The paper will revolve around Shulamith Firestone’s claims that women’s biology is the root cause of prejudices against women and at the same time the basis for solutions that seek to end such prejudices. In the rational attack to these claims, it is argued that Firestone does not really debunk the patriarchal view but actually agrees with it. The attack focused on her avowed solution to the women problem that turns out to be defeatist in nature. In the attempt to (...) prevent, if not end discrimination against women, the paper carefully offers possible solutions to consider. (shrink)

On the cusp of the 14th century, a new means of visualizing plants arose in the herbal manuscript tradition of South Italy. Unlike the previous medieval tradition’s stylized plant representations or antique manuscripts with their lifelike representations, these new images are characterized by their similarity to nature and pressed herbs. Based on two ‘Tractatus de herbis’ manuscripts, namely the MS lat. 6823 in Paris and the MS Egerton 747 in London, this article examines such a new form of nature as (...) a measurement for art. The images themselves alternate between naturalistic impressions, fantastic creations, and pure aesthetic pleasure for the beholder. Together with the accompanying medical treatise they address the boundaries between measurements and excessiveness pertaining not only to artifice but also the body, which has come out of the balance of the four humors and therefore has lost its right measure. (shrink)

En las tres últimas décadas del siglo XX, muchos filósofos analíticos han abordado cuestiones de ética práctica, ampliando radicalmente el campo de la filosofía moral más allá de los temas metaéticos que habían sido su foco principal durante la mayor parte del siglo. Sin embargo, abordar este tipo de controversias prácticas rápidamente hizo surgir la cuestión de cómo justificar las afirmaciones morales normativas. Muchos filósofos analíticos se basaron en el intuicionismo, que tiene un linaje muy antiguo dentro de la filosofía (...) moral anglófona. Este artículo evalúa tres formas en las que los filósofos analíticos del siglo XX recurrieron a las intuiciones para apoyar o rebatir las afirmaciones morales. Argumentamos que esos métodos fracasaron en su objetivo de promover un conocimiento moral digno de confianza porque se basaron en supuestos que, cuando se presumen en contextos de injusticia epistémica estructural, son sistemáticamente engañosos. A pesar de que las intuiciones se encuentran entre las fuentes de conocimiento en las que los agentes morales deben confiar, la epistemología moral debe prestar especial atención a los procesos sociales a través de los cuales se recogen, refinan y evalúan las intuiciones y otras formas de evidencia. Producir un conocimiento moral digno de confianza requiere procesos de razonamiento democráticos que sean sensibles a la omnipresencia de la injusticia epistémica y la dominación, así como desarrollar estrategias para contrarrestarlas. (shrink)

Words are processed more easily when they have canonical phonotactic shapes, i.e., shapes that are frequent both in the lexicon and in usage. We explore whether this cognitively grounded constraint or preference implies testable predictions about the implementation of sound change. Specifically, we hypothesise that words with canonical shapes favour, or ‘select for’, sound changes that produce words with the same shapes. To test this, we investigate a Middle English sound change known as Open Syllable Lengthening. OSL lengthened vowels in (...) disyllables such as ME /ma.kə/ make, but more or less only when they became monosyllabic and when their vowels were non-high. We predict that word shapes produced by this implementation pattern should correspond to the shapes that were most common among morphologically simple monosyllables and disyllables at the time when OSL occurred. We test this prediction against Early Middle English corpus data. Our results largely confirm our prediction: monosyllables produced by OSL indeed conformed to the shapes that were most frequent among already existing monosyllables. At the same time, the failure of OSL to affect disyllables prevented them from assuming shapes that were far more typical of morphologically complex word forms than of simple ones. This suggests that the actuation and implementation of sound changes may be even more sensitive to lexical probabilities than hitherto suspected. Also, it demonstrates how diachronic data can be used to test hypotheses about constraints on word recognition and processing. (shrink)

Nel corso degli ultimi 20 anni c’è stata una espansione globale in materia di istruzione dottorale e in particolare di ‘dottorati professionali’. Difficoltà nell’avanzamento e nel completamento diventano sempre più il centro dell’attenzione per tutti i tipi di dottorato. È stato riconosciuto che una serie di fattori al di là di quelli prettamente demografici potrebbe influire sulla possibilità di completare gli studi. C’è ancora molto da imparare sul motivo per cui l’avanzamento e il completamento del dottorato sono così impegnativi. In (...) questo articolo vorremmo mettere in evidenza un settore che sembra trascurato dalla ricerca: l’esperienza emotivamente complessa del percorso di dottorato.Offriamo un contributo al dibattito su ciò che è necessario per facilitare il successo e intrinsecamente un soddisfacente avanzamento all’interno di un programma di dottorato professionale. Noi sosteniamo che una maggiore attenzione debba essere prestata al cammino esperienziale di studenti di dottorato dal momento che essi hanno il difficile compito di integrare la loro vita personale, professionale e accademica. Il nostro interesse per le risorse emotive di cui gli studenti possono avvalersi durante il loro percorso di dottorato è iniziato con la progettazione e lo sviluppo del nostro primo dottorato professionale in materia di sanità e cura. Attraverso la nostra iniziale esperienza con due gruppi di studenti, abbiamo riflettuto sullo sviluppo del dottorato professionale, in generale, e trasversalmente a diverse altre discipline, per comprendere meglio come facilitare una buona esperienza di dottorato e una conclusione nei tempi.L’importanza di partecipare all’esperienza emotiva all’interno del complesso percorso di dottorato professionale ci ha portato al concetto di ‘nourished scholarship’ . Si definisce la nozione di ‘nourished scholarship’ come un percorso di apprendimento che lega i valori personali, significativi e attuali, allo sviluppo e al contributo professionale. Tale nutrimento emotivo è caratterizzato da una soddisfacente esperienza di scambio tra il sé, l’apprendimento e la comunità di pratica/studio. La nostra opinione è che tale nutrimento emotivo sia una risorsa fondamentale da cui gli studenti attingono al momento di negoziare le sfide complesse del percorso professionale di dottorato. Al fine di illustrare il significato di ‘nourished scholarship’ descriviamo alcune delle sue dimensioni emotive chiave. Queste dimensioni possono essere agevolate in vari modi, ma qui ne segnaliamo uno in particolare: il sostegno reciproco e la supervisione di gruppo facilitata. Al fine di illustrare le dimensioni della ‘nourished scholarship’ quindi noi riflettiamo su un caso specifico, quello di una coorte di studenti di dottorato professionale. Sono state estratte alcune loro esperienze per illustrare sette dimensioni che sono importanti per contribuire all’esperienza di ‘nourished scholarship’ come una risorsa di sostegno:- Sperimentare i benefici di appartenenza- Aiutarsi vicendevolmente a contenere l’ansia- Vivere la crescente fiducia- Accettare comunanza e unicità- Miglioramento personale, identità professionale e accademica attraverso la chiarificazione dei valori- Sperimentare i benefici di relazionarsi ad una più ampia comunità scientifica- Accettare i ritmi dei tempi in cui ricevere dei tempi attivi.Inoltre, in questo articolo si riflette su come la particolare struttura del programma di dottorato è stata in grado di sostenere lo sviluppo di queste risorse. Ci sono state tre caratteristiche chiave che crediamo siano state fondamentali nel modo in cui il programma è stato progettato e realizzato:a) ‘Cohortness’ in cui gli studenti si impegnano con il programma come un gruppo in viaggio.b) Supervisione di coorte: anche se tutti studiavano diversi argomenti, si è formato un gruppo insieme a due facilitatori accademici per discutere il processo, l’esperienza del percorso e il loro apprendimento.c) Una strategia di valutazione flessibile che permette agli studenti di progredire in modo personale e non lineare.Il valore potenziale di questo articolo per i programmi educativi è che fornisce un quadro per focalizzare l’attenzione sull’importanza del percorso emotivo e sui modi per sostenere la motivazione degli studenti e la resilienza. Noi crediamo che questo quadro abbia un potenziale trasferibile ad altre situazioni in cui tali risorse emotive possono essere importanti.During the past 20 years there has been a global expansion in doctoral education and in particular professional doctorates. Difficulties with progression and completion have increasingly become the focus of attention within both academic and professional contexts. It has been acknowledged that a range of factors, beyond demographics, could be influential in whether students are able to sustain their studies to completion. In this paper we stress the importance of conceptualising professional doctoral studies as a personal, professional and academic journey that is sustained by emotional factors that may need more explicit attention. As such, our contribution is the delineation of a phenomenon that we call ‘nourished scholarship’. We wish to illustrate how such ‘nourished scholarship’ functions as a resource for sustaining motivation and integration through the doctoral journey. We offer seven dimensions that a doctoral programme needs to embody in order to facilitate ‘nourished scholarship’: belonging, containing anxiety, growing confidence, commonality and uniqueness, values clarification, scholarly community, and negotiating the rhythms of receptive and active times. We illustrate these dimensions in the context of a professional doctorate programme that emphasises ‘cohort supervision’ as the primary resource for facilitating such nourished scholarship. We believe that this notion has transferable potential to other provisions where such emotional resources may be important. (shrink)

Don't tell terrible stories—everyone here has enough of their own. Everyone here has a whole bloody sack of terrible stories, and at the bottom of the sack is a hammer the narrator uses to pound you on the skull the instant you dare not believe your ears. Or to pound you when you do believe. Not long ago I saw a tomboyish girl on Khreshchatyk Street demand money of an elderly woman, threatening to bite her and infect her with syphilis. (...) Don't stroll through Volodymyr Hill Park, don't stroll around the botanical garden, and especially don't stroll on Kontraktova Square. Don't stroll anywhere. Don't go to the pavilion with the Golgotha panorama near St. Alexander's Church. Not even the twelve-meter-tall crucified Christ will save you. Don't go outside when it's dark and people turn into shadows a shade darker than dark. Also don't go where you can be seen from far away. Not to imply that people used to be like a bunch of lilies, but now they stink like a cellar of cabbage.The city, which earlier might have had some fun, is now going crazy. It's like a fish in warm water: it doesn't react to anything, swims slowly like it doesn't care if it swallows a hook or not. The excitement and exaltation pass into oppression, just as our necks have sunk into our shoulders, our shoulders into our lumbars, our lumbars into our nether regions. The holiday turns into a funeral, the parades into explosions, depression into mania. Winter passes into summer, people turn into beasts, the hours into ages, and the ages into hours. It's worth simply walking around the city to see a soldier from an unknown army taking a piss near the opera. Farther on is a row of identical old widows selling ball gowns and candelabra. Then there are the aristocrats and manufacturers who throw so much at the prostitutes that they'll soon be richer than their wives.I returned late through the Kyryliv Wood, not heeding all the warnings that I myself have given here. It really is dangerous—the place is famous for it. There's a madhouse nearby, caves where criminals and the sick can hide out. Also, once upon a time, as they say in fairy tales, the great dragon Zmei Gorynich lived here beside the Puchai River. The stench in these places drives away the most committed misanthropes and even one type of philanthrope—that is, perverts. It sounds dumb, but the stench is cleansing. I don't know where it comes from. After the operating theaters and the rooms with amputees, the stench no longer repelled or attracted me; it just was. And this was a great place to think. As I walked, I considered an incident with our patient.The patient, a respectable individual whose name carries too much weight for me to state it directly, one day began to assault people. He nearly strangled a merchant who he believed asked too much for a beaver coat. He likewise wanted to kill his business partner when he didn't say hello loudly enough. But the worst was, he lost all shame of his own nakedness. At first it was the police who took care of it. When our future patient slipped off his pants and undergarments, he was taken to Kyrylivska, which has had means for dealing with such cases dating back to the day when unhinged Cossacks and composers from Kyiv Mohyla Academy were taken there.During the examination we determined that the patient was experiencing a severe breakdown. His wife added that lately, more than once, he had allowed himself strong words in front of the children and often suffered from ennui. Furthermore, she said, the patient had been undergoing treatment for “the French disease” for some years—which was, obviously, where we needed to start.“Syphilis!” Skorsky spat out the matchstick he was chewing on. He was a specialist on the psychological aspects of diseases related to the venereal. “Tertiary syphilis! When poorly treated, over time ‘the French disease’ can destroy the central nervous system. Hence the patient's chicanery. Such theater!”Skorsky and I had not spoken since the incident at Bilinsky's. Meanwhile, something significant had happened to him. The most boring person on earth, Skorsky had simply caught fire. He said hello and kibitzed. I even heard the doctor got drunk alone in his office, then wandered through the forest. Could he be using narcotic substances?“Cocaine!” was the doctor's second proclamation. It was his favorite treatment for the psychological complications of syphilis. Skorsky himself never took what he called “the universal drug”—good for alcoholism and toothaches, neuroses and morphine dependency—though he had read in an article by a respectable Viennese physician, who used cocaine as a panacea, that it was not addictive. That doctor subsequently recanted, but Skorsky paid no attention. He believed the retraction was made under pressure from pharmacologists who had no incentive to cease production of the medications that cocaine might supplant. Their representatives either paid or threatened the Viennese to repent.As the patient was escorted to his room, he assaulted the orderly, Alevtyna. They tried pulling him off her, but, though he released his fingers from her neck, he buried his teeth in her leg. The poor orderly, who had not until then been attacked by a psychotic, nearly died of fear. Later, panic set in over Skorsky's diagnosis. He told her about the consequences of syphilis: grotesque patterns on one's face due to infection of the skin, mucous membranes, cartilage, and bones. He went on about the devastation to the central nervous system, which they had just observed in real life: “The face starts to look like lace some mangy dogs fought over before rolling in the mud.”Alevtyna, who had not yet regained her faculty of speech, straightened up. Ignoring the slavering male orderlies, she bared her leg to get a better look at the wound. She then ran down the hall and out into the garden, where she fell on the ground to rip up grass and small bunches of daisies. Alevtyna ate them along with the soil in their roots.“Minor hysteria. She needs fifteen milligrams of cocaine.”Skorsky took a snuff box out of his pocket and scooped up some white powder with a toothpick made from a goose feather. He gave the order to close Alevtyna's mouth and one of her nostrils, forcing her to snort the medication.We fretted over her so long that evening fell. I decided to walk down, along the ravine, behind the church.It was unlikely there were any large beasts there, but something was rustling. The pits and mounds, ravines, paths, graves of witches whose living sisters flew in the treetops from time to time, the whispers of the forest spirits, the spirits of the nutcases who died in the hospital, the spirits of the monks from the St. Cyril Monastery, Zmei Gorynich and the bogatyrs who wanted to defeat him. The city would be calmer without this forest. I saw the gaps between the trees and went off in the direction of the tram tracks.As I was coming out of the forest, there was a patch of Amanita muscaria that had been trampled into porridge. A bit farther on, the body of Professor Bilinsky lay killed in the blackberry bushes. The way he was lying it looked as though he had not struggled before death. I quickly examined his body but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no wounds, no dirt under the fingernails. Animals had not yet smelled the carrion, but swarms of various insects covered him. Oh, why did I have to find the putrid body?The best thing would be to take the tram to his house to inform his relatives. The doors closed, and I noticed my own calm. This death had not evoked any emotions in me other than a feeling of responsibility, the need to tell the family. But also—some alarm at the thought of who the murderer could be. I knew that it was murder.“Your nose is bleeding.” A woman as round as an onion, carrying two baskets full of strawberries, offered me an ironed and starched handkerchief.“Have I dirtied my shirt?”“No, it's as neat as a pin. It's just your nose that's dirty. Wipe it now before you spray blood on my strawberries.”“No one will see the red on red.”“Ah, but it's salty!”“You know why it's not sweet? We'd drink it like syrup.”“Those with Christ in their heart do not talk that way.”“Are your strawberries expensive?”“Why? What?”“I'm checking to see if you have God in your heart.”“Child, if you knew how I have to work for this berry! I have to weed it a hundred times. In a week, the quitch grass grows as high as a horse. And I water it with water I carry from the stream, it kills my arms... ”“How much are the berries?”“They're not for sale. Anyway, soon money won't mean a thing. Soon all money, all these papers made from the skins of sinners on their satanic presses will be annulled. What matters is how we treat each other.”“So if I try your strawberries for free, my ‘thank you’ will be enough?”“Hands off!” she said and thwacked my fingers.I heard loud laughter behind me—same laughter as from the café near the Continental. There was no one sitting near Alina. (This is what fate looks like, remember.) Without asking, I sat next to her, away from the old lady.“Excuse me, but the night before last didn't you, yes, didn't you intrude on my privacy?” She started right away.“I saw it a little differently. Who was that young man with the mustache who paid me for you?”“Are you checking to see if you can flirt?”The tram stopped. People got on and off.“Are you coming back from the hospital?” she asked. “Don't be shocked. My uncle works there. He's told me all about you.”“An uncle by the name of Skorsky?”(Remember: this is what fate looks like.)“Yes. Skorsky's been strange recently—says things that make me wonder if he hasn't lost his mind. Have you noticed anything?”“I don't know.”“You know perfectly well.”“Where are you going?” I tried to change the subject.“I have to send something to my theater friends in Odesa. By the way, they'll be putting on Oedipus Rex soon in Kyiv—in Ukrainian.”“Greek tragedy in Ukrainian! That's a first.”“Exactly. The troupe is rehearsing now in Odesa. The theater where they will perform this fall is being remodeled.”“Wait. Now I remember where I've seen you before—it was at a performance! Vynnychenko's Black Panther and White Bear, at the Bergonier on Fundukleivska.“The same director is doing the Oedipus. He's my friend.”“He's your friend in what sense?”“Again with that tired subject. By the way, I've been thinking about you.”“And I about you.”“That's good. I was thinking not about you, to be precise, but about that elevator you invited me on.”“Who was that man with you?”“Like a broken record! Even if he had been my fiancé, I'm not bought or inherited. I'm not a brooch or a hundred acres of land, and I'm not a house in Kaniv!... Who was with you when you saw Black Panther?“Ah, so.”“Answer!”“That was my mother. She looks very young. She is coming to Kyiv the day after tomorrow. I can introduce you.”“Oh, this is my stop.”I looked out the window and realized that I had long since passed the stop for Bilinsky's.“Can we see each other again?”“We can. But you have only one chance.”Alina the anarchist wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.Morning, not morning but a thick porridge (I hate porridge). Dew, thick spit, crushed fruits, urine, all on the sparkling cobblestones. The sun, just barely having made its appearance, is already scorching. The human masses scurry and grumble like poorly digested food inside a stomach.I walked diagonally across St. Sofia's Square, then along the perimeter, then one edge, then again diagonally across. I went underground. The basement café of the Continental Hotel was practically empty. I again asked the server to bring the cloth with the embroidered portrait, but I couldn't remember the musician's last name, only that it ended with -sky. The server said that -sky was currently in the southern cities of Yalta and Odesa. I added that Kurbas, the director, Alina's friend, was also in Odesa, rehearsing Oedipus Rex, and that he'd previously put on Black Panther.I was bored, so I walked along Khreshchatyk and then headed down, calling to mind all the Kyiv churches of Podil: there's Birth of Christ, St. Nicholas on the Shore, Intercession, Pyrohoshcha, Holy Presentation, St. Dymytrii Rostovsky, St. Illia's. And also the Epiphany Brotherhood Monastery, Ascension Convent, and St. Katherine's, all these whipped-cream churches on the waffles of our streets. A few of them reminded me of themselves by appearing suddenly out of nowhere.The smells on Kontraktova Plaza where commerce buzzed were like multicolored light bulbs turning on one after another. Here you could catch the aroma of Balabukha jam, which blended with the next smell, English shoe polish at the Raiskys’ shop. Then the crunchy-smelling cabbage from old women standing in a row like herons and spitting out the shells of sunflower seeds. Farther on, the stench of a good-sized rat that crawled under Mrs. Shevchuk's shop where she sells broadcloth. Oh, she can't scream: no, she'll quietly dig that rat out herself so as to not scare off her clients.I bought a paper and two pairs of underwear. I asked two laughing young chambermaids who were secretly puffing in a grape-filled yard for a smoke. I wandered around Podil until evening when I came across a sawmill near the Dnipro that surprisingly smelled pleasantly of mazut fuel oil. The weather was dry, yet in the middle of the road was an enormous puddle, a deep dark black. A forty-year-old woman in a pale pink dress stood near it. The theatricality of it all provoked me to pose her a question,“Ma'am, what should I do?”But she paid me no attention. I shouted,“What should I do?”“What to do, what to do?” she said in Polish. “Jump in the water and swim so far away that you cannot return.”I quickly crossed a section of the forest. The wind brought a mixture of unpleasant air, like a stinky handkerchief held under one's nose. Passing the trees, I saw light in the spaces between them and exited at the hospital.Outside the windows, two orderlies lay in chairs with their heads thrown back. Two others—fools—ran around the yard in different directions, peering out at... something. The lights on the first floor of the hospital were on, and the staff milled about.“You're just in time!” said Ivan, a tall, young orderly.“For what?”“Your patient ran away! We went into his room and he wasn't there.”“What patient?”“The one who bit Alevtyna,” said Danylo, the other orderly, short and middle-aged.“That's Skorsky's patient, not mine.”I had no intention of helping them. This was all history—like my family, Kyiv, and my previous life. I had no intention of thinking about it. I wanted to go to my office, pack up my field surgery kit, and get out. So what? Their psychotic syphilitic ran away—it happened.Of course, that patient could have something to do with Bilinsky's murder. But that was no longer my problem.“What a strange coincidence!” the doctor on duty said. “Comrade doctor, the other one responsible for this patient was just here.”“And where is he now?”“He took off toward the church to look for the patient.”“Didn't the patient escape earlier?”“Don't know.”“How do you not know? You had better call the police, moron, before he kills someone. And get those sleeping orderlies to look for him.”“They can't... ”“Why not? Should I go wake them?”“They're on morphine.”“And you, I can see, have lost your mind. Go, catch your psycho! If it turns out that he killed Bilinsky—and on your watch—you can't imagine what's in store for you.”I adjusted my homburg and set off in the direction of St. Cyril's, that unwelcoming monolithic cube. I glanced around—what if our escaped syphilitic were to jump out of the bushes and bite or strangle me. I looked around because I wasn't sure of my actions, wasn't sure of my choices. Tripping over a clump of clover, I reached the open doors of the church. I couldn't stop myself from going in.The walls and ceiling were covered with frescoes. There was what used to be an angel rolling up the sky on the southern column of the narthex. But also graffiti: people scratched their names on it so as not to be forgotten—their idea of eternity. Prince Volodymyr the Great compared this activity to the desecration of graves. The vandals paid a fine and were beaten with canes. During the raids of Batu Khan, the church was deserted and cracks appeared all over it. Wild martens and feral dogs sought shelter here; insects swarmed under the ceiling with its red mosaics. Birches grew in its midst. Water seeped in the cracks, the water became ice, the ice widened the cracks, more water seeped in the cracks, becoming more ice that further widened the cracks, the wall split and nearly fell over, and then the wall fell over. Yet the angel is still rolling up the sky... When I reached the exit, I heard a rustling behind me. I turned after I stepped outside: in the depths of the church, like a stick in a pot of tar, stood a man with a large bag thrown over his shoulder and a revolver pointed right at me.“Is that you, Doctor?“Don't move!”“What's... Skorsky, what's with you?”“Don't move, I say!”“What are you doing here?”And finally I understood... Skorsky was himself the psycho! (Really, I had known for a while.)“You are the murderer! I knew it! But—why?”“Shut up.”“It was you. You! The stolen cigarettes, the strange behavior, Bilinsky. If I shout, everybody will come running. They've already called the police!”There was heavy breathing behind me. And then a gun rang out.The city is overgrown with new buildings. They encircle everything that was once on the periphery. Kyiv has become an old lady that can no longer restrain herself in the face of pastries. The city climbs farther. It steps over the swamps, turns the old rivers into a series of lakes; the other bodies of water it drives into canals. The grain that falls from the wild wheat is black. When the sun heats it, the grain melts and trickles into the earth. St. Cyril's stands indestructible. No one spackles the small cracks in its walls with either expensive putty or glues, nor with cheap cement and whitewash. One day a small fox appears in the doorway. It runs inside and along the floor of simple gray tiles. The gods watch from the walls, watch and fall into ruin. The fox runs to the iconostasis. Before it is a time-darkened Virgin Mother and Child in oil on sheets of zinc. The fox runs the metal steps that wind up to the second floor. The fox runs past all the vaults, naves, all the frescoes. A buckthorn seed flies in through a broken window. It will be the first. Soon the buckthorn will grow everywhere. A dumb hare will make its nest in the buckthorn bushes and nightingales will settle in the upper branches to sing until the end of the world. The fox runs between the thick rays that penetrate the windows. It catches one of the rays, squints its eyes, and warms itself in the sun.The shot rang out, but I did not fall. I looked around—and on the church threshold was our syphilis patient bearing a rod. His head lay on the rocks by the doorway.“If only he'd been at the stage of nose deformity! Just imagine: a hole instead of a nose plus a hole from the bullet—like an extra pair of eyes!” Skorsky laughed at the corpse.“We need to call the orderlies.”“They heard the shot. They'll run here on their own. You see, Professor Bilinsky believed it would take two or three years to wrap up this patient's case,” Skorsky told me. “But I took care of it much faster!”“Excuse me, but I'm going crazy in this city. I thought that you were Bilinsky's murderer.”“Just so. Why not? I am Bilinsky's murderer.”“Don't tease. You've changed a lot recently, so... ”“Yes, I've started killing people. You might term such a change significant.”“You have the right to irony.”“I am not being ironic.”“Let's call it sarcasm.”“It's the honest-to-God truth.”“And yes, you have the right to mock me.”“Well then, let's be done. To the horses!”“What horses?”“Alina's waiting!”Alina, her uncle Skorsky, a few others I didn't know, and I rode like the wind that ripped off my homburg and carried it back to Kyiv.“There's a fresco in the choir loft at St. Cyril's where Vrubel painted himself and patients from the hospital as the apostles. When I came across it by accident, I really believed they were saints,” Alina said.“I've never been up there. I've only seen the church from below.”“Remember the way back so you can see it sometime.”“The Puchai River used to flow here. You shouldn't trust the landscape,” Skorsky said, reaching for something, perhaps his bag, just when we left the darkness of the trees and saw the endless steppe ahead of us.We rode all night without stopping. Though no one was chasing us. Though we had nowhere to be. We rode like beasts released from a cage. The promises of the horizon turned what we'd left behind into a cage fit for those from whom freedom had been severed, like an anomaly, at birth.The pre-morning sky looked at first like a sack of turnips—filled with something heavy. But with each verst, the sky became lighter. When it was finally light enough to see clearly, we arrived at a knoll at the foot of a stone wall that from a distance had appeared to be a gigantic piece of halva. The exterior ruins of the castle gave no hint of how it was when all was fine here, when people defended themselves successfully from the nomads’ raids. From far off, the wreckage looked like a natural agglomeration of stones—a rocky elevation, no more: a cluster of cliffs. It would rain a few hundred more times, a few hundred more winds from a few hundred directions would blow on this heap, and it would collapse as though nothing had ever been here.A few stalks of wheat grew from one of the rocks. Someone had probably cast a handful of grain here for some birds that forgot to eat it.“Who could this castle belong to?” I asked Skorsky.“I reckon the Swan Princess,” the doctor rejoined, hoping to sound knowledgeable.From behind one of the piles of gray sandstone emerged a young man in a black reptilian coat and a white papakha as lush, bright, and out of place as a dahlia. His name was Artem. The heat was melting our brains, but he was dressed like that, in rooster fashion, which was popular among the otamans. Artem helped Alina dismount her horse and tried to kiss her on the lips, but she offered him a cheek instead.Had she been racing to see this clown?We entered the yard—the ruins had fashioned an internal space that was more or less protected, at least from strangers’ eyes. It turned out that there were even places where it was possible to hide from the rain, and from there the ruins didn't look half bad.In the center of the court was a table, and on it a wooden bucket with pink gladiolas. How romantic! It all looked like it came from outer space. Where on earth, in the middle of the steppe, far from any village or town, did this table, this simple table, come from? And the gladiolas? The steppe hadn't been plowed in so long that any cultivars would have gone wild, degenerated, dried up completely.A campfire crackled nearby—a little preview of what we would soon do to the houses, villages, and cities. Artem the otaman brought over a cezve from the fire and poured the first portion into a small, copper cup for Alina. He also got out a porcelain cup with images of rosy cherubim—but how...?“Who else would like coffee?”Only Skorsky and I responded. The question excited me, even distracted me from the thought of the kiss I had recently witnessed and the Kyiv I had recently left.“It's obvious who the professors here are; cultured people drink coffee. Are you both doctors?”“Uh-huh.”“For wolves of the steppe, like us, doctors are gold, even more precious than gold. Actually, a Hippocrates like you should eat more, because those in your profession will soon be worth your weight in gold. Work on your figures, both of you.”“Who will take pity on the horses that have to carry us?”“We'll find the horses. And very large doctors can be transported on machine-gun carts. We'll need to seat the otamans near you. Only a fool would shoot at a doctor.”“I think we'll find quite enough fools here.”“With your beard, Doctor, you look like Tsar Nicholas II. But even so you won't be shot. You might even be canonized!”“We've only just arrived and you're going on about executions,” Skorsky grumbled and checked to make sure that he still had his bag.“Apologies, apologies, pardonnez-moi. But you are not merely a doctor. A venereologist! Skorsky, you're a specialist! A venereologist is the most important person in wartime. The most valuable! You are the botanists of war. You can't imagine what varieties of flowers grow here, and these beds have long awaited a proper gardener. Or even just a man with a scythe!”“Bite your tongue,” Alina said. “I don't need to listen to this.”“Yes, yes, of course. Excuse me, my r—. ” He almost said “rose.”We rested all day. We went down to a surprisingly close river overgrown with lilies. We rowed the boats left by fishermen. I talked to Skorsky. He took his bag everywhere, refusing even to swim so he wouldn't have to part with it. I asked him what he had in it, but he said it wasn't my damned business.Alina rowed with the otaman to the middle of the river. They were having a loud discussion. She was waving her hands. The current carried their boat downstream slowly and smoothly. What a nuisance, that current!I tried to meet with Alina one-on-one, but she was avoiding me. In the morning I was confused, by lunch I was sad, and after lunch I got angry.In the evening, I lay on the hot grass and drank another cup (I have no idea where they got such good coffee), which had no effect at all on my sleep. I watched the Perseids. Every year, the Earth passes through the tail of Comet Swift-Tuttle. People can see the meteor shower and make a wish. I wished. I counted forty-seven falling stars. All forty-seven of my wishes were for the same thing.Around the campfire, they were sitting, talking. I saw how he tickled her face with a piece of grass and she brushed him off in annoyance. Then they were screaming at each other. Later they again spoke kindly, after which they again quarreled. My joy grew after each tiny mistake that Artem made. I wanted him to show the worst he was capable of.They were screaming at each other, but all I could hear was beautiful opera singing. The stars fell to the sound of their screaming. The stars blessed my joy.Then this happened: Alina kicked the fire, scattered burnt kindling, and burned some of the grass. Artem grabbed her by the arm, but she broke away from him and ran off to the horses.“Go then! I guarantee you'll get to Katerynoslav and return with your tail between your legs.”“I'm going to Huliai-Pole! To Father Makhno!”I jumped up and ran after her.“Where do you think you're going?” Artem shouted.Really—where was I going? I was going after her: to Huliai-Pole, to Katerynoslav, to Rome, to Washington, to Istanbul, to Montevideo... “Go to sleep,” he said. “Come morning, this coquette will be here, right as rain. We've already been through this show. Tomorrow she'll be right here next to my boot!”... No, she won't.In some sort of shape we entered some town. There were some buildings that were some colors, some trees, some streets, some roads, and some signs. Posts, flustered birds’ nests, echoes, colors, shapes—each of some kind. A wedding procession was coming toward us. If you want to make orange, you need to add yellow to red, and then bam—it's black. If you want to salt the soup, shake in a little, and then bam—two handfuls. You want to say a kind word, and then bam—a punch in the face. I was rocked around like a watermelon on a boat and threw up my breakfast straight into the horse's fluffy mane. Sanko found this hilarious, but I said I'd pulverize him. So Sanko sped ahead.No one knew anything about Alina. The daytime sky was like a poorly washed bowl. The sun was a squashed, rotten apricot. The night sky looked like the sole of a boot to me. The moon was a dirty cheap copper coin that had gotten stuck to the sole. Everything seemed spoiled to me, irrelevant, unnecessary. Without her, this journey was a waste of time.“You'd better stay away from everyone,” Artem said. “You'll infect us with your pining, and pining is worse than the clap.”The wedding procession was before us. The young couple, still utter children, walked so calmly it was as if they didn't see us. As if we were made of a light breeze—our bodies, clothes, our horses and their iron shoes—of the lightest gasses. As if we were visible only to ourselves and the coal-black dog that barked, panting and gasping.The wedding was headed straight for us. We were in the middle of the road, and so were they. We approached each other slowly, a wave going toward a wave. Some ten meters before their indifferent faces, I noticed the color of the bride's eyes. And the coral-colored tulips that fell on the road before her. Round goose eggs on meaty stems, the flowers were falling and falling before her. The bride's eyes were almond shaped.“Hey there,” Artem shouted at me. “Wake up!”I came to and saw the whole village, everyone there, not realizing my group had turned left onto a side street away from the procession. The tulips disappeared—where'd they get tulips in the fall? I was sitting alone on my horse in the middle of the road, and the entire wedding procession came to a stop. I moved to the side, and the throng marched on, cutting off our escape route. We rode a few more meters and came across the synagogue.“You know what, you're right,” said the otaman.“Who is?”“Oleksii is the only one here who's right.”“About what?”Artem turned his horse and raced back. Everyone stood still while he ran his horse into the crowd and began firing his revolver. People scattered in all directions. Artem trotted, cackling like an imbecile. The horse kicked an old guy in the mouth. The man fell, spitting out his gold teeth. We rode up to the commotion and formed ranks, but none of us wanted to join the otaman.The bride stopped in the middle of the street. On both sides were buildings and trees, as well as dust, sky, and sun. She stood still, beautiful, as if nothing had happened. Then she adjusted her garland and walked calmly on.“Well, should we get some sugar now?” Artem laughed, looking at the bride, and off he went toward the sugar factory.It was then I noticed that all of the houses had shutters—fuchsia, blue, ocher—and that all the shutters were closed.We flew toward the dirty building, whistling and shouting. If there had been aesthetes among the otamans, they would certainly have razed the abomination in this field after seizing it. They would have spread soil on top and sown buckwheat. Long live buckwheat!, that wonderful crop. Like hunting dogs hot on the trail, we raced to our defenseless victim, with the baying of hundreds of hounds behind us. The field shook beneath us. We became an artist's canvas, evolving from Realism to Romanticism, Romanticism to Expressionism, Expressionism to Suprematism. If we had been painted in black and white, we would have been splotches (until the ink ran, annihilating all remaining patches of white).Two men stood near the gate—unarmed and undressed, in nothing but their undershirts and boots. Our fervor, our kinship with the elements, our entirety, were all for naught.“Jesus Christ! What bores!” Artem exclaimed. “How boring you are!”“Maybe boring for us, but fireworks for them,” Sanko said, dismounting his horse.“The fear of death engenders creativity,” our otaman—a distinguished philosopher of the early twentieth century, that demonic breed—prophesied.He went on, “Excuse me, but with all due respect, we are not going to search you. Just show us right away where the money is. Why are there so few of you? Don't say there's not much money. I want piles and piles of money! If you don't show it to us, we'll print our own on your skin. Believe me, we will.”We entered the factory grounds. There were no workers, only an enormous mountain of sugar beets that looked like a pile of coal from a distance and a pile of dead rats from up close.“So, did you have a good year?” Artem asked a man in an undershirt.“Not really—too dry.”“Nah, that's fine. You wouldn't have been able to gather most of the harvest this year anyway. There's a fire burning across all of Ukraine, all of Russia. The whole world!”While Artem tossed thoughts like well-chewed sunflower seeds into the crowd, the two men quietly stepped aside and then ran fast ahead to the factory's main hall. The gigantic door slammed shut. The gate was locked behind us! The windows were smashed! The factory roared from inside like a cumbersome machine starting up. Bullets whirred through every window.“Bastards! It's a trap! Quick, after me!”Still on horseback, Artem bounded over to a vast window, low to the ground, and smashed it mercilessly. He broke the frame and jumped inside on his horse. I and a few others followed. We broke into their lair, threw open the doors, and let the other warriors inside.Iron vats of hot sugar were steaming, pipes were clattering; machinery groaned.“Parasites!” Artem gritted his teeth. “I'll get you. I'll get you red sons of bitches. Painted whores!”At the word “painted,” his horse fell to the ground. Lying prone, Artem continued fighting, but the red soldiers wouldn't let him stand. Fighting nearby, I rode over to assist but did not know where to aim. Artem got up, ran forward, and brought his sword down on the head of the closest soldier, all the way to the middle of his skull, to the bridge of his nose. It was like butchering a pig. Artem thrust the sword into the buttock of another who was fleeing and cut off his leg at the bend in the knee.“I'll cut off every last one of your asses! Cut off your asses!” Artem bellowed.A half hour later, the dead were lying, the captured sitting, and the victors doing anything they pleased.“Skorsky, are there a lot of casualties?” I asked the doctor, whose hour it was. I hoped not, because I was too tired to help him.“Just a few. The dead are already dead, and the wounded are not ours.”Though Skorsky rarely asked my help, and though I'd become an ordinary soldier, the doctor in me was still present in the most unpleasant attribute—knowledge. Others saw an eviscerated man, pieces of dusty flesh smeared with clay, soil, sand, and straw. I saw a perfectly formed kidney hanging perfectly from the rest of its body like a child's mitten from its coat. You could try this death on for size. Wear it like a sanbenito of the Inquisition.Artem counted the money and then lay on the floor alongside the gigantic sugar mountain in the middle of the room. From time to time, the crystals rustled as they fell.“I didn't think you'd be such a fighter!” the otaman said without turning toward me. “I thought you'd be healing us. You'd keep to the rear and we'd hide you like a girl. But here you are, in the vanguard, like a lion!”“I got excited,” I told him, choosing not to react to the “girl” part.“’Cause Alina said there was no sense counting on you to fight.”“Really?”“Does that sting?”“Why would it? I'm a doctor—not everyone is. It requires a brain. Unlike waving a sword.”“Yeah, yeah. I gave her gladiolas. We were lying in the boat near that castle, doing all manner of things, and she told me all about you. How you met.”“You were lying in that boat talking about me?”“It was the day before you left Kyiv. You agreed to go with the anarchists so quickly!”“Were you surprised? Doctors make fast decisions.”“But you probably had great prospects. Your parents are rich, right?”“And who are your parents?”“Probably all your relatives fled abroad—bourgeois. Why did you stay?”“What the hell's your point?”“Alina, by the way, died a while ago. Probably.”“Don't jinx her.”“Listen here,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “And listen good. If you have designs on her—dead or alive—it's best you castrate yourself now.”“After you.”“If I want to kill somebody, you know, I just do it.”At last he looked at me. I was lying on the floor nearby and looking in his direction, sweaty and relaxed, my appearance complemented by my disdain for his opinion, his authority, his stupid hat. His everything.Artem raised his arm above his head, stuck a finger in the sugar mountain, and licked it. We both got up. Had I anticipated this turn of events, I would have readied a gift for him. Artem held his revolver. Under my hand I found a knife the workers used for gathering beets: it was a deliberately sharpened arc they sank into the swollen brassicas. I jumped up and quickly stepped around the sugar mountain.Artem's bullet hit a pane and broke the glass.“Not man enough for hand-to-hand?”The otaman shot again.“You should've challenged me to a duel, you romantic!”Encrusted with white crystals, I charged Artem from the sugar mountain. We fell in, and the sugar stuck in our hair, mustaches, nostrils, armpits.The gang ran in to get us apart, then backed off because it had nothing to do with them. By now the sugar mountain had burst its banks. Of the once perfect pyramid, a deformed mound remained.Wounded, Artem fell on the sugar mound, turning the white red.I stood before the gang sugar-coated and holding a bloody hook. The old otaman was drawing his last breath. Blood trickled from the corner of Artem's mouth and streamed from the left side of his breast.“What's the commotion?” Old Roman had just come in.“Be quiet,” the boys told him. And a good thing they did.“You killed him? You killed the otaman!”“Shut your mouth,” the boys told him.“You... ”I slugged Roman's stinky herring mouth. How did that son of a bitch find pickled herring in a sugar factory? My fist was now bigger and stronger than ever before, a steel anvil that could split nails and shatter memorial plaques. The unfortunate man's jaw twisted like an upper millstone that had gone off track from the lower.“Let's get out of here and go to Makhno's camp,” I gave my first order.We galloped so fast the grass burned beneath us. The birds and bugs had no time to fly out of the way; hooves trampled the burrows of rodents who didn't dare crawl out of their holes for a long time after. We raced like no one had ever raced before.The steppe, that sly fox, pretended to be an innocent fool. The steppe said, “I'm like Adam: I don't even know my own name.” But its grass harbored the tracks of thousands of armies and the heels of Herodotus, the crunch of Trypillia vessels, and the smell of Scythian hemp, Roman coins, clay figures of wolf people, the chevrons of Denikin's army, glass from the Chekists’ ruby stars, traces of uranium from flying saucers. I threatened it: “Steppe, show me your layers, or I will burn you, plow you under, flood you.” But it just replied: “I'm like Adam: I don't yet know my name.”I lost geography as if it were a silver coin. It fell out of my pocket and rolled through the feather grass that blanketed the steppe in white foam. The open space ahead was so endless that the whole world might as well have been steppe. If people ended up here from somewhere else, they would conclude they were on another planet. The coin fell and became an argentum, became one with the ring on the hand of the princess who had one green eye and one blue, with the twisted candlestick at the monastery on the other side of the steppe, with melted ingots. It broke down into simpler elements, simpler and simpler yet. The horse carried me spreading the seeds of northern plants to the south, just as southern riders had once brought flowers and weeds to the north. And then I turned back. Just as I had no geography, I had no time. Every night I fell asleep with the thought that the next day I would again race. Through all spacelessness, all timelessness. I exchanged one horse for another, got on a train, on a boat, traversed forty versts on foot—in rain that brought the river up to the road, in heat that overturned cattle. The earth I walked on became mine. Mine was the water in the lakes and springs, clean water, dirty water, enlightened water, contaminated with oil, stinking of algae, of fish that died in wells, stinking of the memory of atrocities, water as clean as broken bread. The water did not become Alina.I was doing this for her: I got the basturma out from under my saddle, sodden with the horse's sweat, sliced the throat of a rich man whose daughter I had danced with at a ball, climbed into a vat of beet juice and took a sugar bath, carried out the expropriation of the savings banks, wiped the sweat from my face with my shirt—and the cloth turned red; I didn't know from what. If it was someone else's blood, I didn't care; if it was my own, even less.We mostly came across Reds. We scraped them up like old red paint on a door in order to repaint the boards black. Black looked better. Red is tasteless, but black has style. Healthy men died before us of myocardial rupture like bunnies found in the nest. The ones whose hearts were sewn of steel wire envied the deceased. Seizing estates, banks, distilleries, and prisons reminded us of gathering in the harvest. If you're too lazy to pick an apple, you can shake the tree; some of the fruit gets bruised when it falls. We seized buildings like we were shaking apple trees. No one picked the fruits, we just shook: shook under the beds, under the tables, behind the curtains. No, there was no picking. We just shook until the red juice spurted from the apples.Near the Khorol River with Father Makhno and me in charge, we captured sixteen machine guns and four cannons, as well as five hundred prisoners who immediately came over to our side. The villagers voluntarily gave us bread and cheese, chickens and kvas. People joined us. The front of the machine-gun cart said “You can't run,” and “You won't catch us” at the back. We took factory after factory. Millions of karbovantsi, thousands of poods of sugar, weapons. We smashed the telephone exchanges and captured the telegraphs. We made alliances with some and then with others. Lenin, Wrangel, Frunze, the Germans, Chinese, Australians, Kaiser Wilhelm II, Cleopatra, Maria Theresa Walburga Amalia Christina. We ran the steppe. There were a hundred thousand of us. There were three hundred thousand of them. There were three hundred thousand of us. There were a million of them. There were two million of them. We were all of humanity. We were so many that we were none.The nobles’ estates were long ago forsaken. In the people's deepest trunks lay silks and guipure laces that were once perhaps used only to cover a table. Five steps from the barn in the direction of the pear tree, some silver candlesticks are buried; there's a plaster figure of an angel in the chicken coop, covered with shit and feathers.I was reluctant to be going to my home, but I didn't see any way out. Fate intended me to be a different being from the one I was before.Here my grandfathers and great-grandfathers were born. Here the ones who caused my grandfathers and great-grandfathers to flee had stopped. When we were still far off I noticed that someone was in the house. It was our men—Skorsky had brought them here, about twenty in all. I asked Sanko, whom I had walked with side by side more than once, where the doctor was now. All the men answered that he was around somewhere, but I didn't see him that evening.In 1918, the spirit of my great-grandfather Stepan, along with my mother and uncle, had gotten into a britzka and scrambled off to Paris, to Napoleon, against whom my great-grandfather had fought with the Cossacks, to whom the Russians promised to return self-rule. Following him in the cart went the soul of Grandpa Oleh, who lost a finger when he cut down the old linden near the house; his second finger was blown off by a cannonball near Balaklava, and later his entire hand was cut off by some Turk. Next went the spirit of my father, also Stepan, who did not take part in any war but died of measles at the age of forty. They all got the hell out of here. First, they went to Kyiv, led by my mother, Tamara Makarivna, in order to collect Uncle's family and me, their son. And their son, it turns out, has now come back to rob his own home (I didn't drive my war buddies away, did I?). It's a shame that I didn't know where the bathtub was, or whatever they bathed me in when I was small. It would have been good to walk through the ranks of anarchists with that basin and tell them all to spit into it.Remembering every room, I carried Alina upstairs to my mother's bedchamber. There was no longer furniture or pictures, only bare walls. The bed and mattress remained, but that was enough. Mother hated noise, so she set up her room far away from the running in the halls and the creaks on the stairs. I adjusted the mattress; in a gap, looking like a stalk of wheat, there lay a gold bracelet that she lost in the haste and that the thieves could not find in the mayhem. I tucked it into my pocket.The place could still be saved. It was strong, built under the leadership of my grandfather, who knew how to do it right. He built a sawmill, a gristmill, a dress factory (today it's probably been ransacked, maybe even by our own men).Alina had a complete, displaced break in her right fibula. We needed water first. I went downstairs—the guys were dragging out the piano like an old cow to the slaughter.“What are you doing with that?”“Taking it out.”“Why?”“What's it to you? We want to have fun.”“Can you play?”“We're not your bourgeois lily-handed bitches.”They couldn't play, but they were famous at destruction. “Noise is the music of the new time,” one of the smarter among them might have said. “But noise is the opposite of music. Just as a rose is the opposite of your ugly mugs,” I'd have responded if there was anyone to say it to. I could also have said that this was a Bosendorfer grand piano, that it was very valuable—but do the guys not deserve such a luxury?“Why are you so boring? We're relaxing.”“Then let me play a little first.”“Go ahead, but fast. One-two.”So I played. As before. My fingers ran up and down the black and white keys, which weren't simply keys of these, the simplest, colors. These were the keys that remembered my fingers specifically—achieved by that slovenly German Katerina, our governess. She knew a bundle of languages, could play the piano, and was interested in the latest scientific discoveries. But she had not an ounce of sympathy for anyone who couldn't master anything on the first try. More than once she hit my pinkie against the black key that remembered every one of its four thousand touches. She would pound it on the key and shout, “Si bémol! Si bémol,” and later bang my fingers and translate, “B flach! B flach!”I played. I could not expose myself, so the only thing I could do was believe in miracles. What if these coarse men saw value in this bit of furniture so unintelligible to them? And what if they didn't destroy it, this emblem of my childhood, my land, my air, which I could protect in no other way? My air. My water.“Shchedryk, shchedryk, shchedrivochka,” one of them who recognized the tune began to sing along.“Look at you.” They did not expect music from me, who had until recently been drinking blood like water.They said, “Again, again!”A group of curious men gathered around me. They were ordinary farmers, thieves, and recidivists, peasants and workers, everyone except for Skorsky. They needed this music as they needed baths. The music cleansed them from the inside, perhaps. They had not heard anything besides the whistle of a bullet, the neighing of a horse, or the knocking of a chisel and the whirring of a saw, amputating limbs, for a long time.But it could not go on long. I did not close the piano lid, just stood and went to fetch water for Alina, leaving the unfinished song for later. The well was to the north—that is, at the “Head.” My father once promised to give me a compass if I could learn to identify the ends of the earth by means of the sun. And to make it easier to remember, I gave each one of them a name: the east where the day begins was “Right” (my right hand), the west “Left,” the north “Head,” and the south “Feet.” Back when I could still do whatever I wanted all day long, I would wake in the morning and say: I'm going to the Feet. The mound was at the Feet, Left had the river, Right had the forest. It was only to the Head that I rarely went, because a village was located there. When the villagers saw me, they would speak in whispers and avoid the master's son.... I wiped her brow and her burning, sunken cheeks. I lay down next to her to feel the heat of her skin.When the fire in Alina calmed slightly, I went out into our orchard. My father had once been given a gift from Japan—a tulip tree that blossomed with yellow-green flowers. It had to have grown in the time that I was away. It would have been fatal had it been cut down. I again took the stairs down into the drawing room and came across nobody—they had all disappeared in search of food or were hidden away in their burrows. In the middle of the hall, like an opened rib cage, was the piano, irreparably shattered.B Flach! B Flach!Translation © Ali Kinsella 2022. (shrink)

Since learners’ academic achievement is the ultimate goal of any system of education, multitudes of studies have been conducted on this variable and its determinants. That is, several scholars have explored the effects of student-related and teacher-related factors on learners’ academic achievement. Notwithstanding, a few researchers have investigated the effects of teachers’ self-efficacy and creativity on learners’ academic achievement. Furthermore, no study has reviewed the role of these teacher-related factors in learners’ achievement. Therefore, the present study seeks to bridge the (...) lacunas by delving into the influence of teachers’ self-efficacy and creativity on English as a Foreign Language learners’ academic achievement. The beneficial effects of self-efficacy beliefs and creative teaching were outlined through the existing evidence. This seems to be illuminative for EFL teachers. Given the positive consequences of teachers’ self-efficacy for students’ achievement, EFL teachers should believe in themselves and their abilities to lead their students to academic success. Additionally, with regard to the positive impact of teachers’ creativity on learners’ achievement, EFL teachers are expected to teach the course content creatively. (shrink)

Ethical dilemmas are inescapable components of business negotiations. It is thus important for negotiators to understand the differences in what is ethically appropriate and what is not. This study explores the cross-cultural differences in business ethics between Canada and China by examining the perceived appropriateness of five categories of ethically questionable strategies often used in business negotiations. The results show that the Chinese are more likely to consider it appropriate to use ethically inappropriate negotiation strategies, but the impact of cultural (...) values on ethically inappropriate negotiation strategies is much stronger in Canada than in China when negotiators choose to use these strategies. In addition, there are more gender differences in Canada, where men are more likely to consider it appropriate to use ethically questionable strategies in all five categories than women; while in China no gender differences are found in the perceived appropriateness of using these strategies in all but one category. Implications are also discussed along with potential future research directions. (shrink)

Intuitionistic propositional logic with Galois negations ( \(\mathsf {IGN}\) ) is introduced. Heyting algebras with Galois negations are obtained from Heyting algebras by adding the Galois pair \((\lnot,{\sim })\) and dual Galois pair \((\dot{\lnot },\dot{\sim })\) of negations. Discrete duality between GN-frames and algebras as well as the relational semantics for \(\mathsf {IGN}\) are developed. A Hilbert-style axiomatic system \(\mathsf {HN}\) is given for \(\mathsf {IGN}\), and Galois negation logics are defined as extensions of \(\mathsf {IGN}\). We give the bi-tense (...) logic \(\mathsf {S4N}_t\) which is obtained from the minimal tense extension of the modal logic \(\mathsf {S4}\) by adding tense operators. We give a new extended Gödel translation \(\tau \) and prove that \(\mathsf {IGN}\) is embedded into \(\mathsf {S4N}_t\) by \(\tau \). Moreover, every Kripke-complete Galois negation logic _L_ is embedded into its tense companion \(\tau (L)\). (shrink)

Vulnerabilities often characterize the availability of immigrant populations of interest in social behavioral science, public health, and medical research. Refugees, asylum seekers, and undocumented immigrants present unique vulnerabilities relevant to protocol development as well as ethics review procedures and criteria. This paper describes vulnerable populations in relation to the Belmont Report and US federal regulations for the protection of human subjects, both of which are commonly used in international research contexts. It argues for safeguards for immigrants comparable to protections for (...) such populations as pregnant women, prisoners, and children. The paper further presents a two-part model for the review of protocols that involve immigrants. The model is intended to help identify the risks to immigrants associated with participation in research, and to suggest how researchers can responsibly frame studies and access to research participant immigrants through community-based, and/or non-governmental organizations that serve immigrants and immigrant communities. (shrink)

Peirce wrote in late 1901 a text on formal logic using a special Dragon-Head and Dragon-Tail notation in order to express the relation of logical consequence and its properties. These texts have not been referred to in the literature before. We provide a complete reconstruction and transcription of these previously unpublished sets of manuscript sheets and analyse their main content. In the reconstructed text, Peirce is seen to outline both a general theory of deduction and a general theory of consequence (...) relation. The two are the cornerstones of modern logic and have played a crucial role in its development. From the wider perspective, Peirce is led to these theories by three important generalizations: propositions to all signs, truth to scriptibility, and derivation to transformability. We provide an exposition of such proposed semiotic foundation for logical constants and point out a couple of further innovations in this rare text, including the sheet of assertion, correction as a dual of deduction and the nature of conditionals as variably strict conditionals. (shrink)

Based on the expanded theory of planned behavior, this study first explores the configuration relationship between founder management and innovation by using the fuzzy-set qualitative comparative analysis. Based on the theory of planned behavior, this study divides the behavior intention of founders into three categories: Attitude, subjective norm, and perceived behavior control. Using fsQCA, we found that there are two ways to achieve high innovation input of enterprises. In combination with the two ways, the factors such as male and highly (...) educated founder, and large firm size can effectively increase the innovation input of firms, which is consistent with the three aspects of the behavioral intention of the theory of planned behavior, and it proves that the theory of planned behavior can effectively explain the configuration relation between the founder and firm innovation. In addition, this study finds that the innovation output is different from the innovation input, is dependent on the innovation ability of the firm itself, and is less influenced by the external environment. (shrink)

The China-Pakistan Economic Corridor vision and mission are to improve the people's living standards of Pakistan and China through bilateral investments, trade, cultural exchanges, and economic activities. To achieve this envisioned dream, Pakistan established the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor Authority to further its completion, but Covid-19 slowed it down. This situation compelled the digitalization of CPEC. This article reviews the best practices and success stories of various digitalization and e-governance programs and, in this light, advises the implementation of the Ajman Digital (...) Governance model as a theoretical framework for CPEC digitalization. This article concludes that the Pakistani government needs to transform CPEC digitalization by setting up the CPEC Digitalization and Transformation Center at the CPECA office to attract more investors and businesses. (shrink)

Peirce introduced Existential Graphs in late 1896, and they were systematically investigated in his 1903 Lowell Lectures. Alpha graphs for classical propositional logic constitute the first part of EGs. The second and the third parts are the beta graphs for first-order logic and the gamma graphs for modal and higher-order logics, among others. As a logical syntax, EGs are two-dimensional graphs, or diagrams, in contrast to the linear algebraic notations. Peirce's theory of EGs is not only a theory of logical (...) syntax but also a proof theory for many logics. A set of transformation rules of graphs defines a proof system for a graphical logic. In this... (shrink)

The polis, the dominant political form around which ancient Greeks structured their lives and activities, is perhaps their most fundamental creation and enduring legacy. It was a highly successful form of social organization in which Greek culture thrived, including architecture, literature, and philosophy. In this book, ancient historian John Ma offers a new history of the polis from its origins in the Early Iron Age through its eclipse in Late Antiquity. He aims to answer a few big questions about it-Why (...) did it emerge? What needs did it fulfill? How did it work? In addition, it is often assumed that the polis, along with the concomitant values of democracy and freedom, came to an end with the Classical period. Taking a contrary view, Ma explores how it endured under imperial control (the Persian Achaimenids, the Hellenistic kings, the Roman Empire), as well as why and how it eventually ended. In addressing these questions, Ma examines not only the most well-known ancient city-states like Sparta and Athens but also many lesser-known ones. He shows how complex the relations of power, access, and membership between the city, the territory, and the members of the polis were. Ma also examines the polis's significance as a social form and looks to the people who constitute the polis, from free adult men-stakeholders in institutional power, slaveowners, or heads of households-and elites to women, foreigners, and enslaved peoples, however disempowered. He draws on recent work on gender and slavery to evaluate the place of domination and violence in the polis. In doing so, Ma shows how the composition of the citizen body is both a political and social issue. The powerful combination of central political ideas and conflict around the issues of autonomy and social power led, Ma argues, to a "great convergence" of polis forms, producing a relatively uniform, stable organism, centred on communitarian, democratic forms and bargains between the community and its elites. This convergence led to the diffusion and harmonization of polis forms, both within and beyond the Aegean, and which allowed them to endure for almost a thousand years with an even longer legacy. (shrink)

It was meaningful to predict the customers' decision-making behavior in the field of market. However, due to individual differences and complex, non-linear natures of the electroencephalogram signals, it was hard to classify the EEG signals and to predict customers' decisions by using traditional classification methods. To solve the aforementioned problems, a recurrent t-distributed stochastic neighbor embedding neural network was proposed in current study to classify the EEG signals in the designed brand extension paradigm and to predict the participants' decisions. The (...) recurrent t-SNE neural network contained two steps. In the first step, t-SNE algorithm was performed to extract features from EEG signals. Second, a recurrent neural network with long short-term memory layer, fully connected layer, and SoftMax layer was established to train the features, classify the EEG signals, as well as predict the cognitive performance. The proposed network could give a good prediction with accuracy around 87%. Its superior in prediction accuracy as compared to a recurrent principal component analysis network, a recurrent independent component correlation algorithm [independent component analysis ] network, a t-SNE support vector machine network, a t-SNE back propagation neural network, a deep LSTM neural network, and a convolutional neural network were also demonstrated. Moreover, the performance of the proposed network with different activated channels were also investigated and compared. The results showed that the proposed network could make a relatively good prediction with only 16 channels. The proposed network would become a potentially useful tool to help a company in making marketing decisions and to help uncover the neural mechanisms behind individuals' decision-making behavior with low cost and high efficiency. (shrink)

In this paper, the Internet of Things with intelligent face perception and processing function is used to supervise online English teaching. In the intelligent learning environment, learners mainly learn by watching the information presentation screen of the learning content, i.e., the learning screen, which is the main environment for learners to learn and is the main channel for information interaction between learners and the learning content. The color matching, layout, graphic decoration, and background texture of the learning screen have a (...) significant impact on learners’ emotions, interests, motivation, and effect in the learning process. On the contrary, the accurate identification of learners’ emotions is the basis for building a harmonious emotional interaction in the wisdom learning environment and is an important means to judge learners’ learning status, which is of great significance to promote learners’ wisdom learning. In addition to providing learners with personalized learning contents and learning paths, the learning images presented by the intelligent learning environment should also be compatible with learners’ emotional states and visual emotional preferences and can play a role in regulating and stimulating learners’ learning emotions. The system works well in the testing process, which verifies the feasibility, rationality, and effectiveness of our application of face perception to online teaching effectiveness monitoring, and can be combined with the old result-oriented effectiveness monitoring method for online teaching, with certain theoretical research significance and practical application value. (shrink)

This paper is aimed at assessing how power, control, and resistance come into play and how resistance counteracts power and control in police investigative interviewing. Considering that the Philippines was once a colony of the United States, it is essential to compare the two samples as the Philippine legal system is highly patterned after the American jurisprudence (Mercullo in JForensicRes 11:1–4, 2020). Highlighting the existing and emerging power relations between the police interviewer and the interviewee, the study employed Sacks, Schegloff, (...) and Jefferson’s ( Recuenco, A. (2022). Cops to undergo investigation retraining to improve conviction rate. Manila Bulletin. https://mb.com.ph/2022/07/21/cops-to-undergo-investigation-retraining-to-improve-conviction-rate/ ) Conversation Analysis (CA) and Fairclough’s (Ehrlich in Coulthard and Johnson (eds), The Routledge Handbook of Forensic Linguistics, Routledge, 2010) Critical Language Studies (CLS) as general frameworks. A total of 10 Philippine and American police interviews were examined. While the Philippine corpus was obtained from the Pasay City Police Station, Metro Manila, the American corpus was culled from forensicling.com, an open-access website containing forensic linguistic data. Findings revealed that power and control were employed by the police in both contexts with 109 evidential markers (50.7%) and 2,443 representative speech acts (63.3%) having the highest frequency of occurrence. What is striking is the fact that police officers in both Philippine and American contexts show power and control in their utterances to be able to achieve the goal of police interviewing, that is, to gather information and elicit voluntary responses from the interviewees. Through this study, it is hoped that interviewers will be able to explore a better system of the questioning process that may lead the interviewees to cooperate more with them and arrive at a more accurate information. (shrink)

Quasi-Boolean modal algebras are quasi-Boolean algebras with a modal operator satisfying the interaction axiom. Sequential quasi-Boolean modal logics and the relational semantics are introduced. Kripke-completeness for some quasi-Boolean modal logics is shown by the canonical model method. We show that every descriptive persistent quasi-Boolean modal logic is canonical. The finite model property of some quasi-Boolean modal logics is proved. A cut-free Gentzen sequent calculus for the minimal quasi-Boolean logic is developed and we show that it has the Craig interpolation property.

Improving the user stickiness becomes increasingly valued, due to the severe user churn of livestreaming services. Previous studies pay much attention to the influencing factors of technology on user stickiness, ignoring the emotional factors. This study examined the impact of the emotional labor of network anchors on user stickiness in the context of livestreaming service. We extended prior findings in three ways. The results of Study 1 demonstrated that the emotional labor of network anchor positively influenced user stickiness, and immersion (...) experience plays a mediating role. The results of Study 2 demonstrated that the deep acting strategies of emotional labor had a stronger effect when compared with surface acting strategies. The results of Study 3 demonstrated that the effect of emotional labor on user stickiness was stronger for the users with prevention focus compared with promotion focus. Based on the perspective of emotional labor, this study extends the previous research on user stickiness and is valuable for guiding the practice of livestreaming services. (shrink)

Live stream platforms have transformed the production and consumption of music, allowing KPop music to expand globally. Successful KPop idols are contrasted with large numbers of retired KPop performers, some of whom live in undesirable conditions. Drawing on the attachment theory, loyalty theory, and parasocial interaction theory, this study focuses on a unique group, comeback KPop performers, to examine how they acquire empathetic attachment and sustained loyalty from audiences through live stream shows, and the antecedents of these two variables. Answering (...) these questions seems important because comeback KPop performers have to interact with audiences without the financial and marketing support from entertainment agencies. The structural equation modeling of 288 responses from 176 Chinese and 112 Korean KPop audiences confirmed that empathetic attachment and sustained loyalty are positively associated with audience purchase intentions; sustained attractiveness and parasocial interactions function as antecedents of these two factors. The findings shed light on the comeback KPop performers who co-create value with audiences through live stream platforms, with theoretical contributions to the three theories mentioned above and managerial suggestions to KPop entertainment agencies, comeback KPop performers, and managers of live stream platforms. (shrink)

本书以海外华人以及海外华人社会为主要研究对象,总结和提炼海外华人社会适用中国传统法律的方式方法与特征,考察中国传统法律文化对于华人日常生活所起的作用.对海外华人与中国传统法律文化保存与传播的互动作用进 行解析.以中国传统法律在东南亚诸国之影响为主线,借重国际关系史,汉学以及文化交流史等方面的史料和现有的研究成果,以法律史的角度重新解读, 深化中国传统法律文化域外影响,尤其是对'中华法系'以外国家的影响研究.

In this paper, we introduce the notions of -fuzzy filters and -fuzzy Boolean filters in R0-algebras and investigate some of their related properties. Some characterization theorems of these generalized fuzzy filters are derived. In particular, we prove that a fuzzy set in R0-algebras is an -fuzzy Boolean filter if and only if it is an -fuzzy implicative filter. Finally, we consider the concepts of implication-based fuzzy Boolean filters of R0-algebras.

本書可視為哲學大師李澤厚先生的學術自傳。編撰者馬群林乃李澤厚先生晚年交往最密切的友人之一，馬先生耗費十餘年時間，從李澤厚先生的論著、文章及書信中輯錄出有關內容，經過重新整理、編排和撰寫，并先後三次經李 澤厚審閱及修訂，最終成就該書。全書以一問一答的對話形式呈現，鮮明直接，淺白易懂，能幫助大眾讀者（尤其是青年學生）了解李澤厚先生的學術生涯和思想體系。書中還收入部份首次公開出版的珍貴照片，如馮友蘭、胡繩 、錢??、余英時等人致李澤厚的信函等，彌足珍貴。.

从公元前624年(周襄王二十八年)起,至公元1945年止,中外著名哲学家和思想家的生卒年,著作和学术活动年代,确有记载的都尽量收入本年表,与哲学有关的历史事件与哲学邻近的其他学科的重大发现和重要思想家 及其著作也予收入。.

The finite model property (FMP) in weakly transitive tense logics is explored. Let \(\mathbb {S}=[\textsf{wK}_t\textsf{4}, \textsf{K}_t\textsf{4}]\) be the interval of tense logics between \(\textsf{wK}_t\textsf{4}\) and \(\textsf{K}_t\textsf{4}\). We introduce the modal formula \(\textrm{t}_0^n\) for each \(n\ge 1\). Within the class of all weakly transitive frames, \(\textrm{t}_0^n\) defines the class of all frames in which every cluster has at most _n_ irreflexive points. For each \(n\ge 1\), we define the interval \(\mathbb {S}_n=[\textsf{wK}_t\textsf{4T}_0^{n+1}, \textsf{wK}_t\textsf{4T}_0^{n}]\) which is a subset of \(\mathbb {S}\). There are (...) \(2^{\aleph _0}\) logics in \(\mathbb {S}_n\) lacking the FMP, and there are \(2^{\aleph _0}\) logics in \(\mathbb {S}_n\) having the FMP. Then we explore the FMP in finitely alternative tense logics \(L_{n,m}=L\oplus \{\textrm{Alt}_n^F, \textrm{Alt}_m^P\}\) with \(n,m\ge 0\) and \(L\in \mathbb {S}\). For all \(k\ge 0\) and \(n,m\ge 1\), we define intervals \(\mathbb {F}^k_{n,m}\), \(\mathbb {P}^k_{n,m}\) and \(\mathbb {S}^k_{n,m}\) of tense logics. The number of logics lacking the FMP in them is either 0 or \(2^{\aleph _0}\), and the number of logics having the FMP in them is either finite or \(2^{\aleph _0}\). (shrink)

Modern technology (Technik, la technique) has constituted the gears on which the wheels of the modern world keep turning. The later Heidegger devotes sustained reflection to this unprecedented phenomenon in human history. It is notable that, compared with other figures from twentieth-century continental philosophy, Heidegger has served as the most frequent reference point in current philosophy of technology (Technikphilosophie). This field of philosophy came into being after the so-called empirical turn of “Science and Technology Studies.” While relevant scholars focus mainly (...) on “Die Frage nach der Technik” of 1953, “Das Ge-stell” of 1949,1 and some other texts written in that period,2 the time span of Heidegger’s .. (shrink)

This work is developed to improve the current quality of e-commerce logistics services. From the perspective of multiple consumer psychology, based on e-commerce, consumer psychology, and other related theories, vegetable e-commerce B is selected as the research object. The commodity quality, accuracy, and timeliness of commodity distribution and other factors of e-commerce B are discussed through questionnaire survey. Then, according to customers’ opinions about “e-commerce B’s distribution and professional aspects that need to be improved,” the research is conducted. Finally, the (...) direction of follow-up optimization is proposed from four different perspectives of multiple consumption psychology. The research results show that more than 89% of the surveyed customers believe that e-commerce B does a good job in terms of commodity quality, accuracy, and timeliness of commodity distribution, and has a high level of logistics service. However, 26.34% of customers hope that e-commerce B can strengthen the protection of personal privacy, 24.97% hope that the platform can add “delay insurance” for goods, and 39.54% hope that the logistics information of purchased goods can be updated in real time. Therefore, e-commerce B needs to be optimized and improved continuously in the future development. Therefore, research on the optimization of logistics service quality of e-commerce is performed under multiple consumption psychology, which provides certain help for the rapid development of subsequent e-commerce. (shrink)

ObjectiveAs the coronavirus disease 2019 pandemic spread across Shanghai, China, in late February 2022 and protective measures to mitigate its impact were enacted, this study aimed to estimate how home quarantine affected the mental health of preschool children in Shanghai, China and explore the association between lifestyle factors and mental health during this special period.MethodsA cross-sectional online survey of 2,110 preschool students from Shanghai, China, was conducted during May 20–25,2022. Preschooler’ mental health and daily activities were reported by parents.ResultsThe sample (...) involved 2,110 children with a mean age of 4.65 years [standard deviation : 0.91, range: 3–6 years]. Boys and children whose mother’s education level were college and high school had higher rate of mental health problems. Boys had significantly higher rates of peer problems and prosocial behaviors than girls. The 3-year-old group had significantly higher rates of prosocial behaviors than other groups. As compared to the Shanghai norm and the SDQ results of preschool children in Shanghai in 2019, there were a significant decrease in emotional symptoms score, as well as a significant increase in conduct problems score. Additionally, peer problems score significantly increased compared to SH2019. Decreased time spent on daily sleep was associated with the increased risk for preschoolers’ mental health problems.ConclusionThere was an increase in the frequency of emotional and behavioral problems, especially regarding conduct problems and peer problems, in preschool children during the COVID-19 home quarantine in Shanghai, China. Boys, younger preschool children and children whose mother’s education level were college and high school may be especially vulnerable to emotional and behavioral problems. It was also found that decreased time spent on sleep may aggravate preschool children’s mental health problems. It may be beneficial to differentiate and focus on conducting psychoeducation and implementing psycho-behavioral interventions to solve these issues. (shrink)

This paper is a qualitative usage-based treatment of merism from a cognitive-linguistic perspective. Considered a minor or non-basic figure of speech, especially if compared to the master tropes, m...