Yūsuf al-Ardabīlī is one of the Shāfiʿī jurists who lived in Azerbaijan in the 8th century of Hijri. This scholar, whose birth date we couldn’t find any information about, even though it has been searched in both local and foreign literature, died in Ardabīl in the year 799/1397 as bibliographical scholars agreed on. Ardabīlī is a person known by his work al-Anwār li-aʿmāl al-abrār, which he dedicated to Shāfiʿī jurisprudence, and someone with jurisprudential knowledge whom Shāfiʿī jurists benefit from. In (...) his work on jurisprudence (furūʿ al-fiqh), al-Anwār, he discussed the issues without delving deeply into evidences and partially mentioned uṣūl al-fiqh. Yūsuf al-Ardabīlī addressed the topics in his work by classifying them as acts of worship (ʿibādāt), transactions (muʿāmalāt), inheritance (farāʾiḍ), marriage and divorce (munākaḥāt-mufāraqāt), punishments (ʿuqūbāt), the conduct of judges (adab al-qāḍī), and freeing slaves (ʿitq). Moreover, in his work, he provides explanations that shed light on recent studies by addressing the subject of fatwā in detail. By addressing the fatwā institutions, Ardabīlī includes information on topics like the etiquette of istiftāʾ, fatwā with sharīʿah tricks (ḥiyal sharʿiyyah), and exceptions in divorce (ṭalāq). Because no academic studies have been done on his explanations in this field, the subject requires further attention. Additionally, presenting his explanations on the fatwā institution to the scholarly community is greatly important for shedding light on future studies. Islamic jurists recognize fatwā activities as a duty that requires responsibility in terms of religion and worldly life. Therefore, they do not favor the participation of those who lack knowledge and the capability of deducing religious rulings from sharīʿah evidences in fatwā activities.This study aims to contribute to the Islamic jurisprudence literature by addressing the principles of fatwā procedure through Ardabīlī’s perspective in his work, al-Anwār. (shrink)

Clocks and Rulers Play Tricks. 6. Work Changes Mass. 7. Summing Up. Index. Unabridged republication of the edition published by Basic Books, Inc.

Huntington ; argues that recent commentators err in attributing to Nāgārjuna and Candrakīrti a commitment to rationality and to the use of argument, and that these commentators do violence to the Madhyamaka project by using rational reconstruction in their interpretation of Nāgārjuna’s and Candrakīrti’s texts. Huntington argues instead that mādhyamikas reject reasoning, distrust logic and do not offer arguments. He also argues that interpreters ought to recuse themselves from argument in order to be faithful to these texts. I demonstrate that (...) he is wrong in all respects: Nāgārjuna and Candrakīrti deploy arguments, take themselves to do so, and even if they did not, we would be wise to do so in commenting on their texts. (shrink)

Recent highly publicized ethical breaches including those at Enron and WorldCom have focused attention on ethical behavior within the accounting profession. At the heart of the debate is whether ethical attitudes of accountants are to blame. Using a nationally representative sample of accounting practitioners and a multidisciplinary student sample at two Southern United States universities, we compare sample responses to 25 ethically charged vignettes to test whether they differ. Overall, we find no significant difference - even for a specific "accounting (...) tricks" vignette, which resembles the Enron and WorldCom situations. We do find, however, that the practitioners were more accepting of vignettes that involved physical harm to individuals and those that were legal. We postulate that accounting practitioners may apply a legalistic framework to their assessment of the acceptability of each vignette. Focusing on an "accounting tricks" vignette, we also find no significant difference between auditors and institutional practitioners compared to all other types of accountants in the sample. We conclude that ethical attitudes of accounting practitioners do not differ significantly by specialty area. (shrink)

There is a mental malaise creeping through the collective human mindset. Mass psychosis is becoming normalized. It is time to break free... One of the key problems facing human beings today is that we do not look after our minds. As a consequence, we are unaware of the malicious impacts that infiltrate and influence us on a daily basis. This lack of awareness leaves people open and vulnerable. Many of us have actually become alienated from our own minds, argues Kingsley (...) L. Dennis. This is how manipulations occur that result in phenomena such as crowd behaviour and susceptibility to political propaganda, consumerist advertising and social management. Mass psychosis is only possible because humanity has become alienated from its transcendental source. In this state, we are prisoners to the impulses that steer our unconscious. We may believe we have freedom, but we don’t. Healing the Wounded Mind discusses these external influences in terms of a collective mental disease – the wetiko virus (Forbes), ahrimanic forces (Steiner), the alien mind (Castaneda), and the collective unconscious shadow (Jung). The human mind has been targeted by corrupt forces that seek to exploit our thinking on a grand scale. This is the ‘magician’s trick’ that has kept us captive within the social systems that both distract and subdue us. In the first part of this transformative book, the author outlines how the Wounded Mind manifests in cultural conditioning, from childhood onwards. In the second part, he examines how ‘hypermodern’ cultures are being formed by this mental psychosis and shaping our brave new world. In an inspiring conclusion, we are shown the gnostic path to freedom through connecting with the transcendental source of life. (shrink)

This book argues that a descriptive, systematic, non-intuitive semantics cannot be provided for a natural language: that while a non-intuitive, formal explication can be provided for the competent speaker’s intuitions about grammaticality, this has not been, and likely cannot be, provided for such a speaker’s intuitions of synonymy, analyticity, and significance. Tartaglia concludes that Quine has actually established, not that we do not have an intuitive, informal notion of the analytic-synthetic distinction, but rather that we have failed, and likely will (...) fail, at providing "a practical, nonintuitive procedure for deciding, irrespective of extra linguistic content, whether a given statement is analytic or synthetic." "[Since] the language of knowledge consists of a system or systems in which no single statement can be said to be true or false in isolation from other statements in its system, then the lexicographer’s problem is insoluble". Tartaglia criticizes the 1964 Katz-Fodor paper, "The Structure of a Semantic Theory" by the undiminishing flea method: the bachelor finally dies is ambiguous both by theory and intuition; but the old bachelor finally dies requires the addition of a semantic marker,, to bring theory in line with intuition ; and the congenitally blind bachelor finally dies will make another semantic marker necessary and so on. But the trick can be worked with grammaticality too. Tartaglia suggests that grammaticality is well on its way to a reasonably adequate explication, while synonymy, etc., is not. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Implicit Soul of Charlie Kaufman's AdaptationDavid L. SmithI don't know what else there is to write about other than being human, or, more specifically, being this human. I have no alternative. Everything is about that, right? Unless it's about flowers.—Charlie Kaufman 1There are some things that cannot be observed directly, even in principle: a single quark, the present moment, ones own eye. What Richard Rodriquez calls the "one (...) subject" of literature—"What it feels like to be alive" 2 —is perhaps another one of those things. A writer struggles to be true to something central about life—to catch it on the fly, to get it right. Some have reified this "something" as "the soul" or "the human spirit." Today, though, we mainly rely on placeholders: "it," for example, as in "do you get it?" or "what's it all about?"—a usage that flirts with the vanishing "it" of "it is raining," implying a source or substance behind phenomena in which we do not really believe but without which we cannot do justice to experience. In any case, the writer's attempt to represent this elusive heart of things is typically frustrated, done in by the slipperiness of words, the cludginess of the conventions of communication, and the waywardness of the imagination. Writing inevitably falls short of its deepest aims.Nevertheless, there is something deviously affirmative in this state of affairs. For if life is a thing that refuses to be observed, then isn't the very failure of literature, if consciously acknowledged, a way of staying true to it? Isn't the writer's disappointment an especially telling feature of "what it feels like to be alive?" Emerson, more clearly than most, understood how this trick is turned: "We grant that human life is [End Page 424] mean; but how did we find out that it was mean? What is the ground of this uneasiness of ours; of this old discontent? What is the universal sense of want and ignorance, but the fine innuendo by which the soul makes its enormous claim?" 3 As noted above, "the soul" is a disposable term here. If you prefer, say simply "the human," "life," or "it." The point, in any case, is that the elusive subject which cannot be stated or represented directly may nevertheless be implied. If the human cannot be caught in a formula, it may be embodied or enacted in the ongoing work of creation.Charlie Kaufman's Adaptation is both an argument for and an example of this implicit realization of the human in art. Many viewers and even reviewers might see it as a poor candidate for humanistic interpretation along these lines. Most, in fact, have seen the film as little more than a clever postmodern puzzle-box, albeit one with great acting, deft direction, and a generous sense of humor. Its theme, after all, is the representation of representation. A book is being rewritten or adapted to become the film we are watching. The subject of that film is its own author's struggle to create it. The film further calls attention to its own artificiality by changing the rules of representation on us midway through. Its tone, style, and basic genre conventions shift when the author/protagonist begins to rethink his original purposes, undermining the credibility of all representational schemes in the process. Adaptation, in short, seems to be what the graduate-educated a decade ago might have felt comfortable calling "an endless play of simulacra," a text absorbed in its own textuality, a snake that eats its own tail. 4All of this is true enough, but it is not the whole story. The point of Adaptation, I will argue, is not simply the pleasure it takes in playing with issues of representation, but its clear sense of the human issues at stake in that play. Adaptation, that is, is not only about the way words tend to float free of the world. Rather, it is also a demonstration of the way a writer's basic goal can survive the wreck of her intentions, or the way that failed attempts to be true to life... (shrink)

The last line should, I believe, be printed as a question. Strepsides is seated on the sacred and a wreath is put on his head, which makes him feel like a sacrificial victim. In 261 he is told to hold still, and we gather from that at this point he is being sprinkled with some dry substance. If we put the full stop at the end, he is saying, ‘I can see you won't disappoint me: being sprinkled like this will (...) make me into flour all right’. If we make it a question, it is ‘No fear, you won't trick me: you mean being sprinkled is the way to turn into flour?’ This seems more in keeping with his apprehension in 257, and it allows what is perhaps a more natural sense to. (shrink)

Stewart’s book reminds one of Voltaire’s remark to the effect that history is the trick that the living play on the dead. In that spirit, careful readers must critically consider Stewart’s reconsiderations to discover his tricks. This review is only a beginning, for this important book will be debated for years to come.

ABSTRACTA lineage has been drawn between the immanent philosophy articulated by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari and the work of Donna Haraway, most notably by the nomadic feminist and immanentist Rosi Braidotti. However, while containing certain parallels via the process nature of their ontologies, upon further inspection, such an equivocation is unwarranted on the grounds that it fails to remain nuanced in distinguishing the precise ‘mechanism’ or midwife that gives birth to the continued proliferation of the flux of becoming. This (...) disparity is exposed through the erection of a homology using Lacanian psychoanalysis that eases the passing from immanentism to Haraway by showing that the latter inscribes the obverse of L'Autre into the field of becoming unravelling privileged channels of desire. This results in an ingenuity that can never be pinned down by the signifier and, further, actively works to subvert it through ploy. (shrink)

This text relates the evolution of the author’s posture as a researcher during the realization of his doctoral thesis and its link with the choice of an analytical approach. Incidentally, this narrative has the dimensions of an autobiographical research. This text illustrates how, within the framework of a thesis, the author implemented a slow evolutionary process of his researcher posture thanks to an analytical approach in writing mode. A return to handwritten writing, considered here as an analyst’s “trick of (...) the trade”, allowed the deployment of the thinking necessary for the conceptualization and transformation of his professional and personal « self » through a method of analysis taking place in five steps, from the transcription to the final writing of the report. (shrink)

Loin de constituer une figure nouvelle dans l’histoire de la migration africaine, l’aventurier se pose en figure récurrente et connaît un regain de visibilité, dès lors que les politiques migratoires se durcissent un peu partout sur la planète et que la libre circulation des hommes est rendue de plus en plus problématique. À l’heure où les principes du salariat et de la fonction publique sont sérieusement contestés sur le continent africain, des itinéraires d’accumulation inédits prospèrent, tout comme de nouveaux modèles (...) de réussite fondés sur la ruse, la bravoure et l’exploit sont célébrés. L’aventure migratoire s’identifie totalement aux risques encourus et à l’intensité de la vie vécue ; elle permet à l’homme d’advenir et de s’aguerrir. Si elle a un commencement, elle a aussi une fin : au temps des projets aventureux doit succéder la construction de sa carrière. L’aventure doit être aussi interrogée dans ses déterminations imaginaires. Pour les uns, c’est l’imaginaire de la prédation qui prime, pour d’autres encore c’est celui de la contestation, pour d’autres enfin l’aspiration à l’Ailleurs s’apparente à la geste épique.The adventurer is not a new emblem in the history of African migration. It is rather a recurrent symbol more perceptible today as soon as migratory politics, the world over, take a harder line, and free circulation of men becomes increasingly difficult. As being salaried or State employee is widely contested on the African continent, unprecedented accumulation itineraries are thriving, and new success strategies emerge, based on tricks, ruse, braveness and feat. The migratory adventure is tightly correlated with risk or intensity of life ; it allows men to fulfil themselves, to become harder. The adventure is a well-identified period of life which ends with the elaboration of a professional career. Adventure has to be examined in its imaginary origins. For some people the imaginary of predation prevails, for others it is contestation, and for yet others, the wish for an « Elsewhere » bears a resemblance to an epic journey. (shrink)

In this book is the first meeting of Andreĭ Astvat︠s︡aturov the prose writer with Andreĭ Astvat︠s︡aturov the philologist. In this book of essays "Chaos and Symmetry", Astvat︠s︡aturov, as befits a philologist, is a sophisticated researcher and connoisseur of literature: classical Anglo-American and modern Russian. He will explain why in Oscar Wilde's The Canterville ghost" the ghost is an artist, how William Golding's "Lord of the Flies" echoes ancient tragedy, and why Henry Miller peered into the void. He writes about the (...) features of the modern literary process as well as prose by Mikhail Elizarov, Roman Senchin, German Sadulaev, and other famous authors. Personal experience is mixed with literary observations. Biographical details are a continuation (or, conversely, the source) of the writers' work, and all together it forms an elegant mosaic, not devoid of some practical usefulness: it is helpful to look at the tips and tricks of others. (shrink)

We look for tricks used to create a group of collaborative research which proposes to trainers of nurses researchers’ support in the appropriation of an original tool to help the learners analyze and develop their practice in vocational training : the narrative. The analysis of a corpus based on the first exchanges of the group shows the central role that plays the tool in itself, the mutual discovery of the cultures and the « habitus », the emergence and the discussion (...) of a generic definition of the job and its adjustment by the styles, the flexibility looked for in « scaffolding » and temporality. (shrink)

Dans la Bibliothèque , le pseudo-Apollodore raconte la joute musicale qui oppose Apollon au satyre Marsyas. Le dieu musicien l’emporte parce qu’il joue de sa cithare après l’avoir retournée, exécutant une manœuvre que son rival est incapable de reproduire avec l’aulos. Apollon fait ainsi de sa cithare un instrument palintone et palintrope, très proche de son arc réflexe, un instrument capable d’inverser sa position, mais aussi de renverser la situation au profit de celui qui l’utilise. Même « conduite de retournement (...) » pour la lyre, dont la réversibilité efficace est redevable à la tortue ainsi qu’à Hermès et à son travail de luthier. La puissance de retournement des instruments à cordes apolliniens permet de jeter un éclairage nouveau sur la victoire d’Apollon et sur l’écorchement de Marsyas, tout en situant l’épisode dans le champ de la mètis. De l’instrument d’Apollon, retourné vers le bas, qui précipite Marsyas aux Enfers, à celui d’Orphée, tenu à l’endroit, qui en ramène Eurydice, se dessine la nature ambivalente de la lyre symétrique à celle de l’arc. Comme lui, la lyre est bien « signe de chute », de la vie vers la mort, ou « signe de remontée », de la mort vers la vie.The reversal’s notion and the musical agôn between Apollon and Marsyas in ps.-Apollodorus: interpretation of a myth. In The Library , the pseudo-Apollodorus reports how Apollo, the musician god, opposed to Marsyas the satyr, won the musical contest by playing his kithara upside down, a trick his opponent was quite unable to reproduce with his aulos. Thus, Apollo turned his kithara into a palintonos and palintropos instrument, very much like his reflex bow, an instrument, whose position could be reversed but which could also reverse the situation to the benefit of its user. The same reversal ability is true of the lyre, which could be played efficiently both ways thanks to the tortoise and to Hermes, the skilful lyremaker. The extraordinary capacity of Apollinian stringed instruments to be reversed throws a new light on both Apollo’s victory and Marsyas’s skinning, setting the episode in the mètis area. From Apollo’s reversed lyre hurling Marsyas down into Hades to Orpheus’s being played the right way, to bring back Euridyke from the underworld, emerges the ambivalent nature of the lyre in perfect symmetry with the bow’s. Just like it, the lyre means the fall from life into death but it also represents the ascent from death into life. (shrink)

James L. Anderson analyzed the novelty of Einstein's theory of gravity as its lack of "absolute objects." Michael Friedman's related work has been criticized by Roger Jones and Robert Geroch for implausibly admitting as absolute the timelike 4-velocity field of dust in cosmological models in Einstein's theory. Using the Rosen-Sorkin Lagrange multiplier trick, I complete Anna Maidens's argument that the problem is not solved by prohibiting variation of absolute objects in an action principle. Recalling Anderson's proscription of "irrelevant" variables, (...) I generalize that proscription to locally irrelevant variables that do no work in some places in some models. This move vindicates Friedman's intuitions and removes the Jones-Geroch counterexample: some regions of some models of gravity with dust are dust-free and so naturally lack a timelike 4-velocity, so diffeomorphic equivalence to is spoiled. Torretti's example involving constant curvature spaces is shown to have an absolute object on Anderson's analysis, viz., the conformal spatial metric density. The previously neglected threat of an absolute object from an orthonormal tetrad used for coupling spinors to gravity appears resolvable by eliminating irrelevant fields. However, given Anderson's definition, GTR itself has an absolute object : a change of variables to a conformal metric density and a scalar density shows that the latter is absolute. (shrink)

This paper offers an analysis of the effect of the identity combinators in dual systems. The result is based on an easy technical trick, namely, that the identity combinators collapse all the combinators which are dual with respect to them. After reviewing dual combinators I consider the possible combinatory systems and l-calculi in which the functions and/or the application operation are bidirectional. The last section of the paper shows the devastating effect the identity combinators have for a dual system: (...) they half trivialize simple combinatory bases, although they are not sufficient to cause real triviality for what cancellative combinators are needed. (shrink)

The first and more important section of this article lists all the known treatises in Arabic on Fine Technology – water-clocks, automata, pumps, trick vessels, fountains, etc. The ideas, techniques and components in these treatises are of great importance in the history of machine technology. For each treatise information is given on the provenance of MSS, editions in Arabic and translations, paraphrases or commentaries in modern European languages. In addition to treatises by Arabic writers, similar information is also given (...) on Greek mechanical treatises if these have survived only in Arabic versions. The second section deals with utilitarian machines such as mills and water-raising machines. The various sources of information about these machines is discussed, including Arabic works on geography and travel, iconography and archaeology. La première section de cet article et la plus importante énumère tous les traités connus en arabe portant sur la technologie d'agrément – horloges à eau, automates, pompes, ‘vases merveilleux’, fontaines, etc. Les idées, les techniques et les mécanismes que l'on rencontre dans ces traités sont d'une grande importance pour l'histoire de la technologie. Pour chacun de ces traités, des renseignements sont donnés concernant la localisation des manuscrits, les éditions en arabe et les traductions, paraphrases et commentaires existant en langues européennes. On trouvera en outre des renseignements similaires sur les traités de mécanique grecs qui n'ont survécu que dans des versions arabes. La seconde section traite des machines utilitaires telles que les moulins et les machines à élever l'eau. Les diverses sources d'information concernant ce type de machines sont discutées, y compris les livres de géographie et de voyages, l'iconographie et l'archeologie. (shrink)

This study considers freedom of speech and the rules of engagement in the public sphere; good government, civic responsibility, and public education; and the foundations of religion and society, as seen through the eyes of seventeenth-century Dutch philosopher, Spinoza.

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

The central role played by Darwin's analogy between selection under domestication and that under nature has been adequately appreciated, but I have indicated how important the domesticated organisms also were to other elements of Darwin's theory of evolution-his recognition of “the constant principle of change,” for instance, of the imperfection of adaptation, and of the extent of variation in nature. The further development of his theory and its presentation to the public likewise hinged on frequent reference to domesticates.We have seen (...) that Darwin's reliance on the analogy between domesticated varieties and wild species was a bold and original step, in light of contemporary views on the nature of domesticates. However, as Darwin undoubtedly foresaw, his reliance on the analogy created difficulties as well as solving problems, and these began with his Malthusian codiscoverer of the principle of natural selection, Alfred Russel Wallace. Wallace's paper “On the Tendency of Varieties to Depart Indefinitely from the Original Type,” presented to the Linnean Scoiety along with the first public unveiling of Darwin's theory, states: We see, then, that no inferences as to varieties in a state of nature can be deduced from the observation of those occurring among domestic animals. The two are so much opposed to each other in every circumstance of their existence, that what applies to the one is almost sure not to apply to the other. Domestic animals are abnormal, irregular, artificial; they are subject to varieties which never occur and never can occur in a state of nature.62Much has been made of the similarity of views of Darwin and Wallace, but this quotation surely reveals how utterly different their views were on what to Darwin was an important matter. Several critics of the Origin saw Darwin's reliance on the domesticates as his Achilles heel. As Young has pointed out, Samuel Wilberforce included the following passage in his attack on the Origin: Nor must we pass over unnoticed the transference of the argument from the domesticated to the untamed animals. Assuming that man as the selector can do much in a limited time, Mr. Darwin argues that Nature, a more powerful, a more continuous power, working over vastly extended ranges of time, can do more. But why should Nature, so uniform and persistent in all her operations, tend in this instance to change? Why should she become a selector of varieties?63Another critic, Fleeming Jenkin, found the analogy a weakness in Darwin's theory because of the limited extent of variation in any one direction in domestic animals and plants.64 We have already seen that Darwin had confided a similar view to his notebook thirty years earlier, but changed his mind as a result of his profound study of domesticates. De Beer's reference to “an English country gentleman's knowledge of domestic plants and animals and their breeding”65 fails totally to recognize the originality and depth of Darwin's knowledge of domesticates.Why did Darwin, against the currents of his time, rely so heavily on mankind's experience with domesticated organisms to shape his theory about species in nature? On reason is that only with domesticates was an approach that came close to experimental verification possible. Darwin fully realized the inadequacies of the experiment, as is emphasized by his repeated contrasting of selection under nature and selection by man. Yet the extensive experience and data of plant and animal breeders offered the only reliable base against which Darwin could continually challenge his views. As he wrote in the introduction to Variation, with domestication, “man ... may be said to have been trying an experiment on a gigantic scale.”66 Given Darwin's high opinion of the quantitative work of Malthus and Quetelet (as emphasized by Schweber),67 and his unremitting efforts to secure data by which to test his theories, it was inevitable that he should attach high significance to domesticated varieties. John Tyndall, in his Belfast address of 1874, said: “The strength of the doctrine of Evolution consists, not in experimental demonstration (for the subject is hardly accessible to this mode of proof), but in its general harmony with scientific thought.”68 Darwin would have agreed with the latter thought, but I think he would have challenged the preceding one on the grounds that long experience with domesticated varieties did provide an element of experimental demonstration. It gave him confidence in his theory, and he used his vast knowledge of artificial selection boldly and creatively. (shrink)

When we watch movies, or are tricked by a trompe-l'oeil painting, we seem to be visually representing possible worlds; often non-actual possible worlds. This suggests that we really can visually represent possible worlds. The suggested claim is refined and developed here into a theory of visual experience that holds that all visual experiences, both veridical and non-veridical, represent possible worlds, many of which are non-actual.

Tibetan Buddhist writings frequently state that many of the things we perceive in the world are in fact illusory, as illusory as echoes or mirages. In Twelve Examples of Illusion , Jan Westerhoff offers an engaging look at a dozen illusions--including magic tricks, dreams, rainbows, and reflections in a mirror--showing how these phenomena can give us insight into reality. For instance, he offers a fascinating discussion of optical illusions, such as the wheel of fire (the "wheel" seen when a torch (...) is swung rapidly in a circle), discussing Tibetan explanations of this phenomenon as well as the findings of modern psychology, and significantly clarifying the idea that most phenomena--from chairs to trees--are similar illusions. The book uses a variety of crystal-clear examples drawn from a wide variety of fields, including contemporary philosophy and cognitive science, as well as the history of science, optics, artificial intelligence, geometry, economics, and literary theory. Throughout, Westerhoff makes both Buddhist philosophical ideas and the latest theories of mind and brain come alive for the general reader. -/- "This delightful book offers a rich and satisfying philosophical feast to anyone interested in the phenomenon of illusion itself or in the Buddhist analysis of the human condition. Westerhoff draws together classical Buddhist scholarship, contemporary cognitive science and his own judicious philosophical reflection in a serious but refreshingly accessible engagement with the Buddhist tradition in the exploration of the role of illusion in our cognitive and emotional lives." Jay L. Garfield, author of Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way: Nagarjuna's Mulamadhyamakakarika -/- "Jan Westerhoff creatively juxtaposes an important Buddhist study of illusion with fascinating modern researches on illusory experiences, using the latter to illuminate the former. The result is a revealing account of the pervasiveness of illusion in our cognitive experience and the very structure of our cognitive apparatus. It brings to life the Buddhist discussion of illusion, making it relevant to our everyday experience instead of being high-minded intellectual exercises only." -/- Tao Jiang, author of Contexts and Dialogue: Yogacara Buddhism and Modern Psychology on the Subliminal Mind -/- "The twelve similes for the illusory nature of this world are very profound, and Westerhoff does them wonderful justice in this excellent book." -/- Robert Thurman, Jey Tsong Khapa Professor of Buddhist Studies, Columbia University. (shrink)

Next SectionObjective The purpose of this article is to investigate the need for ethics support in Dutch healthcare institutions in order to understand why ethics support is often not used in practice and which factors are relevant in this context. Methods This study had a mixed methods design integrating quantitative and qualitative research methods. Two survey questionnaires, two focus groups and 17 interviews were conducted among board members and ethics support staff in Dutch healthcare institutions. Findings Most respondents see a (...) need for ethics support. This need is related to the complexity of contemporary healthcare, the contribution of ethics support to the core business of the organisation and to the surplus value of paying structural attention to ethical issues. The need for ethics support is, however, not unconditional. Reasons for a lacking need include: aversion of innovations, negative associations with the notion of ethics support service, and organisational factors like resources and setting. Conclusion There is a conditioned need for ethics support in Dutch healthcare institutions. The promotion of ethics support in healthcare can be fostered by focusing on formats which fit the needs of (practitioners in) healthcare institutions. The emphasis should be on creating a (culture of) dialogue about the complex situations which emerge daily in contemporary healthcare practice. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Diacritics 30.3 (2000) 13-27 [Access article in PDF] David Painting Death Didier Maleuvre Our life has no end in just the way in which our visual field has no limit. —Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus Dates It was the "terrible year." The Revolution was in danger, the enemies of France marched on the borders, the Reign of the Terror had begun. There lay Marat in his blood bath, a letter in (...) his hand dated July 13, 1793, the day he died. There he still lies, in his sacrificial tub, behind a yellow panel etched with the revolutionary calendar date, Year Two, the year Marat the martyr rose to historical sainthood. There, in the depth of the image, Marat lay in 1793, a revolutionary murdered in his bath; here, on the canvas, still lies the cluster of paint and brushstrokes suspended in Year Two of his painted embalming. There, in 1793, Marat died; here, in the mythic year of the historical image, Marat remains dead. This "remaining dead" is the time of the painting, its date and signature: "À Marat, David. —L'an deux." The tablet, like a tombstone, is what remains standing in the wake of death. An ex voto, the painting offers itself to the dead man, to his memory. In so doing, however, the painting calls attention to itself, as though making sure we understand it devotes itself to the task of taking us to Marat. It says, "this is a painting 'à Marat', 'for,' 'to' or 'toward' Marat, 1 on the way to him, a painting that makes us see Marat and thereby gives Marat the gift of being seen."Oddly, the patch of painting that beckons to Marat also lays out the spot where the canvas signals it is made of matter: a slab of yellow paint, an obtrusive plane emphasizing that there is paint, that painting is taking place on this Proustian "petit pan de mur jaune." One way to understand this contradiction is to say that the headstone displays the twofold nature of seeing an image: on the one hand, the flight of spellbound vision that goes to ("à") Marat, dead and risen, back from the year 1793; on the other hand, the object-bound perception that stays at the canvas level, the paint, lines, and brushstrokes, the corporeality of paint shaped ceremoniously for ("à") Marat. In short, the event of seeing occurs on this headstone to and for Marat: 2 the eye hits the material slab of canvas, where miraculously, it stumbles into the netherworld of representation where (where?) it catches a glimpse of a wooden box, a bloody bathtub, a dead man. One cannot help marvel at this conjurer's trick that makes the human eye see more than what it is given. And part of marveling at this sleight-of-hand entails wondering why, in David's Marat, the trick of representation calls attention to itself specifically on a tombstone: plainly put, the question is to understand what death has to do with seeing images, with this sudden leap of faith whereby we casually trust there is more to a [End Page 13] canvas than meets the eye, that there is something beyond paint (where?), in the hereafter of images, a corpse in a bathtub. Miraculously.When the image appears, in the leap, the painting dies in the flesh and is reborn as idea, as appearance, the waxen figure of a dead man. Thus the painting dies for Marat, it sacrifices itself for ("à") him. Correspondingly, it erects its own yellow tombstone to commemorate the sacrifice: see what I am doing, I am opening myself up to ("à") Marat. A painter in the grip of revolutionary zeal humbly lets the subject of his painting (the heroic, tremendous Marat) take precedence over the painting that enshrines him. The painting is both glorious and humble: glorious inasmuch as it calls on the tribunal of history to see the martyr; humble because, to do so, the painting must bow before the historical fact. On the yellow tombstone, on its own gravestone, the painting sacrifices itself, vanishes as physical object so that Marat may live forever in the image. For there to... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 124.1 (2003) 156-160 [Access article in PDF] S. J. Harrison, J. L. Hilton, and V. J. C. Hunink, trans. Apuleius: Rhetorical Works. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. x + 225 pp. Cloth, $65. Apuleius of Madauros, as this book reminds us, was no one-trick burro. Indeed he was always eager to reveal just how many tricks he had in store. "Uno chartario calamo me (...) reficere poemata omnigenus apta virgae, lyrae, socco, coturno, item satiras ac griphos, item historias varias rerum nec non orationes laudatas disertis nec non dialogos laudatos philosophis, atque haec et alia eiusdem modi tam graece quam latine, gemino voto, pari studio, simili stilo" he tells us in what is actually one of his more muted fanfares on the theme of his own versatility ( Flor. 9.27-29); there was still more to the man. Polymath and poet, Platonist and philologue, writer, rhetor, raconteur, and Wortjongleur in two tough tongues, he was also (he reminds us) a globe trotter, a snapper-up of historical trifles, a connoisseur of cults and maven of mysteries, a public performer, a popular idol, a grateful pal to the great and powerful, and the toast of the coast of northern Africa—all these boasts of omnicompetent cultivation just part of the pose and professional program of the second-century sophist (10).We certainly can use the reminder. In North America at any rate, the works of Apuleius— The Golden Ass, of course, apart—have slipped into something close to deep background (even the Latin texts are hard to come by), the skids greased, I suspect, both by the substantial difficulties in knowing just how to take in these strange and showy products and by the booming attention deservedly [End Page 156] paid to The Golden Ass itself. But there remain Apuleians dedicated to changing all that. Especially over the last dozen years or so, a new generation of scholars has been preparing a new store of editions, commentaries, and critical assessments that, even if they do not permanently refix our gaze, should at least allow these works to be more widely accessible to the literary and cultural historians and students of rhetoric and Middle Platonism whose interest in Apuleius and his manifold contexts has surged.Translation seems the logical next step. And now, three scholars have teamed up to offer the first translations in nearly a century of texts they group together as Apuleius' "rhetorical works": the Apology, Florida, and On the God of Socrates (trans. Vincent Hunink, John Hilton, and Stephen Harrison, respectively; Harrison also edited the volume and provided its general introduction). As a compromise between the divergent views of two of the book's contributors, they present the paragraphs that introduce On the God of Socrates in the manuscripts, but which are often taken to belong properly to the Florida, in a separate section as the "False Preface" to the former (trans. Hilton). Each work is accompanied by an informative literary-historical introduction and substantial explanatory notes, most useful to the philologically experienced.The book has two contrasting ambitions for the translations it contains. On the one hand, it presents them in a familiar OUP manner as matter for the archives, things to be consulted, not read. All the visual rhetoric of documentary publication is here: the official-looking fonts, the footnotes seeping up from the bottom of the page, the text itself obtrusively divided into numbered segments for ease of reference to the authorized Latin editions. On the other hand, there are the statements of the translators themselves, which assert a different status for the works they are translating. Hunink puts it most directly in his introduction to the Apology: "Apuleius' speech is an interesting document. It is also a useful source of knowledge in a wide range of areas... But there is more to it: this self-defence may properly be called a literary masterpiece" (11). Literary masterpieces, of course, are there to be read, not simply consulted; and these works in particular—masterpieces or not—chafe at archival treatment. Ultimately, at issue are not only their status but also... (shrink)

If the bounded proper forcing axiom BPFA holds and ω 1 = ${\mathrm{\omega }}_{1}^{\mathrm{L}}$ , then there is a lightface ${\mathrm{\Sigma }}_{3}^{1}$ well-ordering of the reals. The argument combines a well-ordering due to Caicedo-Veličković with an absoluteness result for models of MA in the spirit of "David's trick." We also present a general coding scheme that allows us to show that BPFA is equiconsistent with R being lightface ${\mathrm{\Sigma }}_{4}^{1}$ , for many "consistently locally certified" relations R on $\mathrm{\mathbb{R}}$ (...) . This is accomplished through a use of David's trick and a coding through the ∑ 2 stable ordinals of L. (shrink)

Currently living people cannot be said to be wronged because of the wrongless emissons of greenhouse gases by past people. According to the usual subjunctive-historical understanding of harm, currently living people cannot be said to be harmed by the impact of greenhouse emissions on their well-being. By relying on a subjunctive-threshold notion of harm we can justify conclusions about both the present generation’s duties not to violate the rights of future generations, and the present generation’s duties to compensate currently living (...) people for the harms inflicted upon them through the lasting impact of wrongless past harms. This interpretation supports a forward-looking understanding of the grounds of our relating to wrongless past harms. The significance of past harms lies in their consequences for the well-being of currently living and future people. The subjunctive-threshold notion of harm lends support to a standard of minimal, general, and universal justice. Those actors who are in a position to fulfill its requirements are under a duty to do so. Especially the rich and powerful countries ought to counteract the harmful impact of past greenhouse emissions. (shrink)

The deadly attacks on a public meeting and on a Jewish citizen in Copenhagen in February 2015 have given rise to a vast amount of public discussion and interpretation of the events themselves, their background, their causes, their significance, and their repercussions. During these discussions, various conceptions of publicness and public space have been articulated. Indeed, one may view the killings as a ‘critical discourse moment’ in which a range of discourses have been employed to help interpret, understand, and deal (...) with what happened. In several of these discourses, conceptions of publicness play a central part. This article sets out to investigate the conceptions of publicness that were articulated in the Danish public spheres following the attacks. The article maps out some of the key different and partly contradictory notions of publicness that the reactions to the killings brought to the fore. The investigation thus focuses on the articulation of normative expectations and ideals of public spheres, on the limitations and restrictions that were acknowledged, and on the main societal problems and national contexts to which publicness was viewed as related. The analysis will cover national newspapers and center on the discursive resources of the media elite in early responses to the attacks, for example in editorials, or comments by writers, academics, debaters, and intellectuals. (shrink)