Recently, growing numbers of interns, apprentices, and volunteers are being recruited to work seasonally on ecologically oriented and organic farms across the global north. To date, there has been very little research examining these emergent forms of non-waged work. In this paper, we analyze the relationships between non-waged agricultural work and the economic circumstances of small- to medium-size farms and the non-economic ambitions of farm operators. We do so through a quantitative and qualitative analysis of farmers’ responses to two surveys (...) we conducted of farmers using non-waged workers in Ontario, Canada. We situate our analysis within debates on the agrarian question, which we contend requires an account for both the economic and non-economic dimensions of new forms of non-waged work on farms. We suggest that many ecologically oriented farm operators are struggling financially and report low gross on-farm revenues and personal incomes. We argue that in addition to relying on off-farm incomes and self-exploitation, many farms are managing to persist in a challenging economic climate through their use of intern, apprentice, and volunteer labor. However, we also suggest that the growth of non-waged work on farms is not simply being driven by economic processes but also a series of non-economic relationships focused on non-institutional farmer training, the pursuit of sustainability, and social movement building. We suggest, the “economic” and “non-economic” dimensions of internships, apprenticeships, and forms of volunteerism sit uneasily alongside of one another, generating questions about the politics, ethics, and sustainability of non-waged work and ecological farming. (shrink)

Predictions concerning the end of the world have proven less reliable than your broker’s recommendations or your fondest hopes. Whether you await the end fearfully or eagerly, you may rest assured that it will never come—not because the world is everlasting but because it has already ended, if indeed it ever began. But we need not mourn, for the world is indeed well lost, and with it the stultifying stereotypes of absolutism: the absurd notions of science as the effort to (...) discover a unique, prepackaged, but unfortunately undiscoverable reality, and of truth as agreement with that inaccessible reality. All notions of pure givenness and unconditional necessity and of a single correct perspective and system of categories are lost as well.If there is no such thing as the world, what are we living in? The answer might be “A world” or, better, “Several worlds.” For to deny that there is any such thing as the world is no more to deny that there are worlds than to deny that there is any such thing as the number between two and seven is to deny that there are numbers between two and seven. The task of describing the world is as futile as the task of describing the number between two and seven.The world is lost once we appreciate a curious feature of certain pairs of seemingly contradictory statements: if either is true, both are. Although “The earth is in motion” and “The earth is at rest” apparently contradict each other, both are true. But from a contradiction, every statement follows. So unless we are prepared to acknowledge the truth of every statement, the appearance of contradiction in cases like these must somehow be dispelled. Nelson Goodman is professor emeritus of philosophy at Harvard University. He has written Of Mind and Other Matters, Ways of Worldmaking, Problems and Projects, Languages of Art, The Structure of Appearance, and Fact, Fiction, and Forecast. His most recent contribution to Critical Inquiry is “How Buildings Mean” . Catherine Z. Elgin is associate professor of philosophy at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. She is the author of With Reference to Reference and is currently writing a book entitled Philosophy without Foundations. (shrink)

Exemplification is the relation of an example to whatever it is an example of. Goodman maintains that exemplification is a symptom of the aesthetic: although not a necessary condition, it is an indicator that symbol is functioning aesthetically. I argue that exemplification is as important in science as it is in art. It is the vehicle by which experiments make aspects of nature manifest. I suggest that the difference between exemplars in the arts and the sciences lies in the way (...) they exemplify. Density and repleteness are characteristic of aesthetic exemplars but not of scientific ones. (shrink)

While most other works focus on conspiracy theories, this book examines conspiracy panics, or the anxiety over the phenomenon of conspiracy theories. Jack Z. Bratich argues that conspiracy theories are portals into the major social issues defining U.S. and global political culture. These issues include the rise of new technologies, the social function of journalism, U.S. race relations, citizenship and dissent, globalization, biowarfare and biomedicine, and the shifting positions within the Left. Using a Foucauldian governmentality analysis, Bratich maintains that conspiracy (...) panics contribute to a broader political rationality, a (neo)liberal strategy of governing at a distance through the use of reason. He also explores the growing popularity of 9/11 conspiracy research in terms of what he calls the "sphere of legitimate dissensus." Conspiracy Panics concludes that we are witnessing a new fusion of culture and rationality, one that is increasingly shared across the political spectrum. (shrink)

The accounting profession has emphasized the need for ethics education in the accounting curriculum. The current study examines professional commitment and anticipatory socialization, operationalized by perception of financial reporting, as possible determinants of Accounting students' ethical perceptions and intentions. Accounting students with higher levels of professional commitment and higher perception of the importance of financial reporting were more likely to perceive questionable actions as unethical and less likely to engage in such actions compared to those students with lower commitment and (...) lower perception of financial reporting. The results have implications for accounting instructors and accounting employers as they socialize students in the accounting profession at this early stage. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Painting in Tongues:Faith-Based Languages of Formalist ArtKevin Z. Moore (bio)A philosophical problem is created by the incoherence between the earlier state and the later one.—Ian Hacking, Historical OntologyWhatever is happening to evidence-based treatment? When the facts contravene conventional wisdom, go with the anecdotes?—New York Times, "Science Times," February 14, 2006Cephalopods have a visual language that may be considered artful; humans have written and vocalized languages that are sometimes artful; (...) but it is doubtful that there is such a thing as a "language of art," particularly in the sense that twentieth-century formalists and their critics carelessly speak of one or many. Cephalopods flash color-forms on their hides to communicate intents and emotions, maybe even to project plans. They speak in tattooed tongues through neurologically embossed patterns and color field designs displayed on the skin. The large-eyed sea creatures communicate voicelessly in a visual language of pure color-forms, each species perhaps having its own dialect. Though not a full or official language by any means, their color-forms display the ideal that twentieth-century formalist artists sought to graphically realize (referential and conceptual immediacy, emotional coloring, communication via pure, that is, nonpictorial, form). Formalist inspired artists and their critic-expositors describe abstract pattern-painting as though it were a visual language equal to that of the cephalopod. Yet [End Page 40] although we can reasonably imagine cephalopods getting the correct message by observation, we cannot reasonably imagine observers getting any message at all, let alone the intended message, from abstractionist painting. This casts suspicion on the formalists' claims about visual language. Observers cannot and famously do not get anything "out" of formalist pattern paintings, though they do project quite a lot "into" them. The telling difference between octopus and artist? Cephalopods communicate visually—their survival depends on it. Formalists do not, though the survival and flourishing of their art depends upon the belief that they do.Notably, explanations of what exactly a formalist language of art is goes missing from accounts of sense and reference in the relevant literature, where we learn that this or that painting exhibits this or that language of art but never how this or that painting functions as a language of any sort. The "language of art" phrase, it seems, has the same force as mentioning truth or existence: it explains nothing. Talk of a language of art suggests merely that a painting exhibits a communicative intent; it does not explain how that intent is linguistically mediated. The phrase is ostensive and nominal, not descriptive and expository.Prior to the twentieth century there may have been some justification for this language since art was shaped by objective reference, identifiable codes (sign and symbol systems), and recognizable scenes (compositions) that made painting a language-like public media. Observers could see immediately or "read" paintings by observation as though they were reading a language. Images were shaped by observation; reference was fixed by convention. The formalist revolution in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries dismantled the public character of representation in painting. After the revolution, the new art that appeared was a sort of visual humpty-dumptyism, to invoke a language metaphor. Formalist imagery functioned the way words did for Mr. Carroll's Mr. Dumpty: they meant what the artist intended them to mean and not what observation or convention constrained them to mean. Reference and meaning were as arbitrary as the visual forms chosen to bear them. Once a communicative medium, painting became an expressive medium, the values of the latter superseding those of the former wholly or in part. Even when a formalist painting alluded to a conventional arrangement (a landscape or portrait, for example), the composition was as visually parodic of genre as Mr. Carroll's Jabberwocky was verbally parodic of narrative poetry, preserving syntax (form) but not the integrity of the formal agents of communication. Both are forms of nonsense, yet only one intentionally so.Styles of formalism do not facilitate the observation of intended reference; they are not effective forms of communication because they are not languages. If the basic function of a visual art is to communicate a specific... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy, Psychiatry, & Psychology 11.4 (2004) 357-359 [Access article in PDF] A Madness for the Philosophy of Psychiatry John Z. Sadler His enthusiasm brimming over with the rich set of ideas and problems he has discovered, Louis Charland's essay on identity, ethics, and the Internet should be grist for the philosophy of psychiatry mill for years. Indeed, a brief commentary cannot answer the many questions raised by his paper. (...) In response, I would like to focus on two general issues for this essay. Labels, Diagnoses, Reference, Experiences Many psychiatrists will take issue with Charland's use of the term label in reference to mental disorder concepts in this paper. I did not, but his relatively uncritical use of the labels and labeling terms in his essay prompts me to unpack some concepts that lurk behind the many other conceptual issues raised here. Psychiatric "labels" and "labeling" have a derogatory sense for many psychiatrists, because they are associated with a virulent antipsychiatry temperament dating back to the 1960s, at least in the United States (Sadler 2003). For many clinicians (as well as others) labeling implies that there is nothing more to psychiatric diagnosis and "mental illness" than the names given to various sorts of human diversity. This sort of psychiatric nominalism, the viewpoint goes, serves to pigeonhole people for the purposes, primarily, of political control or power. Charland's own viewpoint is more subtle than this, illustrated by his discussion of Hacking's "looping effects" and the related idea that social factors are influential in the manifestations, even causation, of mental disorders, but are not exhaustive in explaining mental disorders. However, because the whole matter of social construction of clinical phenomena is at the heart of Charland's discussion, further consideration of this metaphysical territory is warranted.The notion of a mental disorder concept as "label" betrays little about what, substantively, mental disorders are. A label on a can of peas tells us little, ultimately, about the nature of the contents; indeed, it is only a clue. When we shift labeling from a can of peas to a person—a self—then such a shallow clue to the "contents" of a person is an offensive simplification of a person's identity and selfhood. Hence the railing against psychiatric labeling in the 1960s through today.The general goals for psychiatric diagnosis and classification in systems like DSM-IV is are multiple, but at minimum, such denotations of clinical conditions are intended to advance the generation of knowledge about the conditions as well as provide a "shorthand" for clinicians in communicating about and understanding patients' conditions. How successful these diagnostic classification systems are for these and other purposes is a discussion for another time, but the [End Page 357] point here is that some sort of method of characterizing people's distresses is a precondition for understanding and explaining such distresses. The scientific processes of validation of psychiatric categories, at core, are to ensure that, as Gorenstein notes (1992), our clinical concepts are not empty, self-fulfilling prophecies, but rather refer to other, hopefully predictable, features of the patient's distress. Such validation of clinical "constructs" is the basis for developing and testing specific treatments, as well as understanding more richly and deeply the clinical phenomenon. To have a label, then, under this view, is to have an empty nominalization, which is offensive and scientifically vapid. To have a diagnostic construct—a disorder—is to have a concept which empirically refers to, as Paul Meehl put it, a "nomological network" of predictable, lawlike, implications (Sadler 2004a).However, as Charland, Hacking, and others have noted, the reflexivity of the human self and our ultimately crude ways of characterizing selves leads to a serious problem, even for the most rigorously validated psychological categories. That problem is the changeability of the self, the capacity of people to remake themselves according to their own ideas along with the sociocultural ether of ideas that surrounds us all. This means that our understanding of mental disorders, both as aggregates of features, and well as individual patients over time, are "moving targets," the... (shrink)

Many philosophers, of very different persuasions, think that the time has come for philosophy to give up its epistemological pretensions. It must cease to see itself as the arbiter of rationality and truth. Its role as such an arbiter is due, in part, to confusions involved in representationalist theories in epistemology. According to these, our epistemic practices are judged by whether they adequately represent something said to be independent of them all called Reality or Truth. These judgments are said to (...) be the business of philosophy. But, now, it is said that philosophy is redundant in this respect The trouble was not that it did its work badly. There was never any work to perform. Philosophy traded under false pretences. (shrink)

A psychoanalyst is said to provide the real explanation of a person's behaviour; an explanation which the person has arrived at with the help of a psychoanalyst. The person was not aware of the real character of his behaviour. It may have exhibited unconscious thoughts, beliefs, motives, intentions and emotions. In his paper ‘The Unconscious’, in Mind 1959, Ilham Dilman says, ‘What those who talked of “Freud's discovery of the unconscious” had in mind is a group of innovations which “the (...) founder of psycho-analysis” brought to bear on the study of the human mind’. I have ten questions concerning the relation of this ‘group of innovations’ to human behaviour. (shrink)

These remarkable memoirs were published first in Russian in 1953 and were translated into French in 1964. At last they are available in English in a very readable translation. The author was on friendly terms with Lenin in Geneva from January to June 1904, a period of great stress in Lenin's life when he was writing One Step Forward, Two Steps Back. The human, all too human, side of the great historical figure is vividly and sympathetically portrayed. Lenin was fascinated (...) with violence, but always kept himself at a safe distance from it. His vanity and pride made him incapable of frankness. His ignorance of Shakespeare, Byron, Molière, Schiller, and his enthusiasm for Chernyshevsky's What is to be Done? reflect his intellectual narrowness. He was incapable of grasping a fresh idea, or of respecting any person who disagreed with his convictions. No tactics were too low in settling personal scores. Among his more appealing characteristics one might mention his firm faith in the Russian Revolution, his energy and dedication to his work, his love of music, nature, and physical activity. But the book contains much more than a new and clear-headed insight into Lenin's intellectual development and personality. There are vivid descriptions of many leaders of the Revolution, of the oppressive atmosphere of life in exile, of the discrepancy between hopes and reality. The personality of the author, his fairness, sincerity, and honesty, are stamped on the whole book making it an entertaining and rewarding experience.--T. D. Z. (shrink)

This book is an excellent general introduction to existentialist thought. It organizes the subject-matter under traditional philosophic disciplines beginning with an account of the method and proceeding to ontology, epistemology, ethics, social and religious thought. The author concentrates on the writings of the leading figures in the movement--Kierkegaard, Heidegger, Marcel, Sartre, Jaspers--and delineates the areas of agreement and disagreement among them. The arrangement of materials around traditional problems facilitates the detection of changes in approach, emphasis, and formulation. The most important (...) aspect of the book lies in the attempt to view the movement as a part of the philosophical tradition, to explain the methods and doctrines against which the Existentialists react as well as their heroes in the tradition. The achievements of the movement are measured against its claims, and its major deficiencies are pointed out in the last chapter. Throughout the book the author manages to preserve a clarity and economy that are a welcome contrast to the style of existentialist writings.--T. D. Z. (shrink)

The author's aim is to show that Leontev's ideas are not disconnected, as many critics have held, but form a system that is both logically consistent and interconnected by the "inner logic" of a powerful emotion. To uncover the emotional sources of Leontev's philosophy, half the book is devoted to Leontev's life, and especially his relation to his mother. Since childhood, he feared and loved her, and associated her with religion, refinement, and absolutism. Leontev's first formulation of his doctrine of (...) aestheticism when he returned from the Crimean War probably coincided with his first suspicions of his homosexuality. His unexpected marriage to his former mistress was an attempt to overcome his guilt and weakness. His first ideological work, Byzantism and Slavdom was written under the double strain of his mother's death, and his own experience of fear of death during an illness. Leontev's doctrine of aestheticism when applied to the individual, yields "a poetry of life" beyond good and evil. One's personal life must be maximally original, complex, and unified at whatever cost in happiness to oneself or others. Religious faith is needed to reconcile one with suffering and death. Yet, religion dictates an ethics which conflicts with the aesthetics of life. The constant struggle between the two principles enriches personality and heightens creativity, and must finally end in a heroic total rejection of aesthetics. Applied to society and history, aestheticism demands a society stratified into unequal and hostile classes and unified by ruthless despotism. Such a society was to be most conducive to the development of original personalities. The egalitarian, happiness-orientated West was in decline and sacrificed beauty to banality. Without much confidence in its realization, Leontev advocated "freeze up Russia" to avoid infection from the West.--T. D. Z. (shrink)

Descartes’ demon is a crafty little devil. Despite centuries of effort by exceedingly clever thinkers, he continues to elude our clutches. Skepticism endures. The reason, Richard Foley thinks, is not hard to discover. It is simply impossible to break through the Cartesian circle. Our only means of vindicating a claim to knowledge or rational belief is to show that it is produced or sustained by our best epistemic methods, that it satisfies the best standards we can devise for rational belief. (...) That it does so is clearly better than the alternative. But the standards and methods themselves are vulnerable. How do we know that they are reliable? The point, as we all realized in Philosophy 101, is that there is no ironclad guarantee. Even if Descartes had managed to generate an unexceptionable proof that God exists and is not a deceiver, the question would arise: What insures that what we consider an unexceptionable proof actually demonstrates the truth of the conclusion? Raising our standards or improving our methods of proof will not get us out of our predicament. For no matter how high we raise our standards, the question recurs. We cannot prove that our perceptions, memories, inferences or opinions are reliable. The Cartesian circle is the epistemic circle. (shrink)

A brief, non-technical, well-organized presentation of a system of aesthetics which makes use of insights typical of various Gestalt psychologists and phenomenologists but claims Wittgenstein and the school of language analysis as its only source of influence. Works of art as well as the materials the artist uses are subject to "aspection" and "animation" by various images, such that "each material is featured as a little, elementary aesthetic object." Aldrich offers a theory of evaluations and normative descriptions of works of (...) art, showing that they are not purely subjective or arbitrary. Several important issues remain quite vague throughout the book, e.g., the concept of "holophrastic perception" which is supposed to give us the nature of the "material thing" as it really is. There is a complete lack of interest in anything done in aesthetics by continental philosophers.--E. M. Z. (shrink)

Unlike most anthologies in aesthetics and the philosophy of art, the present selection does not try to collect representative extracts from the writings of most, or even many, important aestheticians throughout the ages. It aims for depth rather than width and tries to do as much justice as possible to those aestheticians which it does include, without bothering much about those left out. The result is really impressive. No less than 138 pages are devoted to Plato and Aristotle alone, where (...) the reader may find not only the usual passages from the Poetics and the Rhetoric but also relevant material from De Partibus Animalium and Politica. Such an anthology, so it seems, must be an opinionated one. Thus, while it contains some 70 pages of Dewey's Art as Experience, there is not a single line of Santayana in it. Although I disagree with the choice made in this case, I cannot but admire the courage it took to make it. Another surprise is the inclusion of the relatively obscure mediaeval thinker, Marsilio Ficino, in an anthology which excludes Baumgarten, Lessing, Burke, Schiller, Coleridge, Bosanquet and Alexander, to mention but few, and whose sole contemporary representative is Heidegger. The extracts from Ficino's commentary on Plato prove, however, to be highly interesting and relatively original, too. Thus, even if Ficino is not as great as some of the aestheticians not included in this volume, I, for one, would not regret this mark of personal, off-beat, taste. The last selection, Heidegger's "The Origin of the Work of Art," appearing for the first time in English translation, comes as special bonus to the reader. The editors' introductions to each selection are generally concise, precise, and very helpful. Sometimes, however, one may find an exception: in their introduction to the Heidegger translation, the editors characterize the Kehre as a "reversal... from the stress on anxiety, nothingness... to a stress on more affirmative moods." This is, to say the least, a grossly misleading remark, which is likely to confuse the student of the later Heidegger rather than help him.—E. M. Z. (shrink)

The book can be roughly divided in two parts. The first four chapters criticize several previous systems of aesthetics, notably those of Cassirer, Croce, and their followers, and suggest an alternative based upon an interesting extension of the recently, much-discussed theory of direct perception as a "seeing-as." Hofstadter would use this model of interpretative-perception to explicate the nature of language as well. A cry will not be, thus, an "expression" of pain but rather present the pain directly; it would articulate (...) human existence in a certain way. Accepting, in addition, the idealistic theory of Categories, Language is understood by Hofstadter as the emergence of the self and the world into a meaningful and an intelligible existence. The next three chapters which, to my mind, make the weaker part of the book, distinguish three kinds of language and, hence, three kinds of truth. There is the truth of statement, which is explicated as the identity of the meant with the existent, the truth of things, which is the practical governance of things by the self's laws and ends, and the truth of spirit, being the synthesis of the former two, where the thing reaches a full realization of its own will of being. When the life-will brings itself to full realization, the thing is perfect, i.e., it is beautiful. It is unfortunate that in the development of these important and highly interesting ideas rhetoric often takes the place of philosophical rigor. The concluding chapter, exploring "the spiritual truth of art," gives a coherent application of the theory and combines a dialogue with several aestheticians, critics, and artists with an analysis of some crucial problems in aesthetics.—E. M. Z. (shrink)

The first six chapters of this book present and criticize six views of the nature of proper names, among which are theories that proper names have no meaning or connotation, that proper names have more meaning than other signs or that their meaning is infinite, that ordinary proper names should be analysed into "logically" proper names, etc. This part of the book is the best. One may find in these chapters several well-reasoned arguments which seem to totally demolish the theories (...) under investigation. Chapters seven to nine present the author's own solution to the problem. Sørensen holds that a proper name does have a meaning—otherwise it would not have been a part of language at all. The meaning of a linguistic sign, he argues, is a set of conditions to be satisfied by an extra-linguistic entity, such that this entity may be identified as denoted by the said sign. A proper name is an individual name, and its meaning is a series of necessary and sufficient conditions for the identification of the individual entity which this name is intended to denote. It is Sørensen's view that this series consists of a definite description of final length including space and time indicators. The definiens formula for proper names is thus 'P' = 'the x that... t... p....' The discussion of this proposal is, however, greatly impaired by Sørensen's utter disregard for the rich philosophical literature existing on the subject: no attempt is made to confront his view with the now standard arguments against theories of that type. Even many inner difficulties of the proposed solution are ignored. E.g., one may ask what values do 't' and 'p' take in the definition of 'Zeus'. Or take the following puzzle: are 'The x that taught Aristotle in p at t' and 'The x that studied with Socrates in p at t' both the meaning of 'Plato'? Sørensen's view that "A national register may be looked upon as a dictionary of proper names" suggests a positive answer, but surely R and S cannot be the same meaning. Many similar problems bother the reader of Sørensen's book, but, unfortunately, they are nowhere discussed.—E. M. Z. (shrink)

In Hard Truths, Elijah Millgram maintains that analytic philosophy rests on a mistake. 1 It is committed to bivalence – the contention that every truth bearer is either true or false. As a result of this commitment, its views about logic and metaphysics are profoundly misguided. He believes that rather than restricting ourselves to two truth values, we should recognize a plethora of partial truths – sentences, beliefs and opinions that are partly true or true in a way. These are (...) located on a multidimensional continuum between truth and falsity. Millgram never says exactly what partial truth is. The closest he comes is ‘Partial truth is the not fully articulated standard, or family of standards to which we hold [utterances, inscriptions and thoughts] in partial truth inferences’ , where partial truth inferences are those used in cases where ‘there is a recognized mismatch between representation and world – but not in any way that requires changing the representations’ . A critical issue then is what constitutes such a mismatch. I will argue that Millgram’s reasons for recognizing partial truths rest on untenable conceptions of logic, truth and language. Perhaps there are partial truths; perhaps recognizing them would enhance our logic or metaphysics. But Millgram’s arguments fail to show it. 1. Logic Recognizing that there can be some truth in sentences that as a whole are false is not unprecedented. Analyses by Ullian and Goodman 2 and, more recently, Yablo 3 reveal how a false sentence or proposition can be true about a particular item. ‘The dog barks and the cat speaks French’ is true about the dog, even though the conjunction as a whole is false. This does not undermine classical logic. Rather, such analyses reveal that truth about a particular subject matter is more fine grained than truth simpliciter. ‘True …. (shrink)

Žižek as comedian: jokes in the service of philosophy.

cz. 1. Marksizm, myśl katolicka, filozofia egzystencjalna.