Despite the fact that ethics consultations are an accepted practice in most healthcare organizations, many clinical ethicists continue to feel marginalized by their institutions. They are often not paid for their time, their programs often have no budget, and institutional leaders are frequently unaware of their activities. One consequence has been their search for concrete ways to evaluate their work in order to prove the importance of their activities to their institutions through demonstrating their efficiency and effectiveness.

The essay reproduced here is chapter 6 from Death’s Dream Kingdom: The American Psyche since 9-11 . In it, Walter A. Davis provides an analysis of Žižek's Welcome to the Desert of the Real that becomes a critique both of Žižek's general project and the Lacanian theory of the psyche on which it is grounded.

(2001). Disability and Bioethics: Removing Barriers to Understanding and Setting the Agenda for a New Conversation. The American Journal of Bioethics: Vol. 1, No. 3, pp. 64-65.

Attempts to comprehend the traumatic significance of Hiroshima in order to construct a new theory of history.

In light of recent advances, I reconsider Jacques Ellul's technological imperative in which he places technology in a broad framework of “technique” (including but not limited to machines) meaning any complex of standardized procedures having absolute efficiency for attaining a predetermined result. He conceptualizes technique as a self-perpetuating, totalizing, and deterministic force inevitably leading to self-destruction if not transcended. Here, I provide support for some of Ellul's claims while addressing some of the important criticisms. I suggest a different kind of (...) imperative that supersedes the technological imperative but does not diminish its importance. The new imperative is hierarchical social structures that now prevail at many levels—from global to local—and that reciprocally relate to many social forces, including technique. Central to the maintaining of social hierarchies are both individual and collective goals and beliefs. I argue the importance of ideology in both science and society, and in technological and hierarchical imperatives. Specifically, I argue the necessity to account for the mutual and reciprocal relationship among beliefs, context, and human attributes to fully comprehend technology and education. (shrink)

Davis roots the reader in the enterprise of questioning what is given and probing beyond what is safe in order to demonstrate that psychoanalytic inquiry, Marxist politics, existential reflection, and dialectical connection all move within ...

Fish has always been adept at revising his position to incorporate what he’s learned from his critics while repaying the favor by assigning them a position they never took. The latter practice naturally helps conceal the borrowings, but as Fish’s position evolves it becomes progressively difficult to determine who is the author of his essays. I am, of course, gratified to see how much Fish has learned from me. It is salutary to find that Fish is finally just a humble (...) historian working with others at “recovering a system of thought and feeling” that will enable us to establish the historical context of Milton’s most probable intentions and realizing, as many historians of literature don’t, that we can only do so by bringing concepts provided by literary theory—form, function, artistic purpose, and so forth—to bear on the mass of historical materials at our disposal.3 It is also gratifying to see that Fish has discovered the law of context and now realizes that there are no local matters. Had he discovered that earlier, we’d have been spared Aunt Tilly and the discussion of Mr. Collins—as well as the general notion extrapolated from those examples that anything a sizable group decides to do will fly since nothing else constraints interpretation. We’d also have been spared the concepts of reading and affective criticism presented in Fish’s early work and the unchecked linguistic hijinks used to sustain those readings. I derive my deepest pleasure, however, from finding that Fish has finally discovered the conflict of interpretations proper and its primacy—“the resistance offered by one interpretively produced shape to the production of another” —though I must sadly abridge this progress report by noting that he finds himself powerless to do anything with this recognition. That is as it must be, for the most interesting thing about Fish’s borrowings is where he stops—and why he has to. Having let me write the first 5 ½ pages of his reply, he suddenly stops taking dictation so that he can simply reassert, in all its abstract glory, his tried-and-true resolution of all interpretive controversy by community interest. Had he read further, he would have discovered that a good deal more emerges if one attempts to preserve and deal with the conflict of interpretations rather than to do away with it. He would even have discovered my epistemology and would have learned the main lesson—that his position is not an alternative to mine but an early moment it contains and sublates in a larger context.Have taught Fish so much, I found myself, instead, poorly repaid by the position he foists upon me. Constantly caught up in an effort to reiterate the dichotomy on which his entire theorizing depends, Fish’s fixed need is to rework all disputes into an opposition between the party of independent fact-disinterested reason and the party of interest so that he might triumphantly resolve all difficulties by once again discovering the simple fact of interests. Lest this strategy hide behind a common misconception, our debate is not a case where distinct frameworks are simply misreading one another, as they must, but one where one framework must deliberately and seriously misread others since it has no other way to sustain itself. If the account Fish gives of my argument is the way things must look from his framework, all that this fact signifies is the paucity of his framework and its inability to achieve even minimal descriptive adequacy. 3. But even here things are a good deal more complex than Fish imagines. For a good statement of the logic and problems of historical interpretation, see Robert Marsh, “Historical Interpretation and the History of Criticism,” in Literary Criticism and Historical Understanding, ed. Philip Damon , pp. 1-24. (shrink)

Interpretation is an institutional activity and that may be the most significant fact about it; we are, indeed, a profession, and as such we train students to think about literature in certain ways. Membership in the community is determined by how well one masters the rules of the game. These inescapable facts may be the source of our greatest problems—or their hidden solution. Stanley Fish champions the latter alternative, arguing, in his most recent book, that “the interpretive community” is the (...) ultimate principle of authority in criticism and is capable of resolving all the problems of interpretation.1 If we want to know what reading is, how texts achieve determinate meaning, what constitutes validity in interpretation, or how to resolve the “conflict of interpretations,” we must, Fish argues, focus on the community itself, for it is here alone that these matters are determined.Though he has had more than his share of professional attention, having developed this argument makes Fish’s work worthy of further consideration. He quite simply presents the best picture we are likely to get of the “mind” of the profession, and, in treating him at length here, I am primarily concerned with his representative status. His great achievement is to have articulated the assumptions and beliefs underlying the practices that are favored in our profession: the tacit theoretical position composed of ideas and commonplaces that are so deeply held and constantly in use that they “prestructure” both our dealings with literature and our debates over those dealings. While remaining for the most part “unconscious,” these ideas nevertheless function as self-evident and unassailable truths. If we are to move, as I think we must, toward experiencing a crisis in our discipline, we first have to know where we are. And for that, Fish is invaluable because he has set out to become the official spokesman and efender of the profession. Walter A. Davis, associate professor of English at the Ohio State University, is the author of The Act of Interpretation: A Critique of Literary Reason. The present essay is from a recently completed work on contemporary criticism. He is currently writing a book on modern American drama. (shrink)