSOrepresentatives largely described positive outcomes of recent microbicide andHIVvaccine trial terminations, particularly inSouthAfrica, which they attributed to improvements in stakeholder engagement. Ongoing challenges to community engagement included the need for principled justifications for selective stakeholder engagement at strategic time‐points, as well as the need for legitimate alternatives toCABs as mechanisms for engagement. Key issues forCSOs in relation to research were also raised. (shrink)

Using two experiments, I examine how apologizing for fraud influences investor's avoidance and revenge behavior. Investors in experiment one report how many shares they would sell and how likely they would be to pursue legal punishment after discovering fraud has occurred in an organization they are currently invested in and subsequently reading about management's response to the fraud. I manipulate the nature of fraud as fraudulent financial reporting or asset misappropriation. I also manipulate whether management apologizes, scapegoats responsibility, or remains (...) silent after the fraud. Results show avoidance and revenge behavior is more negative after misreporting fraud. Data suggest that this difference may be partially attributable to the underlying moral norm that is violated. Specifically, misreporting is primarily a moral violation of deception, whereas embezzlement is primarily a moral violation of stealing. Results also show differential investor reactions depending on the type of fraud and management's response. For misreporting, revenge behavior is higher when management apologizes, but there is no effect on avoidance behavior. For embezzlement, avoidance behavior is reduced when the organization apologizes, but revenge behavior is unaffected. In experiment two, I replicate the misreporting condition from experiment one and manipulate apology sincerity. Results show that apology sincerity is positively associated with revenge behavior. Results of these two experiments extend both accounting and trust repair research by emphasizing the importance of disentangling moral integrity-based trust violations and that the adage of "just say you're sorry" is helpful in some situations and harmful in others. (shrink)

Joseph Raz's famous theory of authority is grounded in three claims about the nature and justification of authority. According to the Preemption Thesis, authoritative directives purport to replace the subject's judgments about what she should do. According to the Dependence Thesis, authoritative directives should be based on reasons that actually apply to the subjects of the directive. According to the Normal Justification Thesis (NJT), authority is justified to the extent that subjects are more likely to comply with right reason by (...) following the authority's directives than by following their own judgments about what right reason requires.1In this article, I consider a number of ways in which NJT might be construed as a justification for authority. First, I evaluate NJT construed as a principle that would provide a practical justification for an individual to accept or recognize a particular person or persons as a preemptive authority. Second, I evaluate NJT construed as a principle that describes the conditions under which a state or legal system is morally legitimate. I argue that NJT is true under none of these interpretations.2. (shrink)

The first two seasons of Russian Doll ambitiously take on a number of topics in the Philosophy of Time. In particular, it addresses the metaphysics of time loops and time travel. The metaphysics of time are notoriously thorny and complicated, and Russian Doll provides a treatment of those issues that both does justice to their complexity as well as attempts to provide solutions to some of those issues (or at minimum, in some cases, hints at possible solutions). As (...) is the case with most enduring philosophical topics, the discussion does not happen in a philosophical vacuum. Just as a discussion of the nature of knowledge naturally leads to a discussion of the nature of truth, and so forth, discussions in the metaphysics of time naturally lead to discussions of the ethics of time travel, the nature of the universe, the nature of the reality, God, relativism, the nature of paradoxes, consciousness, and, perhaps most importantly, existential questions about how one should live. This chapter will provide a general account of the way these philosophical issues are presented in Russian Doll with an eye toward (1) explicating the ways in which the various characters in Russian Doll conceive of the issues, (2) making it clear what their responses to the issues are (in those instances in which responses are provided), and (3) where appropriate, evaluating those responses for philosophical consistency, accuracy, and plausibility. (shrink)

I believe that Tom is the proud father of a baby boy. Why do I think his child is a boy? A natural answer might be that I remember that his name is ‘Owen’ which is usually a boy’s name. Here I’ve given information that might be part of a causal explanation of my believing that Tom’s baby is a boy. I do have such a memory and it is largely what sustains my conviction. But I haven’t given you (...) class='Hi'>just any causally relevant information, I’ve given my grounds for my belief. I’ve given reasons that might justify me in supposing that Tom’s baby is a boy. Less naturally, the question might be taken as a request for a broader causal explanation of my holding this belief. Appropriate answers might cite all manner of facts concerning the evolution of the human race, why I chose to pursue philosophy and hence came to know Tom, the mechanisms of email transmission, the firing of various neurons, the circumstances of concept formation as a result of which I’m able to grasp the thought that Tom’s baby is a boy, and so on. It is an interesting question what distinguishes the narrower set of answers that I first suggested. I won’t pursue that here. I assume you have a good enough sense of the distinction I’m drawing. We might call the narrower set of answers justifying reasons, the kind of reasons I might cite in justifying my belief. Answers of the first sort are clearly relevant to epistemological evaluation. In assessing whether you know p or are rational in believing it to the degree you do, I will naturally want to consider what reasons you have for your belief. In deliberating myself about whether to believe p, in seeking an answer to the question of whether p, I will naturally consider what reasons or grounds I have to suppose that p. But what I want to focus on here is how explanations of the broader sort bear on such questions as whether to believe p. From a third-person perspective we can ask, ‘In assessing the epistemic status of S’s belief that p, what is the relevance of causal information that lies outside of the realm of justifying reasons?’ From the first-person standpoint we can ask ‘In seeking to answer whether p, how should such causal information affect my deliberations?’ At first it might seem that such broader causal information could have little relevance if any. Like any belief my belief that p can be traced back to innumerable causes from far and wide.. (shrink)

Most people's intuitive reaction after considering Nozick's experience machine thought-experiment seems to be just like his: we feel very little inclination to plug in to a virtual reality machine capable of providing us with pleasurable experiences. Many philosophers take this empirical fact as sufficient reason to believe that, more than pleasurable experiences, people care about “living in contact with reality.” Such claim, however, assumes that people's reaction to the experience machine thought-experiment is due to the fact that they (...) value reality over virtual experiences—an assumption that has seldom (if ever) been questioned. This paper challenges that very assumption. I report some experimental evidence suggesting that the intuition elicited by the thought-experiment may be explainable by the fact that people are averse to abandon the life they have been experiencing so far, regardless of whether such life is virtual or real. I use then an explanatory model, derived from what behavioral economists and psychologists call the status quo bias, to make sense of these results. Finally, I argue that since this explanation also accounts for people's reaction toward Nozick's thought-experiment, it would be wrong to take such intuition as evidence that people value being in touch with reality. (shrink)

One common reaction to criticism is to try to deflect it by calling into question the motivations of the person doing the criticizing. For example, if I feel like you are blaming me for something that you yourself are guilty of having done in the past, I might respond with the retort, "Who are you to blame me for this?", where this retort is meant to serve not as an excuse but rather as a challenge to the standing of (...) the blamer. The notion of standing has taken center stage in much recent literature on the ethics of blame, though there is no consensus on how best to understand the precise force of the "who are you" retort. In this paper, I look at a different sort of retort, one that also calls into question the motivations of the criticizer. Instead of accusing the criticizer of being motivated by self-righteousness, however, this retort accuses the criticizer of being motivated by envy. How are these two retorts related to each other? If the accusation of envy isn't a challenge to the blamer's standing, then what sort of challenge is it and what normative force does it carry (if any)? Taking my cue from the ethics of blame literature, I try to address these and other questions about the interaction between envy and blame. (shrink)

Zen teachings--infused with elements of memoir--by a popular modern teacher who "grew up" at the feet of two of the great figures who brought Zen to America, Shunryu Suzuki and Dainin Katagiri. He employs his reminiscences of those two great masters as teaching anecdotes. Tim Burkett was twenty when he met Suzuki Roshi, and it was love at first sight. He immediately quit pursuing the career in law to which his illustrious family of jurists inclined him, and became a serious (...) Zen student. He went on to become a licensed psychotherapist and then followed Katagiri Roshi to Minneapolis to become a founder of the Zen scene there. He never left. Now that he's himself a revered Zen teacher, he's decided to articulate his own view of Zen. He structures the teaching according to five not-necessarily sequential levels on the road to enlightenment: (1) commitment to the path, (2) studying the self, (3) cultivating compassion and equanimity, (4) perseverance, and (5) emptiness. This is an introduction to Zen teaching that reads like an intriguing memoir, as the author discovers the teaching in the people, places, and experiences he encounters in the course of his practice. (shrink)

Edouard Machery argues that many traditional philosophical questions are beyond our capacity to answer. Answering them seems to require using the method of cases, a method that involves testing answers to philosophical questions against what we think about real or imagined cases. The problem, according to Machery, is that this method has proved unreliable ; what we think about these kinds of cases is both problematically heterogeneous and volatile. His bold solution: abandon the method of cases altogether and with it (...) many of the questions that we have come to associate with philosophy itself. Many of the critical responses to Machery’s book have focused on whether empirical work on judgements about philosophical cases supports his claim that the method of cases is unreliable. Our problem with these responses is that they accept that reliability is the right way to frame empirically informed concerns about the method of cases, and we think that it is not. The reason is simple: the kind of unreliability thesis that Machery needs proves to be empirically intractable, at least by anything like the current methods used by experimental philosophers, or so we shall argue here. While we have empirical grounds for thinking that unreliability arguments don’t give us reason to abandon the method of cases, we do think that there are empirical grounds for thinking that it needs to be reformed. There are other standards that we expect our methods to meet beyond mere reliability, especially standards of practical rationality, which are too often forgotten in metaphilosophical discussions that tend to focus exclusively on epistemological considerations. Methodological considerations, after all, are not just matters of epistemic normativity, but practical rationality as well. What’s more, considerations of practical rationality become particularly important when we move from the kind of extreme scepticism that Machery endorses to the kind of progressive reformation that we think should be pursued. And so we conclude by arguing that thinking about philosophical inquiry in terms of standards of practical rationality allows us both to better understand what kinds of problems recent empirical work on philosophical cognition raises for the method of cases and also how that work can point the way to reforming it. (shrink)

Testimonial injustices occur when individuals from particular social groups are systematically and persistently given less credibility in their claims merely because of their group identity. Recent “pluralistic” approaches to folk psychology, by taking into account the role of stereotypes in how we understand others, have the power to explain how and why cases of testimonial injustice occur. If how we make sense of others’ behavior depends on assumptions about how individuals from certain groups think and act, this can explain why (...) speakers are given different degrees of credibility depending on their group identity. For example, if people assume that women are more emotional than men, they will systematically give less credibility to women’s claims. This explanation involves three empirical claims: people assume that women are more emotional than men, people assume that emotionality hinders credibility, and people give less credibility to women’s claims. While extant studies provide some support for and, no study to date has directly tested. In two different studies, we tested all these three claims. The results from both studies provide support for, as we found significant negative correlations between emotionality and credibility attributions. However, in contrast to what some accounts of folk psychology posit, we did not find any significant difference in people’s attributions of emotionality and credibility towards women versus men speakers. We hope that our studies here pave the way for further empirical studies testing the phenomenon of testimonial injustice in a context-sensitive way, in order to have a better understanding of the conditions in which testimonial injustices are likely to happen. (shrink)

Why do otherwise well-intentioned managers make decisions that have negative social or environmental consequences? To answer this question, the authors combine the literature on construal level theory with the compromise effect to explore the circumstances that lead to seemingly unethical decision-making. The results of two studies suggest that the degree to which managers make high-risk tradeoffs is highly influenced by how they mentally represent the decision context. The authors find that managers are more likely to make seemingly unethical tradeoffs when (...) psychological distance is high (rather than low) and when they are forced to choose between competing alternatives. However, when given the option not to choose, managers better reflect on the consequences of each alternative, and thus become more likely to choose options with less risk of negative consequences. The results suggest that simply offering managers the option not to choose may reduce psychological distance and help organizations avoid seemingly unethical decision-making. (shrink)

This article draws on the philosophical work on dialogic rationality offered by Charles Taylor as well as qualitative studies of dialogues between politically opposed college students to argue that these conversations succeed as tools of democracy precisely because they fail as interventions. That is, the democratic strength of such dialogue is the way in which it is unreliable as a means of producing particular outcomes. Students whose political views eventually shifted partly in response to dialogue understood this not as a (...) process of changing their commitments, but rather of finding a better expression for the commitments they already held. But the interviews show, too, just how rare it is for such shifts to occur at all, at least for these students in a period of political polarization and mutual distrust. The interviews suggest as well that the appeal to already shared ground is not the whole story of what prompts people to change their minds in these kinds of conversations. Rather the asking of direct but respectful questions was a crucial ingredient. Finally, dialogue did not independently cause the most profound changes in political views. Instead, it was the direction of students' lives that over time shifted their outlook. Their dialogue experience then gained meaning in retrospect, as the beginning of a process of self-questioning that was brought to fruition only later, as a first time that they had heard alternative possibilities for how value commitments can be expressed through politics. (shrink)

Every animal illustrates how they thrive, offering a model of how you might choose to thrive, too. If we're willing to listen--to follow the pawprints--we just might discover a kinder, braver, more courageous way of life.

Genetic information is becoming increasingly used in modern life, extending beyond medicine to familial history, forensics and more. Following this expansion of use, the effect of genetic information on people’s identity and ultimately people’s quality of life is being explored in a host of different disciplines. While a multidisciplinary approach is commendable and necessary, there is the potential for the multidisciplinarity to produce conceptual misconnection. That is, while experts in one field may understand their use of a term like (...) ‘gene’, ‘identity’ or ‘information’ for experts in another field, the same term may link to a distinctly different concept. These conceptual misconnections not only increase inefficiency in complex organisational practices, but can also have important ethical, legal and social consequences. This paper comes at the problem of conceptual misconnection by clarifying different uses of the terms ‘gene’, ‘identity’ and ‘information’. I start by looking at three different conceptions of the gene; the Instrumental, the Nominal and the Postgenomic Molecular. Secondly, a taxonomy of four different concepts of identity is presented; Numeric, Character, Group and Essentialised, and their use is clarified. A general concept of Information is introduced, and finally three distinct kinds of information are described. I then introduce Concept Creep as an ethical problem that arises from conceptual misconnections. The primary goal of this paper is to reduce the potential for conceptual misconnection when discussing genetic identity and genetic information. This is complimented by three secondary goals—1) to clarify what a conceptual misconnection is, 2) to explain why clarity of use is particularly important to discussions of genes, identity and information and 3) to show how concept creep between different uses of genetic identity and genetic information can have important ethical outcomes. (shrink)

Community care for frail elderly people rests heavily on the work of low-status, paraprofessional home care workers. Home care workers describe their work as highly personalized caring labor that often seeps out of its formal boundaries into informal, unpaid activities. Although these activities are valued by workers, their supervisors, elderly clients, and family members, they represent uncompensated and exploited labor. Cost-cutting trends in home care management that seek to depersonalize home care labor are likely to increase its exploitative potential for (...) paid care workers and, simultaneously, to disadvantage and jeopardize elderly home care clients and their unpaid family caregivers. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Still I RiseLynnell Stephani LongYears ago I would not have had the courage to write my story. I was too ashamed to tell anyone my “secret.”I was born June 11, 1963 in Chicago. I found out thirty–seven years after my birth that I was born with severe hypospadias and a bifid scrotum. Surgery was performed at birth, leaving me with a micropenis. My labia were fused to form a (...) scrotum. After a couple of days in the hospital, my parents were able to take home their baby “boy.”Throughout my childhood I had urinary tract infections because of the surgery to move my [End Page 100] urethra from the base of the penis to the tip. For years I would get a burning sensation in the middle of the penis after urination. My endocrinologist at the time concluded that I had an infection of some type, but it was never explained to me where it originated.My mother raised me with my seven siblings on the south side of Chicago. Aside from me jumping rope with the girls, playing with dolls, and sitting when I peed, I had a pretty normal childhood. From an early age, I knew I was different. I was effeminate, and was often called “faggot” by everyone in the neighborhood, including my own brothers. I always liked hanging out with girls. In fact, I believed that I was a girl until my mother, a minister, beat it out of me. Literally.At the age of nine, I was first admitted to a teaching hospital. It was there that I was treated for growth hormone deficiency, hypothyroidism, panhypopituitarism, hypoadrenalism, and hypogonadism. At age 14, while other boys in high school were beginning to become young men, my voice got higher and I started growing breasts. My endocrinologist diagnosed me with gynecomastia and started me on testosterone injections to stop the breast growth, and to help with the masculinization process. To me these changes confirmed what I believed all along: I was indeed female.I took male hormone injections for five years. My endocrinologist convinced me that I could be a “normal” male if I took male hormones; I didn’t want to be male, I wanted to be female. But no one asked me what I wanted. Besides, the testosterone was making me sick. I wouldn’t be diagnosed with PAIS (Partial Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome) until a number of years later. I still remember trips to the hospital like they happened yesterday. There were multiple IVs, MRI’s, CAT scans, and photos taken of me. I still have flashbacks of standing in front of the graph board, naked, while strangers walked in and out of the room.There was no one I could talk to about this. I was never allowed to tell my friends why I was hospitalized numerous times a year. In the black community you don’t talk about family secrets. And that’s what I was, a secret. I would go to school between the hospitalizations and pretend everything was okay. I hated my life. I hated being different. I would get teased in school, but I managed to survive it.One day on a routine office visit—I had to be around 16 at that time—my endocrinologist told me that I was infertile, and could never have kids. He didn’t offer any psychotherapy, just smiled and said “I’ll see you in three months”. I went home that afternoon and attempted suicide for the first time.I was hospitalized every summer, for weeks at a time, for testing. My endocrinologist and his parade of residents awakened me every morning in the hospital. They stood by my bed, peeking under my gown, and talking about me like I was not present. I discontinued my visits to the hospital, and all medications, at the age of twenty–four. I just wanted to be normal, but I knew I wasn’t.The next ten years of my life were full of drinking and getting high, trying to forget that I was different. I did have girlfriends in that time, and I even got married. I was convinced that a... (shrink)

This article constructs and deploys a set of autoethnographic narratives from the author’s experience as a Baptist minister to critically retrieve the category of ‘women’s experience’ for feminist theological construction. Autoethnography, as a response to the crisis of representation in the Humanities, uses personal narratives of the self to reveal, critique and transform wider cultural trends. It therefore provides helpful tools for analysing, critiquing and transforming theological thought and practice. Following the article’s methodological sections, the constructive sections use the crafted (...) autoethnographies to re-frame Rowan Williams’s vision for how church and world co-constitute each other towards God’s just ends. Whereas Williams argues that this co-constitution occurs through processes of interactive transformative judgment, the feminist theological understanding argued for here founds the process instead on interactive, transformative grace. (shrink)

The arrival of image-making generative artificial intelligence (AI) programs has been met with a broad rebuke: to many, it feels inherently wrong to regard images made using generative AI programs as artworks. I am skeptical of this sentiment, and in what follows I aim to demonstrate why. I suspect AI generated images can be considered artworks; more specifically, that generative AI programs are, in many cases, just another tool artists can use to realize their creative intent. I begin with (...) an overview of how generative AI programs, like OpenAI’s DALL-E 2, work. Then, leveraging work by Claire Anscomb, I argue that generative AI programs are a new technique of automatic image-making that affords creative agency to its users, thereby qualifying the images they create as artworks. Finally, I show many of the objections brought against AI artworks—including accusations of plagiarism and artistic devaluation—are due to the social backdrop in which we currently find them, rather than the technology itself. In the end, I aim to open the door to further aesthetic debate concerning AI generated images and art. (shrink)

Joss Whedon deserves credit for using the vehicle of his enduringly popular television series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, to expose California's colonial history and raise questions regarding sustained responsibilities to the U.S. colonial past. This article, however, points out the ways in which BtVS and Angel, especially in the season four crossover episode of BtVS entitled “Pangs,” perpetuate the notion that this history and the indigenous peoples affected by it have vanished. It argues that this erasure of contemporary (...) American Indian peoples leaves reflective and ethically engaged people like Buffy and her "Scooby Gang"—and, by extension, socially conscientious fans of the show—without resources to be responsive to sustained colonial power structures in the present, and to the living indigenous peoples who continue to both suffer from and resist these structures. (shrink)

Hand-lettered inspirational quotes paired with contemporary illustrations for more than a year of Motivational Mondays, You’ve Totally Got This! has got you covered. Sometimes all we need is a little nudge: this book serves as inspiration for those facing new beginnings, a sudden change, or just a whole lot to do. Great for grads, creatives, and entrepreneurs: every spread is like a greeting card, so this delightful volume serves as a stand-alone championing or as the perfect finishing touch (...) to a gift. (shrink)

Foucault’s political thinking is focused on the concept of power relations. Under the influence of Nietzsche he proposes two different accounts of how power is related to human action. Nietzsche had argued, on the basis of a reading of Kant’s antinomies of pure reason, for two different accounts of that relationship. On the one hand, he had sought to understand action as a phenomenon of the will to power; on the other, he had also spoken of the will to power (...) as an aspect of human agency. On Nietzsche’s views, we need to assert both positions even though they are for us irreconcilable. In his writings on power and action Foucault finds himself driven into adopting a similarly dual view. While he speaks of action in the nineteen seventies as subsidiary to power relations, he reverses himself in the nineteen eighties by treating power as a feature of human action. Just like Nietzsche, he offers us no way of reconciling these two distinct accounts. (shrink)

Love taking pictures with your digital camera? Want to improve your skills, but don’t have a lot of time to spend? How about some straight-to-the-point tips that cut to the chase and show you step by step how to accomplish a task? If that sounds like just what you had in mind, Digital Photography Just The Steps For Dummies, 2nd Edition is exactly what you need. This handy, full-color guide breaks down the most important tasks into simple (...) two-page, illustrated instructions. You choose what you want to do, flip to the right page, follow the instructions, and voilà! A new skill is yours! Digital Photography Just The Steps For Dummies, 2nd Edition covers important tasks from choosing a camera to printing your photos or turning them into slideshows or galleries. You’ll be able to: Select and use various lenses Take advantage of your meters Use tripods, screens, and scrims when shooting Work with depth of field Shoot and process Camera Raw images Download and organize your pictures Understand and use color profiles Edit in the “quick fix” mode Restore a vintage photo Create an online photo gallery, greeting cards, calendars, or CD jackets More than 170 digital photography tasks are presented in this easy-to-use, full-color reference. Grab a copy and find out how much more fun you can have with your digital camera! (shrink)

You recognize when you know something for certain, right? You "know" the sky is blue, or that the traffic light had turned green, or where you were on the morning of September 11, 2001--you know these things, well, because you just do. In On Being Certain , neurologist Robert Burton challenges the notions of how we think about what we know. He shows that the feeling of certainty we have when we "know" something comes from sources beyond our control (...) and knowledge. In fact, certainty is a mental sensation, rather than evidence of fact. Because this "feeling of knowing" seems like confirmation of knowledge, we tend to think of it as a product of reason. But an increasing body of evidence suggests that feelings such as certainty stem from primitive areas of the brain, and are independent of active, conscious reflection and reasoning. The feeling of knowing happens to us; we cannot make it happen. Bringing together cutting edge neuroscience, experimental data, and fascinating anecdotes, Robert Burton explores the inconsistent and sometimes paradoxical relationship between our thoughts and what we actually know. Provocative and groundbreaking, On Being Certain , will challenge what you know (or think you know) about the mind, knowledge, and reason. ROBERT BURTON, M.D. graduated from Yale University and University of California at San Francisco medical school, where he also completed his neurology residency. At age 33, he was appointed chief of the Division of Neurology at Mt. Zion-UCSF Hospital, where he subsequently became Associate Chief of the Department of Neurosciences. His non-neurology writing career includes three critically acclaimed novels. He lives in Sausalito, California. Visit his website at http://www.rburton.com/ “What do we do when we recognize that a false certainty feels the same as certainty about the sky being blue? A lesser guide might get bogged down in nail-biting doubts about the limits of knowledge. Yet Burton not only makes clear the fascinating beauty of this tangled terrain, he also brings us out the other side with a clearer sense of how to navigate. It's a lovely piece of work; I'm all but certain you'll like it. “ --David Dobbs, author of Reef Madness; Charles Darwin, Alexander Agassiz, and the Meaning of Coral “Burton has a great talent for combining wit and insight in a way both palatable and profound.” --Johanna Shapiro PhD, professor of Family Medicine at UC Irvine School of Medicine “A new way of looking at knowledge that merits close reading by scientists and general readers alike.” -- Kirkus “This could be one of the most important books of the year. With so much riding on ‘certainty,’ and so little known about how people actually reach a state of certainty about anything, some plain speaking from a knowledgeable neuroscientist is called for. If Gladwell's Blink was fascinating but largely anecdotal, Burton's book drills down to the real science behind snap judgments and other decision-making.” -- Howard Rheingold, futurist and author of Smart Mobs “A fascinating read. Burton’s engaging prose takes us into the deepest corners of our subconscious, making us question our most solid contentions. Nobody who reads this book will walk away from it and say ‘I know this for sure’ ever again.” --Sylvia Pagán Westphal, science reporter, The Wall Street Journal “Burton provides a compelling and though-provoking case that we should be more skeptical about our beliefs. Along the way, he also provides a novel perspective on many lines of research that should be of interest to readers who are looking for a broad introduction to the cognitive sciences.” -- Seed Magazine. (shrink)

Forty years ago, Bayesian philosophers were just catching a new wave of technical innovation, ushering in an era of scoring rules, imprecise credences, and infinitesimal probabilities. Meanwhile, down the hall, Gettier’s 1963 paper [28] was shaping a literature with little obvious interest in the formal programs of Reichenbach, Hempel, and Carnap, or their successors like Jeffrey, Levi, Skyrms, van Fraassen, and Lewis. And how Bayesians might accommodate the discourses of full belief and knowledge was but a glimmer in (...) the eye of Isaac Levi. Forty years later, scoring rules, imprecise credences, and infinitesimal probabilities are all the rage. And the formal and “informal” traditions are increasingly coming together as Bayesian arguments spill over into debates about the foundations of empirical knowledge, skepticism, and more. Relatedly, Bayesian interest in full belief and knowledge has never been greater. Much more besides has happened in the last forty years of Bayesian philosophy, .. (shrink)

G. A. Cohen is justly acclaimed for his penetrating and searching critique of the commanding Rawlsian liberal paradigm in contemporary political philosophy. He is also well known for his fervent advocacy of a radical view of economic equality, namely, that “justice requires (virtually) unqualified equality itself.” This essay focuses on two issues at the heart of Cohen’s critique, namely, his argument that economic equality is a moral as well as a political responsibility, and his interrogatory question: “If you’re an egalitarian, (...) how come you’re so rich?” I take up critics’ objection that Cohen’s arguments for what economic egalitarianism requires are overly morally demanding. I also present a puzzle about the critical reception of Cohen’s work: Given the amount and quality of engagement with his arguments on what egalitarianism would look like in a future just society, how come there’s been such scant attention to his reflections on the predicament of the “rich egalitarian” in current-day unjust society? The essay culminates in a tentative answer to this question. (shrink)

1. I have fond memories of the Linguistic Society of America meeting in New Orleans just after Christmas in 1988, the last time I was able to see all my humanist friends from graduate school who were attending the concurrent meeting of the MLA. Shortly after that, the LSA decided to forego the company of humanists and assemble by itself during the first week of January. It's hard to fault the decision. Over and above the obvious practical advantages, (...) class='Hi'>like not having to wait in line for forty-five minutes outside popular restaurants, the groups had been growing apart intellectually for some time. Few linguists bothered to cross town for MLA sessions on topics like onomastics, English usage, and the history of lexicography. Nor for that matter were those sessions drawing many MLA attendees, either. Literary people didn't seem to be much interested in language study anymore; what filled their ballrooms now were the sessions on deconstruction and other poststructuralist enthusiasms. It was like going back for your annual drink with your high-school sweetheart and finding that you had less and less to talk about. They didn't know what subjacency was and we didn't know what alterity was, and neither seemed to care. If you were of a mind to look for milestones, you could take that as the time when linguistic semantics definitively cut itself loose from its philological roots. Like a lot of semanticists, I had mixed feelings about the break. It's undeniable that linguistic semantics couldn't have come of age as an autonomous empirical discipline if it hadn't.. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:THIS MESSAGE IS FOR YOU. MAYBE. by Joseph Agassi There is a mood often enough conjured in science fiction literature to be familiar to every fan, the mood of seemingly intentional yet probably remdom contact between two individuals across immense space-time expanses. The hero of a complicated chase story has lost contact with the mother planet, has long ago leuided on a strange pleuiet, emd there, right now, (...) class='Hi'>just walking across the plaza he sees a huge poster, with a piece of commercial advertisement or some similar message of purely local import printed on it. The poster is decorated with an arabesque which puzzles him, quickens his pulse, intrigues him, fascinates him — until it hits him insteinteuneously in full force: the arabesque is a message, written in his own native language, telling him how to reestablish contact. The story, as I say, has many veurietnts. And it has, it seems, a very widespread appeal. It is couched in terms of adventure stories, but its mood is not diat of adventure. The mood is more of die one associated with the idea of the eterned return, die idea of timelessness or of time standing still (and space vanishing), the idea the western philosophies usually associate with the ideas of Nicholas, the Renaissance mystic bishop ofCusa, though it is a recurrent idea in many cultures, of the identity of the vanishingly smedl and the infinitely large. Indeed, the meeting of the message and the recipient is symbolized by the meeting of the infinite line and the point of vanishing length. Whence this universality? I suppose it is a fact of biological nature. Think of the scent a living thing, be it a fish or em emtelope, leaves behind to contact a possible mate. It is a few complex molecules in a sea of molecules of astronomical numbers: just this room contains more molecules than you can imagine. And the animal follows a long tortuous path to find its mate. According to Willietm Craig and Konrad Lorenz, an animal does not have the slightest clue what it is after. Even while building a nest it has no complete 95 96Philosophy and Literature picture of its task. In each of its stages it goes after diverse kinds of things, yet it knows not which things, let alone their inborn rigidly fixed sequence. Yet the animal in charge of a tetsk, whether of finding a mate or of finding a twig for a nest, will be resdess — say Craig and Lorenz — and move about, and try to read the message in any piece of arabesque, until one day one piece of arabesque will med«: sense and enable its finder to complete die next step in the mysterious complex task and open up die search for the next message, the next step further along die unfolding series of preordained ordeals that life is strewn widi. Consider writing proper, like my writing this message for you right now. We do not know the background to literacy, much less its actual origins, except that these were far from unique: though many cultures eire illiterate or have acquired literacy from more evolved neighbors, mere eire many places on earth where literacy evolved independently. Yet even here we see a sequence: many independent ideographic scripts, some ofthem evolving into syllabic scripts and one or two of these evolving into an alphabet proper. How and why, we do not know. There is room for speculation, though. It is hard to imagine how the very first writer conceived of the very first message he wrote without consulting his recipient first. There are a few possible explemations here. First, that writer and recipient are one: writing was a form ofmemorizing, or ofconsigning matters to memory more stable than that of the human brain — the granite rock, for instance. The ancient Egyptian god of literacy was the god of memory. Primitive shepherds use knots in their rope and cuts on their sticks as aides memoire, as bookkeeping of sorts, and scholars consider these the origins of writings. This is evidenced by the runic writings of the Norse, whose letters are images of sticks with cuts on them. Yet runic writing is alphabetic and... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Ethics & the Environment 8.1 (2003) 112-125 [Access article in PDF] You Make My Heart Sing David Rothenberg Last March I went to Pittsburgh to play music live with birds. The plan was to arrive at dawn, to catch the wary singers at their best—in the early morning chorus, when the most sound was happening. I met my friend Michael Pestel at the gates of the National Aviary, a (...) mostly forgotten federal institution in a rundown neighborhood. I had never heard of the aviary before Pestel told me what a great place it was to jam with the more-than-human world. The staff was rumored to be friendly, and they liked to let musicians in during the early hours before the public, mostly guided schoolchildren, would storm the gates.Pestel was there with his flute and various homemade stringed instruments. I had clarinets and saxophones, coaxed out of their cases, a bit tired from the long ride, but ready to hear what these birds had up their sleeves. We headed for the marsh room, a vaulted expanse with an observation deck and waterbirds from all over the world. I strained my ears to catch some pretty rocking bird beats, but they sounded familiar. Too familiar—the aviary was blaring Marvin Gaye at top volume to these birds at six o'clock in the morning. They were definitely squawkin' and squealin'."I cannot work in these conditions," muttered Pestel. "We've got to get these people to turn that racket down.""Didn't you warn them we were coming?""No," he shook his head. "You can't do that. Art always arrives without warning." [End Page 112]"You sure they'll let us do this?""No problem, man, I've come here many times before. These people know me. These birds know me."Marvin was turned down. The sprinklers were turned down (rain must start in the rainforest room every day before sunrise). How else to keep the gaudy barbets happy? Does a blue-crowned motmot (Momotus momota) or a violaceous euphonia (Euphonia violacea) really want to hear strange instrumental shrieks before breakfast? Weren't they content with "What's Going On?"Athanasius Kircher 1 knew the birds were onto something even in 1650:And then Wittgenstein had the nerve to warn us that if a lion could talk, we would not understand him. 2 When a lion roars, we do understand him (or her). If a cat purrs, we understand her, too. If the voice of an animal is not heard as message but as art, interesting things start to happen: Nature is no longer inscrutable, some alien puzzle, but instead immediately something beautiful, a source of exuberant song, a tune with some space for us to enter, at once a creative place for humanity to join in.We set up on the wooden deck, listening out over the water. Instruments out of their cases, recording equipment wired and set to go. An American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos) was in the center of the action, sitting on a branch at the side of the room. He cocked his head, eyed us knowingly. Looking like there was something he wanted to say. [End Page 113]Pestel played a long, low sliding note, followed by a scratchy puff of air. Something strange swooped down next to my feet, shuffled its large black wings. Some kind of ungainly turkey... I read from a plaque on the railing that it was a Palawan peacock pheasant (Polyplectron emphanum). Its quizzical gaze was mute."What are you looking at?" I glared. He stepped cautiously toward the microphone cable, ready to gobble it in his hooked, formidable beak."Hey," I brushed him off. "Stop dancing. Sing!" But no, he was the prancing, silent type.All of a sudden there was a strange voice. A human voice? "Who." I heard. "Who. Who what where why. Who what where why."It was the crow. But not just any crow. He spoke."Did you hear that?" I coaxed Pestel up from the flute."Oh," he said. "That's Mickey. He's been here for years.""Does... (shrink)

The old adage has two people out hiking who run into a bear. One starts running while the other asks ‘why are you running? You can’t outrun a bear’. To which the other responds, ‘I don’t have to outrun the bear. I only have to outrun you’. Hiking/trekking is not typically a competitive endeavor characterized by contests but, like many endeavors/pursuits/activities, competition can be injected into it; thereby sportifying it. Swimming is a sport (under certain conditions). At the same (...) time, it is also a recreational activity and a form of physical exercise; likewise angling/fishing, climbing, cross-country skiing, mountain biking, kayaking, rowing, surfing, et al. The categorization of many activities under the umbrella of sport has it uses to understand the wider concept of what is sport, but the purpose of why one engages in ‘physical activities taking place in a natural environment’ can sometimes be more important than whether some activities might or might not qualify to be classified under the rubric of sports at all. Indicators exist to show whether participants are actually engaged toward—driven in a way, even—to further their skills in their focused activity (if it is a focused activity at all!––i.e. a ‘serious leisure’ pursuit or just a recreational hobby). From this perspective (of looking at sport-like and sporting activities in other than Olympic-style forms) this paper explores the differentiations between sport (including nature sport) contests, nature challenge activities (NCAs) and outdoor recreation from the standpoint of the most relevant factors that distinguish them: rules, skill development, purpose for engaging in them. This paper also makes the case that differentiating participants in the above activities by purpose (as either nature challenge recreationalists or nature sport devotees) has utility; to better help research into people’s engagement in physical activities in natural environments. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:You Mean It’s Not My Fault:Learning about Lipedema, a Fat DisorderCatherine A. Seo“As a surgeon there is nothing more I can do for you. You need to lose 75 pounds before I can even consider repairing the damage done.” Implied and not directly stated, “… Because it’s your fault.” I sat listening, dumbfounded. I was at one of the top teaching hospitals in the country, face to face with (...) a respected Harvard Medical School trained surgeon who came highly recommended.I had seemingly irreversible damage that was leading to permanent immobility. I was experiencing excessive and uncontrollable swelling in my extremities. I was in unrelenting pain that prevented me from sleeping through the night.The surgeon looked down at the floor avoiding my gaze and—after never before mentioning weight as a possible contraindication to surgery during any of our interactions associated with five surgeries, in over two years, including at least 25 consultations, pre-op, post-op, or follow-up visits stated—in essence, “I can’t help you. You are too fat. It’s your fault.” Not until now, this moment, a couple of months after “the-surgery-gone-wrong-that-ended-in-terrible-complications,” I was being told that it was my fault.He then looked down at his pager that had conveniently buzzed within minutes after he delivered this news, and then walked out of the examining room leaving me to fend for myself in dealing with serious and life-changing complications. Susan1*, his Nurse Practitioner, printed out and handed me a standard listing of BMI calculations, marched me into the common hallway to weigh me, pointed out my BMI >30, reinforced the message that he would do nothing to remedy this horrific situation unless I lost 75 pounds, and then sent me on my way.I stood outside the hospital in shock. This just wasn’t happening, and it couldn’t be happening to me. I had grown to trust this surgeon, and I was struggling to comprehend what had just happened. As the shock wore off, I reengaged in several failed attempts to get help from him. He seemed to have convinced himself that the reason the surgery had gone awry was because of my excess weight, and not because, as I later learned, I had been misdiagnosed and the procedure, as it was performed, was far too aggressive. My health condition was deteriorating and it appeared as if weight was being scapegoated for the complications.If a solution was to be found, I was going to have to find it. After many months of research, I discovered that I have lipedema, an unrecognized [End Page E6] and generally misdiagnosed hereditary, genetically-based fat disorder. I had always had lipedema, which in my case seems to have been triggered at least since puberty. There are an estimated 17 million women in the USA alone who have lipedema, unrecognized or misdiagnosed.I, like most other women in America, knew that weight was a personal choice, and fat is a result of eating too much. Or was it? This ingrained and culturally accepted structure of knowledge began to disintegrate. I then asked the question, if this disease of lipedema is a fat disorder—and I had been to many, many doctors in my 63 years—why was it never identified? Why was I left to struggle in a constant battle trying to accomplish the impossible? I then learned about and named “anti-fat bias” and began to unravel the answers.About LipedemaAccording to Karen L. Herbst, Ph.D., M.D., endocrinologist and expert on fat disorders, lipedema (lipoedema in Europe) is an inherited genetic disease, affecting at least 11% of women of all sizes, from the extremely thin to the morbidly obese, resulting in localized fat that is bilateral, symmetrical and usually from the waist to just above the ankles. It can also affect the upper arms. Unlike the “normal” fat of obesity, lipedemic fat cannot be lost through diet and exercise. It is not uncommon for the comorbidity of overweight or obesity to accompany lipedema. Allen and Hines, physicians at the Mayo Clinic, first named Lipedema in 1940.Believed... (shrink)

If you accept evolutionary theory, can you also believe in God? Are human beings superior to other animals, or is this just a human prejudice? Does Darwin have implications for heated issues like euthanasia and animal rights? Does evolution tell us the purpose of life, or does it imply that life has no ultimate purpose? Does evolution tell us what is morally right and wrong, or does it imply that ultimately 'nothing' is right or wrong? In this fascinating (...) and intriguing book, Steve Stewart-Williams addresses these and other fundamental philosophical questions raised by evolutionary theory and the exciting new field of evolutionary psychology. Drawing on biology, psychology and philosophy, he argues that Darwinian science supports a view of a godless universe devoid of ultimate purpose or moral structure, but that we can still live a good life and a happy life within the confines of this view. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:just Men and Just Acts in Plato's Republic JEROME SCHILLER I. Introduction Too MUCHhas already been written about Plato's Republic. But this, strangely enough, is why a little more needs to be written. For the book has been worked over so often that an obvious sign of fatigue has set in: critics are beginning to find such elementary flaws in the Republic that one wonders why he (...) should waste time on such a philosophically embarrassing work at all. It is to counter one of these recent criticisms and thus, hopefully, to help offset the fatigue, that this study is written. It purports not only to show the criticism mistaken, but also to sketch a way of looking at the Republic which should send the reader back for a further look at this incredibly rich work. The richness of the Republic is, indeed, a source of embarrassment for anyone writing on it. For because of its structure it is at least misleading to isolate one topic from the myriad others treated there, and because of its complexity, impossible to document interpretations of more than a few topics. I shall follow the time-honored practices here of merely expressing my bias on some topics (such as my non-political interpretation) and leaving it up to the reader to follow up hints of my interpretations of other topics (such as that of the Sun, Line, and Cave). II. Plato's Alleged Fallacy in the Republic David Sachs and A. W. H. Adkins have recently claimed that Plato commits the fallacy of equivocation in the Republic, not in the course of some minor argument, but in answering what is probably the central problem posed by the work: Why be just?1 Simply put, their objection goes like this: In the first book of the Republic, Socrates attempts to prove to Thrasymachus why justice is preferable to injustice. But even Socrates is dissatisfied with this answer and early in the second book, after a brilliantly fashioned defense of the Thrasymachean position by Glaucon and Adeimantus, the brothers ask for a more convincing demonstration from "You, [who have] passed your entire life in the consideration of this very matter." e Socrates seems to accept the challenge and proceeds to a search for the concept of justice writ large in the state. Now, claim Adkins and Sachs, Plato never does answer Glaucon's and AdeiDavid Sachs, A Fallacy in Plato s Republic, Philosophical Review, LX(XII (1963),141158 ;A. W. H. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility, A Study in Greek Values (Oxford,1960),p. 289. Adkins,in developingapolitical interpretation ofthe Republic, doesnot elaborate the criticism as does Sachs; hence I refer in this study primarily to the latter's article. sPlato, Republic 376e 2-3,trans. P. Shorey (2 vols.; Cambridge, Mass.: Loeb Classical Library, 1937-42).All subsequent quotations are from this translation. [1] HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY mantus' request. For though he does eventually purport to show that justice is preferable to injustice, the justice he attempts to prove this of is not at all the same justice that Glaucon and Adeimantus have in mind. Plato has simply equivocated on the term "iustice," meaning at one time the set of acts generally considered just,s but at another time a certain order in the individual's soul. He has purported to show that an individual with a well-ordered soul reaps advantages, but unless he can show a clear relation between this "Platonic" notion of justice and the "vulgar" notion of justice, the notion which Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, Glaucon and Adeimantus have in mind, he will not have answered the brothers' question, and will thus have avoided the central problem of the Republic. The relation he has to establish is, Sachs claims, that Platonic justice is a necessary and a sufficient condition for vulgar justice. Then he could argue that since he has shown that a man reaps advantages just to the extent that he is Platonically just, (1) a vulgarly unjust individual will not reap more advantages than a vulgarly just one (on the grounds that Platonic justice entails vulgar justice), and (2) a vulgarly just man will reap more advantages than a vulgarly... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:If You’re Not Part of the Solution...Sarah GilesI worked on an island that lured people to their deaths. I have come to realize that there are certain resources that every population must have in order to continue to exist. Health care providers are needed if a group is to continue to reside in one place. Without nurses and doctors, people tend to refuse to go to a location or (...) choose not to stay. Perhaps if doctors like me refused to work in places where people have their basic human rights ignored, those places would cease to exist. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s the only way I can imagine the events of December 15th, 2010, could have been prevented. [End Page E11]Australia has a large offshore detention center on Christmas Island, a tiny dot in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Housed in a collection of prison–like facilities are men, women, and children who have come to an Australian Island claiming they are refugees. They have paid an average of $10,000 (U.S. dollars) to be smuggled by boat from nearby Indonesia and are then, usually, intercepted by the Australian navy or coast guard, and brought to the island to await processing. This processing can take two to four years and, even then, it can end with deportation. The asylum seekers spend years in a massively overcrowded and unstimulating purgatory.To say that I was not familiar with the political situation on the island would be a farcical under-statement. As a Canadian family doctor, I went to work on Christmas Island because of its exotic location and reputation for world–class SCUBA diving. It sounded like a dreamy place to do a locum. The little research I had done told me that there was a detention center on the island, but I had been told that I would only deal with those patients if they were sick enough to come into hospital. I didn’t imagine that I would end up feeling culpable for the deaths of 48 people who dreamed of restarting their lives in Australia.On December 15th, 2010, a rickety boat carrying approximately 100 asylum seekers somehow slipped past the navy and coast guard into the water just off of Christmas Island. The weather was foreboding and the waves were massive. As the boat approached the island, it lost power and, horrifically, smashed into the cliffs, leaving an estimated 48 men, women, and children to drown and an almost equal number in need of rescue and medical attention. My name was on the call schedule that day. All survivors were brought to the hospital. Our worlds collided.At the time, I thought it was good luck there was an extra doctor on the island that day. I was relieved that we were able to cope with the mass casualty situation and that only few survivors were sick or injured enough to require evacuation to the main land. Three years later, I wonder if the accident would have happened at all had we not been there.I had felt smug providing care in the public hospital, believing it was morally superior to working as a mercenary at the detention center. But I now realize that all of the health care providers had a role in allowing the tragedy to occur. What would have happened if all of the doctors refused to work with people held under those conditions? If that critical infrastructure of health care were not available on the island, the detention center could not be there. If the detention center weren’t there, the government would stop processing people there and perhaps desperate people would stop risking their lives to get to Christmas Island. Maybe the women and men who lost their children or the children who lost their parents would never have gotten on that boat. Maybe.Parts of that awful day stay with me. My job as a doctor prevented me from offering the compassionate care I wanted to provide and forced me to turn into a medical conveyor belt. When a young patient was laid in front of me, I assessed her, started... (shrink)

Walking through the supermarket, I see the avocados. I know they are avocados. Similarly, if you see a pumpkin on my office desk, you can know it’s a pumpkin from its looks. The phenomenology in such cases is that of “just seeing” that such and such. This phenomenology might suggest that the knowledge gained is immediate. This paper argues, to the contrary, that in these target cases, the knowledge is mediate, depending as it does on one’s knowledge of what (...) the relevant kind of thing looks like. To make the case requires examining the nature of knowing what Fs look like. Is such knowledge to be understood as knowledge of a fact, or rather as a kind of ability? From the conclusion that the knowledge in the target cases is not immediate, the paper concludes that perception does not afford us immediate knowledge concerning objects’ kinds. (shrink)

“Separation/disassociation from what is dear is suffering . . . ” declares the first noble truth of suffering, in a statement that is overwhelming in its decisiveness and scope, encompassing both the severance of ties to loved ones and the discontinuity of any attempt to hold on to what is pleasant or liked. However, in first-millennium Indian Sanskrit classical lore, Buddhist not excepted, separation comes to mean and convey much more—in terms of emotional phenomena—than just suffering. It is understood (...) in terms of diverse and sometimes excluding emotional phenomena, which are experienced under different (and sometimes contrastive) contexts. In Sanskrit belletristic literature and aesthetics, where lovers’ experience of “love in separation” is listed under the rubric of the erotic emotion, separation comes with its own particular sub-moods, typical landscapes, and associated practices, all of which are extended also under virahabhakti to the religious realm and the highly aestheticized relations with the divine. And in the case of philosophical texts and themes connected with Śramaṇic ideology, Buddhist and non-Buddhist alike, a sense of doom regarding one’s impending demise and the inevitable separation from all that is dear becomes a dominant mood, and carries with it normative and moral prescriptions, a theorization of action, and a particular kind of perceptual salience. These various outlooks on separation, however, are not unrelated, and often both come into play within the confines of a single work. This is especially true in the case of the Buddhist belletristic poetical works (mahākāvya) of Aśvaghoṣa (second century CE ), Life of the Buddha (Buddhacarita, BC) and Beautiful Nanda (Saundarananda, SN), in which separation—and here I refer primarily to the term viprayoga in both its concrete sense as the separation from loved ones and its broader existential sense—features as a central theme. Exploring the range of meanings and dynamic use of the term within Aśvaghoṣa’s SN, the first part of this article provides a brief theoretical framework with which to approach Aśvaghoṣa’s understanding of separation and its relation to the emotions. In this regard, I argue that separation, more than just an umbrella term for a cluster of associated feelings and emotions, serves as a unique emotional context—prescribing specific kinds of perceptual and moral saliency, practices and regimes of the self—under which emotional phenomena become meaningful. As such, its analysis may also contribute to the ongoing scholarly discussion about the adequacy of using the very category of emotion in the context of Buddhist literature. Drawing on this framework and focusing on Aśvaghoṣa’s BC, the second part of the article turns to deal specifically with the role he allocates in the work to philosophical moral arguments regarding separation. Through analysis of the workings of a particular recurrent argument that I will call “the argument from separation,” I argue that, in addition to its role in justifying Buddhist ideology, it functions in Aśvaghoṣa’s BC primarily as a self-therapy of the emotions. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy, Psychiatry, & Psychology 10.1 (2003) 23-24 [Access article in PDF] Did You Hurt Yourself? Katherine Morris PEOPLE WITH BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER (BPD) frequently deliberately injure themselves, to the extent that "the diagnosis [BPD] rightly comes to mind whenever recurrent self-destructive behaviors are encountered" (Gunderson, 2001, 54) quoted by (Potter, 2003, 1). How are we to understand this puzzling and disturbing behavior?Situating her approach to this question within a (...) general framework that sees the body as a "text" that requires "interpretation," Potter deliberately avoids answering this question in the way we might expect. It is doubtful, she argues, that every act of self-injury has a meaning, and a fortiori doubtful that every such act has the same meaning. Her discussion includes a section, informed by medical anthropology, in which she attempts to distinguish pathological self-injury of the sort that occurs with BPD from such culturally acceptable (or at least culturally understood or tolerated) body modifications, such as tattooing, scarification, and body piercing. It also includes a section in which it is suggested that the meaning of some self-injurious behavior may indicate cultural rather than individual pathologies (e.g., the "commodification" and "objectification" of women's bodies in Western culture). The principal issue for her, however, is how a clinician is to work out the meaning of a particular individual's self-injuring behavior when it does indeed have an individual meaning, and the prerequisite for doing so, she argues, is the cultivation of a virtue she terms giving uptake.The general tenor of her argument seems to me to be admirable: the issues are dealt with subtly and with ethical, anthropological, and philosophical sensitivity. There are nonetheless a number of questions I want to raise. The Framework It is of course fashionable in certain quarters these days to speak of the body as a text. One might, however, wonder to what extent this metaphor is illuminating. After all, texts, one might think, are by definition linguistic; yet part of the point here is precisely to move away from the narrow "speech-act" focus of "traditional philosophical analyses of communication" (Potter 2003, 1-16).The point of the metaphor according to Potter is to "suggest that the body, like other mediums of communication, must be interpreted and that its meanings are not given or inevitable" (Potter 2003, 2). Again, however, this invokes a number of fashionable but questionable ideas: an easy reliance on the difficult idea that "how we experience the world is shaped by our conceptual scheme" (Potter 2003, 3), a structuralist account of signification (Potter 2003, 3), and the concomitant notion that all communication involves interpretation, indeed that the listener (or observer) "relies on linguistic and other conventions [End Page 23] to infer meaning" (Potter 2003, 4). As a general account of communication this seems to me to be wildly off the mark: we very seldom interpret others' words, we very seldom "infer their meaning." The supposition that we always do is the direct consequence of the externalizing of the relation between "signifier" and "signified" that constitutes the heart of structuralist linguistics. 1Now, it may well be that the sort of self-injuring behavior that is the focus of Potter's essay precisely does require interpretation. Insofar as it is expressive behavior (and again Potter is right to question whether it is necessarily always such), it seems to be importantly different, in just these respects, from many other forms of expressive behavior. In the first place, it is different (in just these respects) from the culturally tolerated forms of body modifications discussed in section 2; for members of the culture in which body piercing or tattooing is acceptable or tolerated, such behavior is understood without the need for interpretation. In the second place, it is different in just these respects from natural expressions (e.g., moaning as an expression of pain). And in the third, it is different in just these respects from the expression of thoughts in (at least nonmetaphorical) language (which, one might add, is all the more reason not to think of the body as a... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:just Men and Just Acts in Plato's Republic JEROME SCHILLER I. Introduction Too MUCHhas already been written about Plato's Republic. But this, strangely enough, is why a little more needs to be written. For the book has been worked over so often that an obvious sign of fatigue has set in: critics are beginning to find such elementary flaws in the Republic that one wonders why he (...) should waste time on such a philosophically embarrassing work at all. It is to counter one of these recent criticisms and thus, hopefully, to help offset the fatigue, that this study is written. It purports not only to show the criticism mistaken, but also to sketch a way of looking at the Republic which should send the reader back for a further look at this incredibly rich work. The richness of the Republic is, indeed, a source of embarrassment for anyone writing on it. For because of its structure it is at least misleading to isolate one topic from the myriad others treated there, and because of its complexity, impossible to document interpretations of more than a few topics. I shall follow the time-honored practices here of merely expressing my bias on some topics (such as my non-political interpretation) and leaving it up to the reader to follow up hints of my interpretations of other topics (such as that of the Sun, Line, and Cave). II. Plato's Alleged Fallacy in the Republic David Sachs and A. W. H. Adkins have recently claimed that Plato commits the fallacy of equivocation in the Republic, not in the course of some minor argument, but in answering what is probably the central problem posed by the work: Why be just?1 Simply put, their objection goes like this: In the first book of the Republic, Socrates attempts to prove to Thrasymachus why justice is preferable to injustice. But even Socrates is dissatisfied with this answer and early in the second book, after a brilliantly fashioned defense of the Thrasymachean position by Glaucon and Adeimantus, the brothers ask for a more convincing demonstration from "You, [who have] passed your entire life in the consideration of this very matter." e Socrates seems to accept the challenge and proceeds to a search for the concept of justice writ large in the state. Now, claim Adkins and Sachs, Plato never does answer Glaucon's and AdeiDavid Sachs, A Fallacy in Plato s Republic, Philosophical Review, LX(XII (1963),141158 ;A. W. H. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility, A Study in Greek Values (Oxford,1960),p. 289. Adkins,in developingapolitical interpretation ofthe Republic, doesnot elaborate the criticism as does Sachs; hence I refer in this study primarily to the latter's article. sPlato, Republic 376e 2-3,trans. P. Shorey (2 vols.; Cambridge, Mass.: Loeb Classical Library, 1937-42).All subsequent quotations are from this translation. [1] HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY mantus' request. For though he does eventually purport to show that justice is preferable to injustice, the justice he attempts to prove this of is not at all the same justice that Glaucon and Adeimantus have in mind. Plato has simply equivocated on the term "iustice," meaning at one time the set of acts generally considered just,s but at another time a certain order in the individual's soul. He has purported to show that an individual with a well-ordered soul reaps advantages, but unless he can show a clear relation between this "Platonic" notion of justice and the "vulgar" notion of justice, the notion which Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, Glaucon and Adeimantus have in mind, he will not have answered the brothers' question, and will thus have avoided the central problem of the Republic. The relation he has to establish is, Sachs claims, that Platonic justice is a necessary and a sufficient condition for vulgar justice. Then he could argue that since he has shown that a man reaps advantages just to the extent that he is Platonically just, (1) a vulgarly unjust individual will not reap more advantages than a vulgarly just one (on the grounds that Platonic justice entails vulgar justice), and (2) a vulgarly just man will reap more advantages than a vulgarly... (shrink)

My Back Is To A Life Passed. A year, maybe more, in liminal space. Waiting. For a vaccine. For better therapeutics. For a political climate to shift. All the while, the actual climate turns against us.The waters rise in the East. Fires rage in the West.My back is to a life passed. Retirement, just before the pandemic. Post-retirement and lockdown, simultaneous. A turn to a writing life—solitary, self-directed, coming at a time when my options are limited. My go-to places (...) for connection and inspiration—museums, coffeehouses, lectures, and readings—all off-limits. The natural world, my cathedral, also inaccessible. The fires rage, and the air is unbreathable.Over morning coffee, in our quiet house, the windows shut against dangerously high particulates and a darkened sky, I read an article by Julian Lucas in The New Yorker, “When a Virus Becomes a Muse.” He reviews the work of Hervé Guibert, the French writer who died from AIDS in 1991. Guibert focused on the body. His young, sexual body, with its confounding insistence. His failing body, ravaged by disease. AIDS was his muse, blasting him into a wildly creative few years, writing four books in the last three years of his life (Lucas).How will this virus, the novel coronavirus, serve as muse? The pandemic sets limits: Where can I go? Who can I see? I live within constructs and limitations imposed much like the rules of poetic form. Within those—the sonnet, the haiku—how is language wrought? How sharp, how bright, its expression? If I cannot hug you, how do I show my devotion? In my separate state, how do I live connection? I have a new expression. Mouth and nose covered, only my eyes showing, framed by glasses I need in order to see, I punctuate exchanges at the checkout counter, and with the health-check staff at the entrance to my daughter's physical therapy facility, by forcing my eyes into a warm, glad squint. I want them to beam. From people's responses—the moment of recognition, the tender mirroring, the body tilting to the side, eyes crinkled, head nodding—I can tell that the beam is working. It took time to develop this new way. I learned that I have to smile with my mouth, with my whole face, even when it can't be seen, for my feelings to show.Life, like art, requires structure, the boundaries of form. How to structure a day? It could be embodied. Filled. Wasted. Or used. My back is to a life where hours and minutes had a particular meaning. I am no longer expected at work by a certain hour, nor to put in three hours before my morning break. The collective future, where we tossed plans, goals, places we would see—again, or for the first time!—cannot be reached over the smoothed and worn stepping-stones of, say, weeks until a holiday. The broad swaths of the day become the new metric. The slow, mounting morning. A walk, or a longer one, before getting to the bulk of the day's writing. The noontime pivot, heat of the day rising, the birds quiet. Lunch, and a few chores. Essential errands. Medical appointments.The downslope of afternoon, with its nagging refrain, in the time you have left... The swirling, heated world. Greta Thunberg, 16 years old, sails from Europe to the United States to address a conference on climate change. She sails, rather than flies, so as not to add to her carbon footprint. It takes time, that voyage. She waits on deck while moving toward her future. The past recedes. The stormy Atlantic rises.Is it any clearer now that the food chain originates not in boardrooms but in hot fields, that the first essential worker drops from the back of a truck before sunup with a knife and a crate held in roughened, swollen hands?At night, sitting on the sofa, we watch television, the police procedurals that offer entertainment. Escape and relief. The day has passed. These are the rewards for getting through another day of uncertainty, managing the anxiety of risking exposure in order to get groceries and prescriptions and to bring my daughter to physical therapy. The TV detectives we favor work in teams as they interview suspects, talk to witnesses, confer with one another as they refine their theories and move photographs and bits of evidence around on the bulletin board. Our shows always tie up nicely in the end. In my life now, without the team or the interviews or the meetings that keep the detectives connected, I pretend that I am one of them, that my notebooks and plot maps and drawings and time lines are all clues to a mystery that I will solve. Despite my enervated state, I get up, I work, I look at and handle all the materials I have acquired. The day passes. Each night, a reward for getting through the day. Another day. Standing between worlds. Waiting. (shrink)

Reproduced with the kind permission of the author. Currently available in the collection I Looked Alive . © 2010 The Brooklyn Rail/Black Square Editions | ISBN 978-1934029-07-7 Originally published 2003 Four Walls Eight Windows. continent. 1.1 (2011): 43-51. Introduction Ben Segal What interests me is instigated language, language dishabituated from its ordinary doings, language startled by itself. I don't know where that sort of interest locates me, or leaves me, but a lot of the books I see in the stores (...) seem to lack language entirely. Gary Lutz (2006). This issue of continent.'s fiction section features a reprint of “This Is Nice of You” from the first edition of Gary Lutz's collection I Looked Alive . That book was originally released by Four Walls Eight Windows in 2003 and has since been reissued in 2010 by The Brooklyn Rail/Black Square Editions. Calamari Press has also reissued Lutz's Stories in the Worst Way (originally published by Knopf, largely forgotten and dismissed, and then re-issued by the too-short-lived 3rd Bed). “This Is Nice of You” was edited for the re-issue of I Looked Alive and, as the original book is out of print, the earlier version of the story has been hard to come by for some time. This initial version is a bit longer than the new version—Lutz is a master of tightening down his texts to their most linguistically intensified cores—but it is in no way sloppy. It is a great privilege for continent. to be able to make available rare texts of (first) aesthetic and (second) scholarly value. For those readers unfamiliar with Gary Lutz, I believe this story will serve as a worthy introduction. Like Raymond Carver, Diane Williams, Christine Schutt, and so many other important twentieth century and contemporary short story writers, Lutz studied with and was edited by Gordon Lish. This connection is apparent in his attention to sound and the sentence as compositional unit, but Lutz's is a unique voice. “This Is Nice of You” bears Lutz's trademark torqued and turning syntax, his sexed-but-nameless characters, his rendering of the human body and its emissions as utterly discomfiting. Lutz's preoccupations with the mundane raise ordinariness, via startling language and observation, to grandiosity and grotesquery. In the fall of 2008, Lutz delivered a lecture entitled “The Sentence is a Lonely Place” to writing students at Columbia University. The lecture was later printed in The Believer (and is linked below). In it, he spoke about the importance of the sentence as a compositional unit, as even the distinguishing formal characteristic of prose. Specifically, Lutz explained that, from Lish, he had developed a "poetics of the sentence." Accordingly, Lutz constructs his stories at the level of the sentence, paying extreme attention to the material of words- their letters and their sounds- and the way they abut one another and interact on this material level even before they are employed in the service of traditional aims of fiction like meaning or story. Lutz often uses a(n almost constraint-related) technique called consecution. Letters or sounds from one word are carried forward into the following, producing drama and movement in the language itself at a level entirely apart from that of plot. For example, you can see how the 't's in the first sentence of “This Is Nice of You” repeat fast and hard through met and then soften into the 'th's of brothers and they. This close attention to the specific material and characteristic conditions of prose means that Gary Lutz's work always involves both a happening in language and of language. “This Is Nice of You” has a richness and depth that is hidden not in symbolism or obscure reference but on the surface of the page, in the language of every sentence. FURTHER READING Lutz, Gary. “ The Sentence Is a Lonely Place. ” The Believer January, 2009. Web. Short stories and excerpts at Web del Sol . Web. Taylor, Justin. “ An Interview with Gary Lutz .” Bookslut. July, 2006. Web. THIS IS NICE OF YOU [156] [1] I was a man dropping already well through my forties, filthy with myself, when, taking a turn at the toilets one afternoon, I met two brothers-they said they were brothers-who swore they had a sister, a schoolteacher, an officer of instruction at the county college, a whirlwind midlife turmoil of everything already put to ruin, who had gone off from a new marriage in an old car, an upkept and ennobling sedan, but had returned now to the apartment and [157] was living there alone with the little runoff there was from the marriage-some outcurved appliances, apparently, and low-posted furniture promoting its own mystery but becoming figurable in certain concentrations of TV light-and, above all, a telephone (on a pedestal, they insisted), the handpiece of which she gripped in lieu of exercise, or in fury, and I thus let out my little, reliable cry that I was in fact a student of the telephone, that it was a debasing apparatus in the main, with its meager economy of bells and tones, and the intimacy of the mouthpiece that sent your breath, tiny aftervapors of it, back toward your lips, so that regardless of the party accepting the outgoing products of your voice, you were, at most, in a further, rivaling exchange with yourself alone, and this is what must have brought the two of them around, the men who proclaimed brotherhood with the woman, because they offered me her phone number, put it at my disposal on a piece of paper one of them had already committed it to, a tearing from a menu, and the looks the men were now giving me had deletions in them, already, of my exact, beanpole shape and size. So off I went to a pay phone, the nearest canopied one I could find. The woman answered after the second ring and said she needed a lift right that very moment into the little, unlevel city close by. She was idling in the doorway of the building when I pulled up in front, and I helped her into the car, then got back in myself. I had always had a way of not having to look at people that nonetheless brought them to me in full, and so I still am certain of the susceptive and impressible comp-[158]lexion, the shimmer on the mouth, a lipstick of low brilliance, a difficulty around the eyes, the hair short and rayed out exclamation ally, skin bagged up over the elbow bone, conflict even in how her arms stayed at her sides—in sum, a spinal loveliness for me, an off-blonde quantity with shadowed, thumbworn hollows that put me out of as much as I might have ever known of women before. I set the two of us into the narrow traffic, and I remember telling her, by way of explaining the little burden which I had shifted, by now, from the shelf of the dashboard and onto my lap, that when you lived in filth, as I then did, a daily newspaper came to count for a lot, although instead of the thick-supplemented local paper I bought a trimmer one from a backlying town—not, of course, for any affluences of native data it carried, but as an article of house ware: a rough immaculacy in four lank sections, a set of fresh, hygienic surfaces to come between the table, say, and whatever I had going for me at the table, if the table was where I was going forward—because what else so cheap comes so clean and far-spreading? The woman told me that her own trouble with paper was that through a modest hole, no larger than a quarter, that had been drilled a foot or so above the floor (the standard height, she had reasoned, of legitimate electrical outlets), and by means of which her faculty office had at last gained communication with the roomier but unoccupied office next door, more and more often shot a single sheet of paper, plain copier paper she had rolled just barely into a tube, [159] so that after landing on the floor of the neighboring office the paper would preserve little if any of the curl, and there would be nothing written or typed on it, of course, and it was always a blank sheet that had been ageing on her desk for some time and had already been moved around, or advanced, from station to station on the desktop, coming into further creaselets and crimps and other infirmities—paper, in short, still too bare and unfraught to be thrown responsibly and forgettably away, and yet too seasoned and beset with irritations of the surface (a molelike blemish, say, or what looked like a tiny hair, an eyelash, sunk into it, or frecklings, or notational pressings of a fingernail), too wrought, in sum, for the paper to be appointed to any secure curricular purpose. Her office, she claimed, was in fact full of such paper, much-handled and singularized sheets of it by the loose, functionless hundred. I had to get it across to the woman that I myself no longer had an office, or any other place to divide me reliably from everybody else, and that for much of the daylight I thus appeared to be among people because I kept putting myself where people came together into even closer-fitting assortments, the viewing areas and showrooms and rotundas and such: I took in the lean-to look of the women, the tongues coming and going in what the men kept thinking of to say—whole families of low knees for me to bark my shins against during the crowded and involving way out. At home afterward, in the one room where my life was packed down, I would keep my nose stuck in the safehold of the phone [160] book, where the names of people suffered reduction to mere episodes of the alphabet and underwent humbling declensions down every column (Lail, Lain, Laine, Lainerd), and he names of streets, of the towns and townships, got docked in crude, heedless abbreviations (the vowels almost always the first to get poked out), and I would run my eyes over the telephone numbers themselves, each sequence of digits another fallible run of the infinite. I thus corrected my feelings for people and assembled myself emotionally into whatever else I had at hand—the obligating arms of the clothes hangers, usually, or the keen-angled understructure, the guardian legginess, of the ironing board. The woman said that in her case, though, it was more a matter of making slow circuits of the classroom where she had to put across the Emporial Sciences, retail theory and methods, to heat-giving and suggestive young women, some of them world cruelties already. There was the cooing of empty stomachs in the hour just before lunch, and the braying and fizzle of loaded stomachs in the low hours of the afternoon. She would recite her notes in a voice barely loyal to anyone octave, a tiny alluvium of slaver hardening at the corners of her mouth on the days she gave the glassy lozenges a slow, warming suck, and she would take lowering notice of how whatever she said succumbed at once to freak spellings and razzing paraphrase in the big, dividered notebooks; and because in midafternoon light the world looked as thorough, as filled in, as it was ever going to get, a better way to set about ruining her eyes was to review how hair had [161] established itself on the arms of the young women, because almost every arm had brought across itself a welcome and diversifying shadow. On one girl it would be a fine, driftless haze afloat above the white of the arm, never seeming to touch down on the skin itself. (An atmosphere, at most, of chestnut brown.) On another, it was as if copper wire, the narrowmost lengthlets of it, had been stuck into the fleshy batter of the thick, freckled forearms. On a third: a field of it–wheat-colored, thin-spun. On a fourth; a differencing, darkish updrift that shaded off as it approached the inner bend of the elbow, then re-emerged at the base of the upper arm as whiskery fringe. On others it was a brassy or rust-colored frizz, or it was as coarse as cornsilk, or it looked fussed on, as if the arm had been slowly stroked with charcoal. But here the woman broke off, or I may well have made an interruption of my own—I think I must have asked whether she was hungry, and she said if I was, and so on one of the lesser streets I parked the car and led her down into a belowstairs eating house I still remembered. Sandwiches were presently lowered in front of us. I watched her remove the festooned toothpick from hers and then play her fingers over the toasted planes before she took a fond first bite. "This is nice of you," she said. I must have looked at her in the way I then had of getting people to speak so they would not seem to be dwelling any longer on my features, because if on the well-set face the mouth and eyes are said to seem frozen in elegant orbit about the til) of the nose, then mine was a face that behold-[162]ers, regarders, could not help trying to round off with greater success, to goad the particulars of it back into the arcs they had wandered away from—the mouth, for instance, having been pursed and pinched suchwise that it seemed resident more on one side of the face than the other—and there were other signs of original strife to be busied with (slapdash eyebrows unbunched, it appeared, from reserves of hair elsewhere on my person; a showing of adult acne, a shrivelly little relevance of it, confined to the declivity of my nose); and so to be polite, the woman thus sank her gaze into her sandwich, and told me, in a voice lowered accordingly, that, one late-childhood summer, she had devoted herself to collecting postage stamps: it was a tongue-involving sideline to early-arriving puberty, and she liked having to lick the pale, gummed hinges instead of the sticky backs of the stamps themselves before entering everything into the hosting album; and once, during some foul weather between her and a brother (the older, thrown-over one, who had already made a habit of fooling the underside of his arm across the top of hers and calling her "pussified"), she reached for the shoe box in which she had let duplicate stamps accumulate—Spanish ones, mostly, of a fading orange—and sent the box slooshing through the lower air so that the stamps showered onto the brother's bare legs with a full, delicate harm. The woman was now touching up the surface of her iced tea with tiny activities, initiatives, of the longspun spoon. I myself was good at getting my touch onto things, although in a way that seemed to mix up the motive atoms inside [163] them, but I was satisfied that for the moment my sandwich, the unbitten-at half of it, was displayable and fit and local to my plate. The woman went on to say that, as a child, she had been bundled off, many an afternoon, to the slope-ceilinged quarters of a bachelor uncle who, when speaking of anybody not immediately present, could not bring himself to use the person's name but instead would say "an acquaintance of mine in ..." and then mention the name of some lapsed homeland, or little-loved rural orchestra, or backset building about to come down; and it was never a riddle, this device of his (not once could the girl have been expected to identify any of the subjects), and no matter how often and aloud he insisted that particularizing persons any further—bringing even a first name down upon anyone of them—would have been indecent, he claimed, much like doing things to people while they slept, the girl accepted all of the uncle's prim and extravagant evasion for what he surely must have intended it to be: a neat, protective trick to space the world out a little further in her favor, to scatter the population so that wherever her hand might at last come down, it would have to be on herself alone. And here I could sense that the woman wanted from my mouth an account of as much as I myself might have ever managed of attachment, so I told her I had once owned a house (a rising, really, of much-fingered, handwrought architecture that amounted to a little family of rooms above garages: a boxlike building with a rattly thorax of downspouts [164] and drainpipes and an unfolded but full-toned fire escape), and I had had for a time a boarder, a student, a high-colored, loose-packed representative of declining girlhood, hung with necklaces and barrettes, a girl of precise but shifting leanings and inclinations; and the afternoon she had come round to ask after the room, I stood in the entranceway, handshaken and asweat, and from what would later be my memory of the girl, I made off with, first, how every pore of her nose seemed to be sheltering within itself a tiny dark seedlet, a grain of something immediately, enormously valuable. And an almost lipless mouth (just a slit, practically), the teeth inside looking wet, watered-it was my life's chore, at that instant, to keep from sending the back of my thumb blotterlike across the line of them (I was later to learn she drank everything cold and through the narrowest of straws). And her hair: it was tea-colored hair she had, long and reachful, an unstopped downcome of it. Tall for a girl, but she managed to stay out of much of her height and put herself across as somebody backward, or behind. I must have told the girl, as best I could, that I of course had a wife, a full-faced, imperishable partner, though for the moment she was gone otherwhere in the marriage, and here the woman, my present companion, my tablemate, whose feet were now parked, in parallel, on the grade of my upper leg, interrupted to say that her husband, too, had been such a liar, and what could I bring up by way of reply other than that a lie is a truth struck through with other, further truth, or that a lie is the present multiplied by the past or that a lie [165] is an outcry of borrowed hope? The woman gave me an allowed look of disgust, her eyes lowered but still popular with me, and on I went with what had now become the girl of my story. For there had been a great, gainful carpet in the room I put the girl into, a matty expanse of coarse, grabby piles, an engrossing affair that took things into itself and held them tight, misered them, and I of course insisted that the girl not bother herself with its upkeep, that I enjoyed weekly access to a prestigious, upstanding vacuum cleaner; but no sooner was the girl out of the house each morning than I would withdraw from my room, where time was unportionable, and loose myself into the ticktock impertinence of the girl's room and get down on my knees, and, going after the carpet first with my fingers, then with a forceps, and finally by unspooling lengths of clear package-sealing tape and pressing them against the tufts in neat rectangles to catch what I might have missed, I brought vast tracts of the carpet to depletion, recovering not simply the girlinesses, the girleries, one would expect (buttons, straight pins, downed jewelry), but flirtier personalia in the form, say, of a stray confetto brought into the world when a page had been wrung with out caution from a spiral-bound notebook, or some pleated paper shells of the chocolates she required, or one of the bargain antihistamines she took to get her naps going, or a trash-bag tie ragged enough to show the kinked line of the wire within (this I would get wound around my finger), or a cough drop enwrapped like a bonbon (I would undo the [166] wings of the wrapper and have to decide whether to suck the drop all down or begin chewing it midway)—I became the following, the public, that these things, these off-faIlings, had come to have; but mostly there was hair, afloat above the uppermost pushings of the fabric of the carpet an almost continuous haziness of loose hairs of all lengths and sources, and I would have to set them out on a fresh sheet of paper and assort them according to the regions of the body they had taken their departure from, and in no time I had nest-like filiations of broken filaments and smaller involvements of the hairs that made me think of hooks, of barbs, of treble clefs, and each pile required a separate envelope, to be filed in a separate shoe box for every sector of the body until, I hoped, the boxes themselves would no longer be enough and I would have raised something semblable, brought up something equal in volume to the comprehensive girl herself. And her wastebasket! For every bit of rubbish, every dreariment she tossed into the thing, I would, in secret, deposit a reciprocal discard of my own, matching a spotted, confessory tissue of hers with a lurid throwaway after my own heart–the cardboard substructions of a fresh parcel of underwear, maybe, or tearings from pantyhose I now and again pressed against a span of my forearm to work onto it the complications of female shading I otherwise made do, choosily, without. I thus built the two of us up together in her trash! One afternoon-it was another of those lifeful, unsam-[167]pled days on which the world humors us each a little differently to keep us nicely on our last legs—I discovered in the wastebasket an inch-deep textbook of hers, a paperback with a celery-colored cover that had come partly unglued, and this dilapidation I paired off, naturally, with a name-your baby guide to whose pages, during my recurrent turnings of them, in bed or at table, I had contributed dried produces of my person, a chemical splendor entirely mine. This coupling sent a sudden spigoty thrill from me that forced an unbuckling and an unzipping and a cleanup with a handkerchief I then ventured responsively into the wastebasket as well. It was in the bathroom afterward that I found a suds-clouded puddle on the unlevel floor of the tub, a little undrained remainder, rimmed with offscum, of the girl's prolonged early-morning soak, and this was as much as I needed to get on my hands; I pressed them flat against the wet porcelain, then flapped them around in the air, and that was when I noticed it—in the amphitheater of the toilet bowl, an orange-yellow tint, or value, to the waters. When the girl arrived home that evening, I told her, of course, that I had discovered fresh, unforeseen trouble within the tank of thelet (a misalignment of the trip lever, a waywardness of the float ball, a ulation of the lift wires, kinks and defects, really, throughout the entire system) and that in fine it was an apparatus now operable only by means of advanced and strenuous equilibrial manipulations that it would be unseemly, inhospitable, of me to pre-[168]sume to burd to burden her with–so that from here on out, following any leak or evacuation she need merely lower the lid and then, before quitting the room, ring the handbell that had been placed on the would seeeverythinghing else. But the bell never rang, not even once, and from my window the next morning I watched the girl carry from the house a little plastic bag distended balloonishly, much like those bags you will remember having seen in the hands of children bearing homeward their solitary carnival-prize goldfish. In fact, I never ran across the likes of the girl again. The man who came to collect her things-not the father, apparently, but an advocate, an upholder-l found to be dull-eared and lax in his speech, and the better part of his face seemed to have already begun making tiny, rotational departures from whatever it was that the eyes, themselves impressively mobile, were just that moment having to take in. (Was there a lamp in the house that was not that night slopping its wattage over everything?) I guess I was waiting for the man to take a laggard, last-minute interest in me, and by now I was pushing everything out into the paired first person–it was, I said, “Our night shot,” and I began including the two of us in whatever it might be doing out, the expected sprinkles and such—but he was no friendship buff, and he paid no heed to my telling him that the only dress of hers I'd ever twidged myself into even part of the way had been the simplest of them all, a large-buttoned wonder of depthless blue, and then only on the principle that one naturally fits whatever one has into whatever somebody else [169] had first, or how else would the world keep getting any taller with people? The man just went about the removal of the girl's things without having to be reminded too noticeably, I guess, of how every dick hangs by a thread. My listener, though, had by this time brought about some becoming slowings of her arm—it was an arm inclinable to langorous diagonals and magicianly swoops through the air above the tabletop—but it no longer was involving itself with her plate, so I suggested we shove off, I made payment for the food, and on our way to the car, and then in the car as I took to following her pointings, the directional tilts of her head, she said that you naturally kept putting more and more of yourself into another person, at first wondering how much she can take, how much of you is accumulable and how much she can hold, and you're letting things out, disbursing yourself, and you've soon got things set up in her, and room is being made for even more of you, and if you bring this off with enough people, even two or three, what you've got is at first a comfort, because you can pass yourself along and move a little more widely through the world and leave it to these others to man your grievances, your disappointments; and what brought this to mind, the woman said, was a term of financial hardship she had contrived for herself a few years back, an unpaid leave of absence from scrupling letter grades onto quiz papers (propped-up As, and upended Bs made to look, rather, like fannies; all As and Bs, no Cs or anything lower, the difference between an A and a B having less to do with the accuracy of whatever facts might [170] have been impounded in provided for an answer than with anything recallable about the way the enrollee ad conformed her body to the confining perpendiculars of her chair and the navel-level writing surface that projected from it, or the way there might one day have been an unignorable blush on the instep of a once-moseying foot, disburdened of its shoe, that had got itself trapped in the grillwork of that cagelike involvement, intended for books, that was welded to, or otherwise schemed into, the underworks of the chair)—this had been a duration, in short, of controlled difficulty when the misexpenditure of even a twenty-dollar bill had set her thrilling, gloating, over everything she would miss out on, and one afternoon she had made an engagement for a haircut, just a trim, and very early in the session the haircutter, a woman ill-defined in the face but otherwise full of conspicuities of emotion, set down the prevailing scissors and pressed the flat of a lukewarm hand against the woman's cheek, held it there for a good minute or longer, while the other hand eventually found its way into a drawer, a shallow treasury of slender specialty scissors, one pair of which the cutter withdrew and began routing deductively through the woman's hair, the other hand staying put on the cheek, longer and longer, and the woman went home and for afterward the bathtub was now a more likely destination than any of the upright furniture, and it got easier to fill the tub with further clarifying volumes than to clear space on the difficult heights of the sofa, and she was hardly claiming to have become a cleaner [171] person in result—she in fact would often discover, voyaging about her body, a browned, fractionary detail of a larger crepe of toilet tissue that must have got itself stuck in some assy crevice and was impossible to get plucked out of the revolving suds—she was saying only that she spent more and more of her time thus immersed, ill off in water, and the haircutter had surely had a hand in it, the woman was doing some of the cutter's life now, coming into some of its wrong, because you sometimes have to look to somebody else's life to get dimensions set back even part of the way around your own, and it should not have to be any less your own life when it comes from somebody else, and you could surely fudge a society out of anyone available person and get this person doubling for the many, so that in the little run of things perpetuable from one person to the next, every loose moment stood to become a complete, active finality. But by now this was a new day, with only an hour or so off it already, and the place the woman had made me bring us to, the man's place, with a promise that the man was elsewhere—this was on a little offshoot of a street, a stewy efficiency apartment the color had long ago gone out of; and when, once in bed, still clothed, I found among the sheets and blankets a spoiling pair of the man's underpants, one of the leg openings of which was puckered into an avid, sloppy mouth, I held myself accountable for redisposing the fabric until I got a befitting featurelessness back onto it; but all the while, I am sure I had to make myself go over again in my mind that if the body is the porter of as many organs of affec-[172]tion as there might one day turn out to be, then the idea was to let the thing carry you to where you would otherwise never have any reason to arrive, because I listened for the unmelodiof the the thede ofthe woman's zipper, and then the woman made me put myself out of my own clothes, the attritional corduroys and overshirt, and got herself up at last onto the topic not of the man whose apartment it was (because his story was scarcely the story of how the boy who decides he is half a girl no sooner starts to worry about where the other half might than he gets careless with where he rests his eyes, or what he gives even the feeblest of fingerholds to, and anything, even a crumbly triangle of pie offered on a saucer instead of on a pie plate proper, comes in easy, ready, wronging answer), but of her husband, and how, no more than a couple of months into the marriage, he had begun snugging away in his undershorts a little source of chanc, reliable frictions to nudge him onward through the workday—anything company-keeping that could be counted on not to slide out of the elasticky leg holes: a half-dollar packet of chocolate tittles, maybe, that was barely noticeable in the baggy surround of the widecut trousers so popular at the time. For by now the woman had at last brought what is usually called the other mouth to within only inches of my lips, but it is not a mouth, obviously, although I let myself go along with the goodwill behind the comparison, the way I will remain loyal to anything deliberately and faithfully misunderstood, and I fussed my tongue against the vital trifles hung inside of her, as much of the curtailed finery as I could find, [173] and gave the whole insimplicity of it a slow-circling, examinational lick, until I was taking a sudden tepid downwash on the tongue. It was a familiar, latrine in dribble that must have tasted, no doubt, like trouble just starting out.p [1] Editor's Note: Original pagination from first edition print denoted with bracketed page numbers. (shrink)

_How Do You Know?_ explores problems of knowledge that arise in everyday life. If you are not an expert, how can you know that another person is an expert? If experts are politically biased should you still trust them? More generally, how should you approach the testimony of other people: treat it all as "innocent until proven guilty," or is that too simple? Does the internet make us better knowers, or is it just a minefield of misinformation? Is it (...) always irrational to believe a conspiracy theory? Suppose someone just as intelligent and well-informed as you are disagrees with you about something, how should that affect your belief? Can we have knowledge of what is right and wrong? _How Do You Know?_ approaches these issues through the lens of social epistemology and via the preeminently social genre of philosophical dialogue. Its characters think and speak like real people in the world today, discussing and debating issues that are current, practically relevant, and even controversial—while equipping readers with tools and concepts to see more clearly for themselves. (shrink)

How do you know that you exist? What does it mean to have a future? Are you the same thing as your brain? What does it mean to be free? How can you know what knowledge is? A woman was advising her anguished friend, 'Be philosophical - then you won't need to think about it.' Well, being philosophical is sometimes taken to mean that you should adopt a resigned attitude to the world - a quiet-ism - but the study that (...) is western philosophy, starting with the ancient Greeks and continuing today in universities, bars and cafes - even bedrooms - is far from quiet. Philosophers think - but not just that, for they think about thinking and they think about how we think about the world, about how we conceive of ourselves, about how we possess a sense of right and wrong, about how we find meaning in life (if we do). How to Think Like a Bat might not help you to think like a bat, but it will certainly help you to think like a philosopher. Smart, witty and engaging, this is a superb introduction to the subject by one of Britain's most engaging philosophical writers. (shrink)

During the spring of 1983 I began my third semester in college giving serious consideration to the thought of becoming a philosophy major. I had taken a few courses and found the subject intriguing. More influential in my own considerations was the fact that I had recently converted to Christianity and had been encouraged by some early mentors in the faith to read the works of various Christian philosophers both contemporary and classical. One evening that semester I was studying for (...) an upcoming exam when a friend, “John,” came to the door. From the look on his face I knew he was after something, what I wasn’t sure. I had known John since arriving at college, having met him at the Christian Fellowship meetings on campus. John had grown up in a devoutly Christian home and had cultivated a deep love for and devotion to his faith. However, he had struggled academically and was especially troubled by the fact that his faith seemed to have little amicable contact with the view of the world set forth by his admittedly unsympathetic professors. John began telling me about his professor for his introductory philosophy class who was, in his estimation, “leaning on” the theists in the class. He felt that every move in the course was calculated to reinforce the confidence of the atheist at the theist’s expense. At the end of the most recent lecture the professor punctuated the class as he had each semester, by offering a challenge to his students: “If you can find anyone who is willing to come to offer a philosophical defense of theism,” he mocked, “I will give them an entire class to do so.” Upon hearing the quote, I feared John was going to ask just what he proceeded to ask: “Would you try it.” Not surprisingly, I thought it unwise for someone with the full experience of one semester of philosophy under his belt to challenge a professor of nearly twenty years. Not to mention the fact that the one I would have to confront would likely be determining my future academic fate as one of my major professors.. (shrink)

One of the classic papers of Australian feminist philosophy is G. Lloyd's "The Man of Reason" (Lloyd, 1979). The main concern of this paper is the alleged maleness of the Man of Reason, i.e., the thesis that our philosophical tradition in some deep way associates the concepts rational and male. Lloyd claims that her main goal is to bring this "undoubted" thesis "into clearer focus" (p.18), and indeed she makes no strenuous effort to demonstrate that the to-be-clarified thesis is actually (...) true. There are however a few places where she advances material she seems to be taking as some kind of evidence that the Man of Reason is male. One is on the second page, where she quotes from Augustine: And finally we see man, made in your image and likeness, ruling over all the irrational animals for the very reason that he was made in your image and resembles you, that is because he has the power of reason and understanding. And just as in man's soul there are two forces; on which is dominant because it deliberates and one which obeys because it is subject to such guidance, in the same way in the physical sense, woman has been made for man. In her mind and her rational intelligence she has a nature the equal of man's, but in sex she is physically subject to him in the same way as our natural impulses need to be subjected to the reasoning power of the mind, in order that the actions to which they lead may be inspired by the principles of good conduct. Now an interesting feature of this passage is that it appears to directly contradict the thesis of the maleness of the Man of Reason. Far from saying that rationality is a male prerogative, Augustine claims that "in her mind and her rational intelligence she has a nature the equal of man's" (my emphasis). Certainly Augustine claims that in sex woman is subject to man, and he also claims that there is an analogy or parallel between the dominance of man over woman in sex and the dominance of the rational part of the mind over the natural impulses.. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:I Know You Have to Stay … I Wish I Could, I Wish I CouldMegan K. SkaffIn the world of healthcare, I advocate for the scores of youth who have had Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs). I work to understand where the child has been so we can learn the extent of the trauma that the child has been through. While working for a facility as the Street Outreach Case (...) Manager, my priority was based mainly on one girl, let us call her Tawny. I knew Tawny was going to be a very difficult client to work with the moment I realized she did not trust anyone in her own life, let alone the facility I worked in. She would not talk to a single staff member. However, being her case manager, it was my job to get her to trust me so I could crack her case and really get down to the problems she was facing. I promised myself the day I met Tawny that I would never cast one judgment upon this girl, and I made good on that promise until this very day.I find it true that we are all raised in different situations. Tawny endured such horrific childhood experiences that she voluntarily entered herself into our organization. My specialty was the homeless and runaway case manager. Hence, the reason she ended up on my caseload. After running many different tests, I learned that her ACEs score was a ten out of ten. To her, everything she had endured that warranted this score was baseline normal; she did not see her experiences as traumatic, she just saw them as a piece of her life. For me as her case manager, looking at this ten was devastating. I wanted to know everything I could that went into this high score. I needed Tawny to learn to trust me so I could understand what was going on in her home life and better understand her and her trust issues.Just a side note, the staff around me strongly hated Tawny. The worst part about this was that she knew it because they vocalized it. The staff [End Page 5] was so horrible that they would not even pretend to her face that they liked her. The one job they had as staff—to make her feel welcomed and loved in an environment full of broken kids—they could not do. There was no question as to why I struggled to build a relationship with my most vulnerable yet strongest client. Tawny would not let anyone see her as vulnerable. She did not want to be vulnerable because to her vulnerability meant weakness.I was determined to build a solid foundation of trust with Tawny. It was difficult, but I did it. At best, this process took weeks, maybe close to over a month. After many days of her asking other staff, "why is this b**** still in here," and her finally, slowly inching closer to me to say, "Sup," and me answering, "Just waiting for you to talk to me." This answer would make her smile, even though she tried hard not to. As much as she did not want it to be true, I was the only person she wanted to hang out with on the floor. She did not want anything to do with the kids or the staff. She knew the kids on the floor were toxic for her, and she wanted a better life for herself. She knew the staff were toxic for her as well.She started to ask daily where I was, so I started making sure I was on the floor every day. I gave her my work cell and wrote it in the call book along with a message that she had permission to call at any time, no matter day or night. Staff hated that. I did not care. Let me tell you, she tested it to its limits. If she called me at 3:00 AM, I would answer. She would say she was calling to say goodnight; when really, she just needed to know someone would be there. She needed to know she could trust me... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:"Your Cell Will Teach You Everything":Old Wisdom, Modern Science, and the Art of AttentionNoreen HerzfeldA brother came to Scetis to visit Abba Moses and asked him "Father, give me a word." The old man said to him "Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything." 1 Among the Desert Fathers, Christian monks of the fourth and fifth centuries, it was customary for a novice to (...) go to an elder and ask for "a word," a word of advice, of counsel, a word to take home and reflect on. What does this word of advice say to us today?A Multitasking World"Your cell will teach you everything." To my students, this seems like very strange advice indeed. "Your cell?" When I quoted Abba Moses to a colleague he instinctively reached for his phone. But a monk's cell? Isn't a monk's cell empty, isolated? What can that cell possibly have to teach? And how? The lives of the young men and women I teach are the very antithesis of sitting in a cell. Their attention is fragmented, divided by an array of modern technologies. I watch them walk by my office window, iPod plugged into the ears, cell phone or Blackberry in hand as they check e-mail or send a text message. Time in their rooms is characterized by one eye on the television and another on the computer, on which are open their theology paper, an instant messaging box or two connecting them to friends, their Facebook page, in case one of their friends should post a status update, and perhaps a Twitter feed or their favorite blog. They assure me that they have grown up multitasking. Young Americans spend an average of six hours a day using nonprint media, and at least a quarter of that time they are using more than one screen, device, or channel.2 They are connected, linked in, logged on.It is not just the student who multitasks while doing homework. The average office worker is interrupted roughly every three minutes during the workday, interruptions that the worker herself often initiates.3 These include the phone, e-mail, [End Page 83] checking websites. As more jobs move to the knowledge and service sectors, more of us find the temptation to multitask at work irresistible.But what effect does all this multitasking have on the person? We're not getting more done, for one thing. Several recent studies have shown that, contrary to self-perception, people really can't multitask. The brain cannot concentrate on several things simultaneously. Instead it switches focus from task to task the same way a computer does. This means that all tasks are slowed down somewhat by the switching process, and the attempt to coordinate too many tasks can lead to more time being devoted to the switching than to the tasks at hand, a phenomenon computer scientists have long been aware of, known as "thrashing." Earl Miller, a neuroscientist at MIT, notes: "Think about writing an e-mail and talking on the phone at the same time. You cannot focus on one while doing the other. That's because of interference between the two tasks."4 Miller notes that in an MRI you can actually see the brain struggling as it shifts rapidly from one to the other.One can see that this might have a deleterious effect on one's work life. Research shows that, once interrupted by an e-mail or a phone call, the average worker can take up to half an hour to return to full concentration on the task at hand.5 But why does this matter for the spiritual life? Over time, multitasking erodes our ability to pay focused, close attention, and this eventually eats away at traits such as patience, tenacity, judgment, and problem solving. This is most evident in the latter. In a test of fifteen-year-olds, the United States ranks twenty-fourth out of the twenty-nine developed countries in the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development on problem solving skills, with nearly 60 percent of them scoring below the most basic level of using a single... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Whisper Before You GoJohn K PettyDavid came with a bang.1A momentary prelude from a dysphonic chorus of pagers announce “Level 1 Pediatric Trauma—MVC ejected” before the abrupt crescendo of the trauma bay doors opening. He is maybe two. Maybe three–years–old. It is hard to tell when a child is strapped in, strapped down, nonverbal, intubated, and alone.The flight team speaks for him, “Four–year–old boy improperly restrained in a single–vehicle (...) crash into a ditch. He was partially ejected. He was unresponsive and pulseless at the scene. He got CPR and code drugs, and they got a pulse back. Emergency medical service (EMS) took him to the nearest hospital where they needled his chest, called for air transport, and scanned him up. He has been shocky for us since we picked him up. Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS) has been three the whole time. They said his head scan showed subarachnoid hemorrhage.”With the words of the flight team as background narrative, we get about doing our thing—hopefully more method and less madness. Bang, bang, bang! Check the tube. Vital signs. IV fluids. Place a chest tube. Hang the blood. Quick X–ray. Neuro exam—nothing. Get him off the board. Warm him up. Place the orogastric (OG) tube. Bang, bang, bang!The neurosurgery resident opens the CT scans from the other hospital. The brain and cervical spine scans show a disaster: some swelling and bleeding in the higher brain, but the worst damage is in the lower brain, brainstem, and top of the spinal cord. I have heard a neurosurgeon describe this pattern before as “internal decapitation.” Such language never makes it into the patient’s chart. For David the last two words of the neurosurgery consult note will eventually read, “Prognosis grim.”He remains unstable in the trauma bay. Inaction is death. We ultrasound his heart, abdomen, and pelvis. He has fluid that shouldn’t be around his heart. He is dying of the neuro injury we cannot control, but the pericardial fluid might be giving him shock, and we can control that. We can’t ignore the fluid. Shouldn’t ignore it. At least, wouldn’t ignore it. So, we bang up to the operating room. Squeezing blood. Spiking fluid. Oxygen tank and crash cart. Up we go.In the operating room, we do much and we do well. We release the fluid around the heart and find it was CPR, not heart injury that put it there. In the pericardial flash we get a view of the cardiac athlete, pounding like the 26th mile of the marathon. We explore the abdomen and find it swollen but innocent of an injury that would take his life. We place our lines and tubes as the neurosurgeons place theirs. If nothing else, we will be able to measure what lies ahead.“Good work, team,” and we bump the door on the way to the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU).The care in the PICU is more Apache brave than Gaelic knight—more bottles, fewer scissors. The curtains and carpets mute the tones. Our efforts continue, but I get a word that David’s father has arrived. He is sitting in a small, private waiting room off of the main PICU waiting room. The PICU staff colloquially refer to this as “the bad news room.” I take a seat next to a solitary man who is having the worst day of his life. His worst day so far.“I am Dr. Petty, and I am one of the doctors who is taking care of your son. I am very sorry about what has happened. Maybe you can tell me a little bit about what you understand is going on, and I’ll tell you what I know.” [End Page 17]He tells me that his wife was driving David back from her sister’s house, just the two of them. He doesn’t know what happened, but he got a call from the other hospital about the crash. His wife was badly hurt. He heard that David had died, but they got him back. Both were transferred up to the... (shrink)

I offer an unorthodox argument for the thesis that prostitution is not just a normal job. It has the advantage of being compatible with the claim that humans should have full authority over their sexual life. In fact, it is ultimately the emphasis on this authority that leads the thesis that prostitution is a normal job to collapse. Here is the argument: merchants cannot (both legally and morally) discriminate whom they transact with on the basis of factors like (...) the ethnicity or the religion of their client; but if prostitutes are ‘sex merchants’, then they cannot (both legally and morally) discriminate whom they have sex with on the basis of these factors. Yet everyone should have the full discretionary power to refuse to have sex under any circumstances. (shrink)