In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Bill Brandt: A LifeStuart Richmond, Professor of Arts EducationBill Brandt: A Life, by Paul Delany. Stanford California: Stanford University Press, 2004, 335 pp., $47.50 hardcover.From June to September 2003, Britain's famous art gallery, the Tate Modern, housed dramatically in a gigantic, renovated power station on the south bank of the Thames, held its first major photography exhibition, entitled Cruel and Tender after comments made by a critic (...) to describe the work of Walker Evans. The twenty-three artists in the show, including August Sander, Diane Arbus, Rineke Dijkkstra, William Eggleston, Walker Evans, Philip-Lorca diCorcia, and Thomas Ruff, were mainly Americans and Germans. Bill Brandt, who had a reputation as a documentary photographer, was not included. Writing in the catalogue, Tate director Nicholas Serota notes, "Cruel and Tender examines a form of documentary photography that keeps within the limits of the medium, stressing pure description.... Surrealist and Conceptual photography would fit more naturally into the programs and displays at the Tate, but the elusive and documentary qualities in straight photography challenge the traditions of the institution, by concentrating on a form of photography which explores the intrinsic aspects of the medium." In other words, "straight photography" serves as a kind of unemotional, uncreative narrative of ordinary life, avoiding drama, romanticism, sentimentality, deep coding, and, as far as possible, the expressive contributions of the artist. The relationship of photograph to reality, though problematic, is still interesting, according to the catalogue notes, and this contemporary work aims to inform us, literally, of the true essence, banal or otherwise, of our world. This approach acts implicitly to undermine the fake optimism of consumer capitalism.It will be useful to keep in mind this exhibition in considering the work of Brandt, for in the early 1980s Brandt was being lauded as Britain's greatest photographer, and he was nothing if not expressive. It was his métier to find the unusual in the everyday and to create meaning through careful staging and composition, drawing very much on his own personal outlook, aesthetic philosophy, and psychology. He believed all was permitted in photography, whether in the novel choice of lens, use of friends as models, or darkroom processing to achieve his vision. Rather than being a documentary photographer, at least in the purist sense of the Tate collection, he was more the poet ethnographer with a strong sense of the surreal. His was a vision that would be imposed on the world. After reading Paul Delany's excellent biography, it becomes clear why Brandt, all too soon, had become unfashionable in the eyes of the Tate organizers and contemporary photography at large. He is, nevertheless, an artist who can help us question the nature of reality while producing work that is often very complex and beautiful, and someone whose methods and ideas can serve as [End Page 118] a model of individual creative practice. The global interest in photography, the many significant exhibitions and books produced in the past decade, and the prices paid for photographs have by now lain to rest the old debate about whether photography is a genuine art form. As any serious photographer can attest, producing a photograph that has form, presence, and originality is dauntingly difficult, even though photography seems so easy. Everyone, today, has a camera. Yet, constantly fed with glitzy images from commerce and entertainment that direct our minds along certain well-worn grooves—a challenge for aesthetic education—budding artists require a certain strength of character and imagination to resist the literal and obvious and move toward a more authentic way of seeing. Delany's book shows how someone can defy fashion, as Brandt did for half a century, producing "pictorial" images layered with meaning and mystery. As an aside, despite the intent to show images that simply describe the world, some of the Tate pictures still manage, to my eye at least, to have their own ephemeral expressiveness, and at times great beauty, which raises the question, At what point does a document become a work of art? The Tate approach, with its strict theories, seems to be more interested in legislating than in exploring photographic practice.Biographies can... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Philosophy 38.1 (2000) 123-124 [Access article in PDF] Steven Nadler. Spinoza. A Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Pp. xiii + 407. Cloth, $34.95. Nadler's book is a comprehensive biography of Spinoza. It gives, within the limits of the information available, a full presentation of the life and personality of Spinoza; ample information about the different milieus in which Spinoza grew up (...) and lived; about the vicissitudes of the public life which marked his life and work; about the ways in which Spinoza's work evolved and, although it is not meant to be an "intellectual biography" (xiii), a general description of his thought. It is a welcome addition to the growing literature on Spinoza.The book begins with the story of the Jewish Portuguese community of Amsterdam, constituted by former Maranos who emigrated from the Iberian peninsula. Becoming in a very short time a flourishing community, it was unique in many ways, and the author nicely shows this. He explains how it had to rebuild its Judaism practically ex nihilo, and how this fact caused many of the inner tensions and rifts that marked its history. Nadler tells minutely the way that led to Spinoza's famous excommunication and the roles played by the main personalities involved in this dramatic event, which was not only a rupture with the community, but actually with Judaism in general.The author proceeds to examine the life of Spinoza outside the Jewish community. [End Page 123] We learn about the religiously and politically radical milieu within which Spinoza, a twenty-four-year-old man cut off all family and community ties, now lived; about the famous Spinoza circle of friends and disciples; and, most extraordinary of all, about his rather rapid ascent to a position of prominence in the Dutch and the European République des lettres.Nadler skillfully presents the concrete context of Spinoza's work and gives a chronological account of the way his philosophy gradually took shape. One gets the right feeling about the manner in which it was intertwined with the political events, the ideological and theological controversies that often threatened to tear apart the Dutch society, and to which Spinoza's work is to a large extent a reaction.The specifically philosophical and scientific context of Spinoza's work receives extensive treatment as well. The author discusses the work of Boyle, Huygens, and others with whom Spinoza had scientific exchanges. Most importantly, Nadler describes the Cartesian context of Spinoza's philosophy—Descartes' own philosophy and the Cartesian movement in the Netherlands. He gives an ample account of Spinoza's many connections within this context; he describes Spinoza's many correspondents and recounts many episodes, not all of them well known.Nadler's work is essentially based on the existing material and the extensive work done in unearthing Spinoza's life and background. He does it in quite an impressive way—he seems to have covered all the relevant material and to have studied all the relevant fields. It is a work of compilation—but in the best sense of the word. It makes manifest that an enormous amount of work has been done on these topics in this century and particularly in the last twenty years or so. Nadler succeeds—this is certainly a tour de force—in integrating this enormous amount of material into a coherent whole in which he also manages to keep the right amount of literary fluency and readability. Not the least of the book's merits is that it is never boring.Although I would recommend the book without any reservation to anyone who is interested in Spinoza—both beginners and veterans—I must make two brief critical remarks: 1. There seems to be some bias in favor of the Jewish background of Spinoza. Sure enough, the book is divided into two almost exactly equal parts which recount, respectively, Spinoza's life before and after the cherem (which, as a matter of fact, divides his short life into more or less equal parts). Yet—and without taking sides in the ongoing... (shrink)

The review examines different essays from the context set by the idea of 'everyday aesthetics'. Confronted with the notion of "everyday aesthetics," one is immediately faced with some problems of definition. Such problems potentially threaten the viability of the everyday aesthetics project to extend the scope of philosophical aesthetics, so that, as Jonathan Smith suggests in his introduction to this collection of essays, "nothing in the everyday world (or at least very little) can be supposed devoid of the power (...) to excite an aesthetic response." "Everyday" can mean both "daily" and "ordinary," and while the two definitions often coincide in practice, there's no necessary connection: we can conceive the "daily" as remarkable, and the "ordinary" may not be a regular occurrence. If we focus on the aesthetics of the "daily," we might wonder which particular daily occurrences we can be properly said to experience aesthetically and if this means some reassessment of the category of "aesthetic objects" is required, given that "daily" is so often associated with the mundane, the nonaesthetic. Alternatively, if we conceive an aesthetics of the "ordinary" (with agreement on this classification of certain events and objects), then our notion of the "aesthetic" now seems vulnerable on either of two counts: (1) to claims of incoherence, given any agreement that exemplary aesthetic experience, at least, is fundamentally not of the "ordinary" (and never of the "ugly," of the stained, damp, cracked, and so on, in our domestic lives) but of an extraordinary class of events and objects called "art"; (2) to claims of cognitive and moral triviality (to amorality too, perhaps, that it's possible then, after Thomas de Quincy, to appreciate the way a murder is done), so that the aesthetic response is understood as merely a subjective, noncritical "look and feel" response to (almost) everything. It should be evident, then, that the notion of everyday aesthetics needs clarification before it can be of value to those interested in instructing or helping people to live aesthetic lives, and that such work of clarification gets to the very heart of philosophical aesthetics: answers to questions about what constitutes the "aesthetic" in life will inform all aspects of aesthetic inquiry, education, and practice, including the making and appreciating of artworks. (shrink)

Although it is often hard to imagine, after years of neglect the philosophical concepts proposed by Alfred North Whitehead are again interesting. As the essays gathered together in The Lure of Whitehead indicate, this interest is not simply, or not only philosophical. Whitehead's ideas and propositions are becoming catalysts for a future that is not yet known, in fields and ways that do not always remain strictly philosophical.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Philosophy 39.4 (2001) 605-606 [Access article in PDF] Ben Rogers. A. J. Ayer: A Life. New York: Grove Press, 1999. Pp. ix + 402. Cloth, $30.00. A. J. Ayer (1910-89) had the misfortune, for a philosopher, to write his most influential book, Language, Truth, and Logic, when he was in his twenties, even though he continued to publish into his seventies, and to (...) have his nonphilosophical life overwhelm his philosophical one. Almost everyone now knows the story of how he saved Naomi Campbell by going a round with Mike Tyson. Ben Rogers nicely intertwines the facts of Ayer's day-to-day life—which is not to say "quotidian," given Ayer's ego and libido—with his philosophical peregrinations.Although Ayer picked up logical positivism in Vienna when attending sessions of the Vienna Circle, he had accepted the main lines of an empiricism and positivism earlier and on his own. For twentieth-century British philosophy, Language, Truth, and Logic was both a philosophical Declaration of Independence (from metaphysics) and the Constitution for a new philosophy. Unfortunately, its founding principle, the principle of verifiability, was irremediably flawed, notwithstanding Ayer's best efforts, notably in the Preface to the second edition of 1946. Logical positivism in Britain lasted for only about a decade (1935-46). In fact, it may have been less. Language, Truth, and Logic was published in 1936, and Ayer "went off to war" in 1940, to speak loosely. (He spent a significant part of it in a Mediterranean villa, a Park Avenue apartment, "a palatial home" in Paris lent him by Guy de Rothschild, and in the best restaurants with friendly women.) No major British philosopher was championing Logical Positivism between 1940 and 1945. When Ayer returned to Oxford in 1945, he discovered that "the [philosophical] climate had changed; before the conflict he had been the leader of the avant-garde; now the brighter students and the young dons looked on logical positivism as old hat. He had mysteriously passed "from being a young Turk to being, at the age of thirty-five, to almost an elder statesman, without ever having known the plenitude of office'" (198). During the late 1940's, Ayer wrote mostly for London literary and arts magazines. The profession of philosophy disappointed him, and later, he found it difficult to keep up "in logic and the philosophy of maths and sciences" (262).Logical positivism had a longer life in North America, to which several of its members emigrated. But its influence was felt much longer in both places, primarily for its emphasis on three things: empiricism, empiricism, empiricism.Ayer continued to publish philosophy until the mid-1980s. Given the demise of logical positivism, he was something of a dinosaur, albeit a Tyrannosaurus Rex. There was no one else quite like him, and yet he could not be ignored. He was a formidable critic of whatever most other British philosophers were doing. In addition to his obvious intellectual brilliance, he was an excellent writer and expositor. After 1970, most of his books are potboilers, skillful in execution, but of no lasting merit, for example, Russell and Moore (1971), Russell (1972), Hume (1980), and Wittgenstein (1985). Ayer told Stephen Spender that "Russell's History of Western Philosophy... had made its author a fortune and he hoped his [Philosophy in the Twentieth Century (1981)] would do the same" (326). [End Page 605] He accepted a L 30,000. advance for a book about Thomas Paine, about whom he knew virtually nothing, and then did his research: "I mugged up just enough information from some American scholar, whose name I forget, an essay of Michael Foot and, principally, Moncure Conway" (342).As prominent as Ayer was in British culture—writing for the Spectator and Horizon, giving commentary on soccer, appearing on television, and championing liberal causes—he was something of a philosophical outsider. He had more affinity for the Cambridge philosophers, Moore, Russell, and the early Wittgenstein, than for his Oxford colleagues; the heart of his career was spent at the University of London, before... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Philosophy 38.1 (2000) 123-124 [Access article in PDF] Steven Nadler. Spinoza. A Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Pp. xiii + 407. Cloth, $34.95. Nadler's book is a comprehensive biography of Spinoza. It gives, within the limits of the information available, a full presentation of the life and personality of Spinoza; ample information about the different milieus in which Spinoza grew up (...) and lived; about the vicissitudes of the public life which marked his life and work; about the ways in which Spinoza's work evolved and, although it is not meant to be an "intellectual biography" (xiii), a general description of his thought. It is a welcome addition to the growing literature on Spinoza.The book begins with the story of the Jewish Portuguese community of Amsterdam, constituted by former Maranos who emigrated from the Iberian peninsula. Becoming in a very short time a flourishing community, it was unique in many ways, and the author nicely shows this. He explains how it had to rebuild its Judaism practically ex nihilo, and how this fact caused many of the inner tensions and rifts that marked its history. Nadler tells minutely the way that led to Spinoza's famous excommunication and the roles played by the main personalities involved in this dramatic event, which was not only a rupture with the community, but actually with Judaism in general.The author proceeds to examine the life of Spinoza outside the Jewish community. [End Page 123] We learn about the religiously and politically radical milieu within which Spinoza, a twenty-four-year-old man cut off all family and community ties, now lived; about the famous Spinoza circle of friends and disciples; and, most extraordinary of all, about his rather rapid ascent to a position of prominence in the Dutch and the European République des lettres.Nadler skillfully presents the concrete context of Spinoza's work and gives a chronological account of the way his philosophy gradually took shape. One gets the right feeling about the manner in which it was intertwined with the political events, the ideological and theological controversies that often threatened to tear apart the Dutch society, and to which Spinoza's work is to a large extent a reaction.The specifically philosophical and scientific context of Spinoza's work receives extensive treatment as well. The author discusses the work of Boyle, Huygens, and others with whom Spinoza had scientific exchanges. Most importantly, Nadler describes the Cartesian context of Spinoza's philosophy—Descartes' own philosophy and the Cartesian movement in the Netherlands. He gives an ample account of Spinoza's many connections within this context; he describes Spinoza's many correspondents and recounts many episodes, not all of them well known.Nadler's work is essentially based on the existing material and the extensive work done in unearthing Spinoza's life and background. He does it in quite an impressive way—he seems to have covered all the relevant material and to have studied all the relevant fields. It is a work of compilation—but in the best sense of the word. It makes manifest that an enormous amount of work has been done on these topics in this century and particularly in the last twenty years or so. Nadler succeeds—this is certainly a tour de force—in integrating this enormous amount of material into a coherent whole in which he also manages to keep the right amount of literary fluency and readability. Not the least of the book's merits is that it is never boring.Although I would recommend the book without any reservation to anyone who is interested in Spinoza—both beginners and veterans—I must make two brief critical remarks: 1. There seems to be some bias in favor of the Jewish background of Spinoza. Sure enough, the book is divided into two almost exactly equal parts which recount, respectively, Spinoza's life before and after the cherem (which, as a matter of fact, divides his short life into more or less equal parts). Yet—and without taking sides in the ongoing... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Philosophy 39.4 (2001) 605-606 [Access article in PDF] Ben Rogers. A. J. Ayer: A Life. New York: Grove Press, 1999. Pp. ix + 402. Cloth, $30.00. A. J. Ayer (1910-89) had the misfortune, for a philosopher, to write his most influential book, Language, Truth, and Logic, when he was in his twenties, even though he continued to publish into his seventies, and to (...) have his nonphilosophical life overwhelm his philosophical one. Almost everyone now knows the story of how he saved Naomi Campbell by going a round with Mike Tyson. Ben Rogers nicely intertwines the facts of Ayer's day-to-day life—which is not to say "quotidian," given Ayer's ego and libido—with his philosophical peregrinations.Although Ayer picked up logical positivism in Vienna when attending sessions of the Vienna Circle, he had accepted the main lines of an empiricism and positivism earlier and on his own. For twentieth-century British philosophy, Language, Truth, and Logic was both a philosophical Declaration of Independence (from metaphysics) and the Constitution for a new philosophy. Unfortunately, its founding principle, the principle of verifiability, was irremediably flawed, notwithstanding Ayer's best efforts, notably in the Preface to the second edition of 1946. Logical positivism in Britain lasted for only about a decade (1935-46). In fact, it may have been less. Language, Truth, and Logic was published in 1936, and Ayer "went off to war" in 1940, to speak loosely. (He spent a significant part of it in a Mediterranean villa, a Park Avenue apartment, "a palatial home" in Paris lent him by Guy de Rothschild, and in the best restaurants with friendly women.) No major British philosopher was championing Logical Positivism between 1940 and 1945. When Ayer returned to Oxford in 1945, he discovered that "the [philosophical] climate had changed; before the conflict he had been the leader of the avant-garde; now the brighter students and the young dons looked on logical positivism as old hat. He had mysteriously passed "from being a young Turk to being, at the age of thirty-five, to almost an elder statesman, without ever having known the plenitude of office'" (198). During the late 1940's, Ayer wrote mostly for London literary and arts magazines. The profession of philosophy disappointed him, and later, he found it difficult to keep up "in logic and the philosophy of maths and sciences" (262).Logical positivism had a longer life in North America, to which several of its members emigrated. But its influence was felt much longer in both places, primarily for its emphasis on three things: empiricism, empiricism, empiricism.Ayer continued to publish philosophy until the mid-1980s. Given the demise of logical positivism, he was something of a dinosaur, albeit a Tyrannosaurus Rex. There was no one else quite like him, and yet he could not be ignored. He was a formidable critic of whatever most other British philosophers were doing. In addition to his obvious intellectual brilliance, he was an excellent writer and expositor. After 1970, most of his books are potboilers, skillful in execution, but of no lasting merit, for example, Russell and Moore (1971), Russell (1972), Hume (1980), and Wittgenstein (1985). Ayer told Stephen Spender that "Russell's History of Western Philosophy... had made its author a fortune and he hoped his [Philosophy in the Twentieth Century (1981)] would do the same" (326). [End Page 605] He accepted a L 30,000. advance for a book about Thomas Paine, about whom he knew virtually nothing, and then did his research: "I mugged up just enough information from some American scholar, whose name I forget, an essay of Michael Foot and, principally, Moncure Conway" (342).As prominent as Ayer was in British culture—writing for the Spectator and Horizon, giving commentary on soccer, appearing on television, and championing liberal causes—he was something of a philosophical outsider. He had more affinity for the Cambridge philosophers, Moore, Russell, and the early Wittgenstein, than for his Oxford colleagues; the heart of his career was spent at the University of London, before... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 27.2 (2003) 475-477 [Access article in PDF] A Small Treatise on the Great Virtues: The Uses of Philosophy in Everyday Life, by André Comte-Sponville, trans. Catherine Temerson; x & 352 pp. New York: Metropolitan Books, 2001. Of two minds, I mirror the two sorts of audience this book's twenty-four translations have sought: "students" and "readers" (p. 5), those for whom the scholarly content and apparatus (...) may be of interest and those hopefully many more who wish to become better, to become virtuous. Although "students" will not find sustained engagement with this book rewarding, its bright virtues will raise "readerly" smiles among them.Reasons for Small's great popularity since its 1995 PUF release derive not from essaying eighteen virtues in its eighteen chapters. Its allure is its dance with love's piquant absences, a dance with virtues as "feeble approximations of love" (p. 98). Indeed, chapter 1 teaches that politeness "is not a virtue but a simulacrum that imitates virtue (in adults) and paves the way for it (in children)" (p. 13). And since love, "the alpha and omega of all virtue" (p. 226), is not itself clearly a virtue, then perhaps at most fifteen virtues are treated. For as all readers will pleasurably discover, purity (chapter 14) is really refractions of love's qualities.The virtues are multiply interconnected, not unified as Socrates thought. This idea finds graceful expression, among other places, at the conclusion of "Generosity" (chapter 7). "Combined with courage, it turns out to be heroism. Joined by justice, it becomes equity. Coupled with compassion, it becomes benevolence. In league with mercy, it becomes leniency" (p. 102). And chap-ter 9's mercy? "Because hatred is a sadness, mercy (like the process of mourning, which it resembles and might even require, since to forgive is to bid farewell to our hatred) is on the side of joy. When it is not yet joyous, it is forgiveness; when it already is, it is love" (p. 131). Simone Weil's meditations on God's absence, or "withdrawal," occasion insights into authentic parental love. [End Page 475] God does not fill the world since "were he to do so, there would be only God and no world"; similarly, "more often than one might think, parents withdraw, step back, cede their space to their children, and refrain from exercising all the power at their disposal. Why? Because they love them" (p. 274).Unfortunately, love's flowers, potted in this garden of Adonis (Phaedrus 276b), must contend with "student" scrutiny from without and a suffocating lack of concision from within. This "student's" efforts failed to disentangle ambivalences about the loving ego in the long, concluding love chapter. Organized into three sections—eros, philia, agape—the first has no patience for subtleties of the Symposium's eros. "Have I begged the question?... So be it," since Plato confuses "love—in all its forms—with [ego's] want" (p. 243). Philia "is a different way of [ego's] possessing, of enjoying" (p. 277). Finally, agape, universal and disinterested love, is simply one's genuine conatus, one's true power of existing (pp. 270f). So ego loves three ways—desire, possession, power—but each is about ego. Eros "usually" (p. 262) intermixes with philia: "we are forever hesitating, oscillating, fluctuating between the two affects [desire and joy] and the two truths (Plato's and Spinoza's), between want and capacity, hope and gratitude, passion and action, religion and wisdom, between the love that desires only what it does not have and wants to possess (ero \ s), and the love [philia] that, since it desires only what is, has everything it desires and finds pleasure and joy in it" (p. 253). Nevertheless, philia without excess Platonic eros is about and for ego, not alter. For the friend per se gives ego joy: ego's joy is the definiens of philia (pp. 249ff). Disconcertingly, there are a few contrary formulations of philia as loving "the other for the other's benefit" (p. 262). If "metaphysics is the... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Buddhist-Christian Studies 20 (2000) 263-265 [Access article in PDF] Book Review The Silent Dialogue: Zen Letters to a Trappist Monk Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit: The Place of Zen in Christian Life The Silent Dialogue: Zen Letters to a Trappist Monk. By David G. Hackett. New York: Continuum, 1996. 157 pp. Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit: The Place of Zen in Christian Life. By Robert E. Kennedy. New (...) York: Continuum, 1997. 144 pp. Two very different books recently published by Continuum seem to complement each other in unexpected ways. Father Kennedy, Catholic Zen Teacher, Jesuit Priest, openly shares with us his own journey into unknowing and self-emptying. As he notes in his preface, "what I looked for in Zen was not a new faith, but a new way of being Catholic that grew out of my own lived experience..." (p. 13). David Hackett, now an associate professor of religion, freely shares his youthful search for genuine spiritual experience. His book is drawn from correspondence from the 1970s with Father Thomas Keating and the monks of the St. Joseph's Abbey during his two-year stay in Japan. Hackett says in his Prologue, "I became a Catholic through Zen meditation..." (p. 17). In both cases, rather than threaten or diminish their Christian faith, Zen practice served as a wonderful "can-opener," prying off lids of rigid ideas and concepts, allowing the depth of the spirit to be more deeply experienced.Part I of Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit, addressed primarily to the Christian reader, offers an excellent introduction into Buddhism, Zen, and the essential elements of practice. In this section Kennedy has reflected the questions Christians have asked during the years he taught at the Zen Community of New York. His teacher there, Bernard Tetsugen Glassman Roshi, clarifies in the foreword Father Kennedy's position as a lay Zen Teacher who remains a Catholic priest. Kennedy weaves a consistent thread of Christian contemplative teachings side by side with the Zen teachings, making very visible the fact that Zen reminds us, as do Eckhart, Merton, and many other contemplatives, that the highest point of our Christian mysticism is reached not in the experience that I know God or that I love God--not in any I-Thou experience--but in the experience that God lives in us (p. 36).The book has been structured according to the four stages of human growth: knowledge, love, purification, and union. These stages have been likened to the stages of alchemy: lead, quicksilver, sulphur, and gold--these four elements provide Kennedy with his titles for the four parts of his book. This very structure makes clear that the goal of both Christian mysticism and Zen practice is transformation of being. With a firm foundation of knowledge and teachings from both traditions, then it is time to actually enter the fire of practice itself. I am reminded of the stages of practice outlined in the ancient Chinese Zen ox-herding pictures. The herdsman sets out with some knowledge, longing for his True Nature. He sees traces--footprints in the sand--and a deep yearning, the quicksilver of desire and inspiration, begins to ache in his heart. As he begins to see and experience his own True Nature, he must pass through the fire of struggle, surrender, deep letting go, until finally both herdsman [End Page 263] and ox disappear, self-emptying is complete in Union. There are no shortcuts. Jesus and Buddha both have invited us to practice radical poverty. Kennedy states, "The poverty of not clinging, not projecting, not finding shelter, and not seeking parallel lives, can lead us to the deepest intimacy of all" (p. 114).Kennedy received his early formative Zen training under Koun Yamada Roshi, a beloved and deeply appreciated teacher, in Kamakura. His Roshi offered a style of practice which utilized the koan (rationally unsolvable question or paradox) to provoke the student into a direct experience rather than an explanation or idea about it. Kennedy Sensei has shared his insight into many... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Journal of the History of Philosophy 41.2 (2003) 268-269 [Access article in PDF] A. A. Long. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. New York: Oxford University Press, Clarendon Press, 2002. Pp. xiv + 310. Cloth, $29.95. Anthony Long's new book on Epictetus is a signal achievement for which scholars of Hellenistic philosophy, historians of intellectual culture, and thoughtful people generally ought to feel an enormous gratitude. (...) And here's why: Epictetus, a Greek philosopher (ca. 50-ca. 135 AD) in the Roman Empire, was popular in his own day and was influential with Marcus Aurelius as well as with Christian writers in the medieval period. Often cited and quoted, his influence perhaps reached an acme in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. His reputation languished in the nineteenth and most of the twentieth century. And even toward the end of the twentieth century—barring the interest of a handful of scholars—Epictetus was regarded primarily as a popularizer of Stoicism. Against this background Long's luminous study of Epictetus's philosophy can be measured, for what Long has done is to make us see that Epictetus is an important philosopher in his own right and not merely a popular purveyor of Stoic thought. He has done this by expounding three of the fundamental strands in Epictetus's thought. One is the immense role that Socrates plays in [End Page 268] Epictetus's teaching. The second is the unique character of Epictetus's teaching method—conversational and directly confrontational. And, thirdly, is the emphatic way in which Epictetus attempts to inculcate the Stoic doctrine that he found most congenial for the conduct of human life: that a human being's happiness and destiny is in his own power. For in his power and only in his power are those things alone which will secure him that happiness: his judgments and his desires. There is much else in Long's lucid account but by his emphasis on these themes and his inclusion of key passages he has translated from the Discourses he has with keen discernment brought to the world's attention both the cultural significance and the philosophical importance of this neglected philosopher. I now consider these themes in turn.In "the most creative appropriation of Socrates subsequent to the works of Plato and Xenophon" (94), Epictetus applies Socratic elenchus in his educational practice, for he uses it in conversational contexts to expose inconsistencies in students' preconceptions (regarding the desirability of goodness and the identity of goodness with the advantageous) and their judgments about the goodness or badness of some particular thing. In fact, part of Long's argument that Epictetus's discourses are wrongly construed as diatribes or sermons is that on analysis they can often be shown to be elenctic conversations in which the aim is to expose contradictions in a student's belief, say, that the happy life consists in the pursuit of what is advantageous and that running away from a dying daughter is an advantageous thing to do. More generally, the student is made to concentrate his attention on his preconceptions and motivations. While Long emphasizes the extent to which Epictetus, more than any other Stoic, appropriates Socratic elenchus in his educational methodology, he also, while directing attention to another aspect of that methodology, points out Epictetus's major departure from Socrates' use of elenchus. In Plato's Dialogues Socrates is always represented as engaged in conversations with others. Epictetus, by contrast, seems most bent on encouraging the student to engage in dialogue with himself, to try in an interior conversation with himself to bring to the surface of consciousness conflicts between his own moral preconceptions and motivations, on the one hand, and particular value judgments, on the other; and, in this way, to use the internal elenchus as his "principal instrument of moral progress" (86).Epictetus makes volition the central element in a human being's identity, character, and purpose. In the domain of volition are the only two things that are up to the individual—assents to impressions and... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Hegel’s Practical Philosophy: Rational Agency as Ethical LifeLiz DisleyRobert B. Pippin. Hegel’s Practical Philosophy: Rational Agency as Ethical Life. Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Pp. xi + 308. Paper, $29.99In this work, Pippin offers an interpretation of freedom, rationality, and agency in Hegel’s work and adds substantive content to the key concept of recognition. In doing so, he offers not only a compelling elucidation of a (...) particularly opaque part of Hegel’s analysis of human action and interaction, but also demonstrates the relevance of his practical philosophy to contemporary discussions about free will, intersubjectivity, autonomy, recognition, and liberalism. Pippin provides a substantial defense of Hegel’s position in the context of contemporary political philosophy, arguing against a commonly-held view that Hegelian political philosophy must be much closer to modern communitarian theories than those of classical or modern liberalism. Pippin’s work is central to the recent resurgence of interest in Hegel’s theoretical philosophy by analytical philosophers such as Robert Brandom and John McDowell, as well as the renewed study of recognition in a practical context.Controversially, Pippin claims that Hegel has only one theory of intersubjectivity and recognition from the time of the Jena writings to the Philosophy of Right. The theory develops from an initial stage, where “the desideratum of mutual recognition is posed and explored,” to a realization that ethical life as described in the Philosophy of Right provides the necessary conditions for rational, mutual recognition (184n4). Thus, he rejects the common view in recent Continental Hegel scholarship, asserted by critics including Jürgen Habermas, Michael Theunissen, and Axel Honneth, that Hegel fails to develop adequately the theory of intersubjectivity initially present in his earlier writings and subsumes intersubjectivity into a “grand metaphysical process” of the Absolute Subject’s self-manifestation (184).Pippin defends Hegel from this common charge on the basis of his “very unusual” concept of freedom (185). The key claim here is that Hegel does not set recognition or indeed other-relation as a precondition for any kind of self-relation, but rather, “A true individual [End Page 112] is a free subject and recognition relations function in a complex way as conditions for that possibility” (186). This seems like a promising method of demonstrating that Hegel’s intersubjectivity does not, after all, dissolve in the face of a monological divine conception of reality. The difficulty with the approach, as Pippin concedes, is that it involves making a series of radical, strange, and controversial claims. These claims, in general, focus on the temporal priority of freedom, recognition, and rationality: deeds can count as “mine” in Pippin’s special sense only if they are undertaken rationally, but this state of rationality depends on being in a social state of recognizing and being recognized (190). However, it is neither radical nor strange to make a clear distinction between human interdependence in terms of our particular social psychology and in terms of “an ideal of normative mutuality inherent in any attempt to act” (211).Pippin appreciates that defenders of Hegel’s concept of recognition do not want to say that I cannot be a free subject by myself, but at the same time want to leave the door open for there to be some kind of possibility of ascertaining moral harm in cases of failure to recognize. For Pippin, free actions, and actions committed out of free will, are those committed by agents in a particular social context, namely being situated within norm-governed relations of reciprocal recognition to others. Such an approach fulfills neither of these criteria, since it means I cannot be free by myself but also that, in the case of my being placed in a situation where I am not within these relations of reciprocal recognition to others, there is no obvious originator of moral harm caused by this recognition (218). Pippin accepts that there is no clear answer to this difficulty, but his account of the genesis of norms and social rationality does save Hegel’s account from the objection by Theunissen, Habermas, Honneth et al. mentioned above. Like Rolf-Peter Horstmann, Pippin sees the answer to charges of introducing a... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Way Things Are: Conversations with Huston Smith on the Spiritual LifeBrian KarafinThe Way Things Are: Conversations with Huston Smith on the Spiritual Life. Edited by Phil Cousineau. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. 314 + xxiv pp.A certain air of dialectical paradox hovers around the figure of Huston Smith, a seeming conjunction of opposites that constitute "Huston Smith," apprehended not so much as a real individual (...) but as a cultural phenomenon in the life of our time. In books, television shows, interviews, and innumerable public talks and workshops, not to speak of five decades of classroom performativity, "Huston Smith" dances before us as a friendly master, a bearer of secret lore that seems freely offered in his open palms. He is an esoteric metaphysician who has played the role of public intellectual in matters religious from virtually the beginning of his career in the 1950s into the twenty-first century. As a champion of the perennial philosophy contained in the revealed traditions of the past, his writing addresses itself not to the scholars of that past but to the spiritual seekers and general publics of the postmodern new age. He is a guardian of orthodoxy, a defender of the hierarchical worldview of the great chain of being, who nevertheless, perhaps out of an excess of geniality, seems always on the verge of heterodox admissions. In these senses Huston Smith stands before us asa kind of hermetic trickster figure, a psychopomp attempting to lead the post-traditional multitudes back into touch with their spiritual roots hidden in the occulted shadows of the cultural unconscious—an unconscious constituted by the sunlit world of modern science as its repressed Other. There are riches in that underworld, hermetic Huston asserts beckoningly; follow me down into this dark Light.The interviews collected and edited by Phil Cousineau are, short of some future biographical study, the best place for the uninitiated to enter into the world of Huston Smith. Those who already know Smith's corpus might find this book slightly irksome in the repetitiveness, which is inevitable in any such gathering of interviews [End Page 186] conducted by a wide assortment of journalists who often have similar if not identical questions. The Way Things Are is nonetheless valuable in bringing forth the public voice of Huston Smith on his signature range of themes: the world's religions as repositories of "forgotten truth," the ideology of scientism as standing in need of philosophical critique in order to recover that truth, and the continuing cultural implications of the clashing worldviews of religion and science, tradition and modernity.Huston Smith's biographical trajectory as discussed in many of these interviews, while known in its general outlines by many (especially since the Bill Moyers series of televised interviews), bears meditating on as a way of elaborating this sense of dialectical paradox in what is often, overly simply, seen as the sunlit and straightforward figure of Smith as contemporary religious philosopher. Born in China of Methodist missionary parents, religion dawned for Smith in the form of a benevolently evangelical Protestantism surrounded by a religious and cultural other: the world of "the East." Returning to the United States for college and with plans for a career in ministry and mission work, Smith fell in love with the discipline of philosophy, which he pursued in graduate school under the tutelage of Henry Nelson Wieman. The naturalistic theism of Wieman was soon displaced, however, by Smith's encounter with the writings of Gerald Heard, who gave expression to the mystical worldview that has been the foundation of Smith's philosophy ever since. A sense of the reality of monistic, neo-Vedantist mystical experience, as formulated by Heard's writings of the 1940s and 1950s, led Smith to an encounter with Heard's fellow exiled English mystical Vedantist and perennial philosopher Aldous Huxley. The combined influences of Heard and Huxley, inclusive of their interest in psychedelic experimentalism, shaped the spiritual perspective of the next decade of Smith's life in St. Louis, studying with a swami of the Ramakrishna-Vivekananda order, beginning his academic career, and launching into his role as popularizer of comparative religion through a television series... (shrink)

Up to now scholars have not approached E[pictetus] as author, stylist, educator, and thinker, according to the eminent scholar of Stoicism Tony L[ong]. The aim of this book is to fill precisely this gap. L wants "to provide an accessible guide to reading E, both as a remarkable historical figure and as a thinker whose recipe for a free and satisfying life can engage our modern selves, in spite of our cultural distance from him" (2). This goal is met (...) admirably. Not only does L succeed in presenting E on his own terms, but in the process, he fairly demolishes the view, held by many since Adolf Bonhöffer,1 that E is a sturdy but unoriginal moralist who basically rehashed the same ideas, with an emphasis on practical application, that were articulated in a more sophisticated, theoretically fastidious form by Chrysippus and the early Stoics. (shrink)