In Campbell Soup Co. v. Allstate Insurance Co. ), the United States District Court for the Western District of Michigan, Southern Division, held that a health plan's coordination of benefits clause, covered under the Employee Retirement Income Security Act, does not preempt a similar no-fault automobile insurance clause in the absence of irreconcilable conflict. The court found that ERISA's policy of shielding plans from unanticipated claims could only be furthered when the plan had expressly disavowed such claims. Because (...) the ERISA plan in this case did not specifically subordinate itself to the no-fault policy, the district court found that the no-fault COB clause controlled. However, to escape this ruling, ERISA plans need only redraft their COB clauses specifically to disclaim liability in case of conflict with provisions of no-fault insurance policies. This caveat substantially limits the scope of the court's ruling. (shrink)

Western Michigan University’s Center for the Study of Ethics in Society has always had a “generalist” approach—that is to say, an interdisciplinary orientation toward studying a broad range of ethical issues. This article explains how the center’s “generalist” orientation developed and why it is desirable for promoting public reflection about ethical issues. It focuses on these dimensions: valuing an across-the-curriculum approach to promote understanding of complex ethical issues; adopting a broad, rather than narrow focus, when it comes to (...) ethics; committing to practical ethics, which bridges theory and practice to shed light on issues of practical relevance to all; and decentering philosophy as the arbiter for what counts as “doing ethics.” The article ends with a look at challenges concerning stable funding and administrative support for a center that does not fit neatly into a single academic unit or specialty and shares some lessons learned. (shrink)

Galligan (Professor Emeritus, English, Western Michigan U.-Kalamazoo) argues that contemporary American critics should embrace literary truths with all of their uncertainties rather than cling to make- believe certainties of ideologies. He celebrates values commonly associated with modern, not postmodern, criticism, applying them to contemporary works in a series of fresh and unusual inquiries. He finds implications for criticism in work from the physical sciences and in the works of largely ignored novelists. Annotation copyrighted by Book News, Inc., Portland, (...) OR. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Annual Meeting of the Society for Buddhist-Christian Studies:Atlanta, Georgia, USA, 29-30 October 2010Sandra Costen KunzThis past fall the Society for Buddhist-Christian Studies (SBCS) presented two sessions at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion (AAR) in Atlanta, Georgia. On Friday afternoon, 29 October, an extremely well-attended and in many ways inspiring session titled "The Scholarly Contributions of Rita M. Gross" was presented. The second panel, titled (...) "Can/Should Buddhists and Christians Do Theology/ Buddhology Together?" was presented on Saturday morning, 30 October. It also drew a considerable crowd.Each of the six members of Friday's panel addressed a different aspect of the work of Rita Gross, longtime SBCS leader and now professor emerita of comparative studies in religion, University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. She is also a senior teacher (lopon) in Jetsun Khandro Rinpoche's U.S. Lotus Garden center. The session was organized and moderated by current SBCS president Miriam M. Levering, professor of religious studies and Asian studies at University of Tennessee, Knoxville, and an international advisor at Rissho Ko-Sekei in Tokyo. I will give highlights from the panelists' presentations in the order in which they spoke.Kathleen Erndl, associate professor of religion at Florida State University, focused on Gross's work as teacher and mentor. Although she taught primarily undergraduates, Gross, in her writing, speaking, and generous conversation with rising scholars, not only moved the field toward taking religious practices and women's religious experience more seriously but also had a huge influence on how "women in religion" is taught. Gross was one of the first scholars to use the term "androcentric." Nancy Auer Falk, professor emerita of comparative religion at Western Michigan University, coedited Unspoken Worlds: Women's Religious Lives (1981) with Gross. Now in its third edition, this groundbreaking collection of case studies watered the flowering of cross-cultural studies in the lived religion of women. Falk reminded us of Gross's role in the election of the first female member of the AAR's board and the establishment of its working group on women and religion. Judith Simmer-Brown, professor of religious [End Page 221] studies at Naropa University, focused on Gross's work in Tibetan Buddhist studies, especially her pointing out the discrepancy between the prophetic voices about women's roles in early Buddhist texts and Tibetan monasticism's institutionalized androcentrism. Simmer-Brown emphasized the importance of Gross's work in Buddhist theology—for example, her deconstructing "Theravada/Mahayana/Vajrayana put-downs" and "incipient fundamentalisms" in Western Buddhism.The fourth panelist, Paul F. Knitter, professor of theology, world religions, and culture at Union Theological Seminary, described Gross's contributions to Buddhist-Christian dialogue, recounting that they met at the Society's founding conference in 1980. He said, "Rita is the Christian theologians' friendly gadfly, always asking questions that make us very uncomfortable." Particularly provocative has been her insistence that claims on the part of religious communities to religious superiority or exclusive truth are incompatible with support of religious diversity. SBCS vice president Terry Muck, dean of the E. Stanley Jones School of World Mission and Evangelism at Asbury Theological Seminary, spoke about Gross's contributions to the society, noting that she has held every office except treasurer. He and Gross coedited Buddhist-Christian Studies from 1995-2005, in part because the society had decided— after founding editor David Chappell retired—that the ideal would be one male and one female editor and one Buddhist and one Christian editor. He usually handled the work with the publisher while she usually worked with article selection along with the reviewers. Rosemary Radford Ruether, professor emerita at the Pacific School of Religion, reviewed Gross's contributions to feminist scholarship. She reminded us that while still a student at the University of Chicago, Gross crafted a fundamental methodology for studying women and religion and insisted that turning a blind eye to 80 percent of the religious practice in various cultures is simply bad empiricism. Gross has consistently pointed out that colonialism is connected with privileging males and texts, Reuther claimed, and that no one studies religion with "objectivity."Gross's response to these presentations focused on... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:INTELLIGO UT CREDAM: ST. AUGUSTINE'S CONFESSIONS* BAPTISM INTO the Catholic Church ended Augustine's Odyssey through the intellectual and spiritual seas of late antiquity. His Confessi.ons tells us how he joined the Manicheans, became attached to astrology, imbibed Aristotle, was attracted to the Academy, learned Epicureanism, discovered the Platonists, and finally came home to Christianity.1 From the first moment he read Cicero, then, Augustine became a seeker of wisdom; few (...) of humanity's questions and concerns failed to move him. His initial conversion to Manicheanism, indeed, was prompted by its alleged ability to give a satisfactory response to the questions raised by human experience. In the same way, his initial aversion to Christianity in part arose from its alleged inability to provide such an account. Still, the nature of Augustine's ultimate conversion to Christianity is not entirely clear. He certainly indicates that a properly tutored biblical faith is the only solution to those questions and concerns which so vexed him: " credo ut intelligam," as Anselm formulated Augustine's understanding. But what is the role of philosophical reflection in this? Does reason work only within the context of faith? Is it merely the scullery maid for explicating the understanding of divine revelation? Or does Augustine say or at least show that unaided human reason has another sphere of operation? Can human reason understand *Earlier versions of this paper were read at the Twentieth International Medieval Congress, Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, Michigan, May 11, 1985, and at the University of Dallas Augustine Colloquium, November 22, 1985. I am grateful to Dr. Michael Platt for his helpful comments and suggestions. 1 All references to the Confessions are from J. Gibb and W. Montgomery, The Confessions of Augustine (Cambridge, 1927)..JAMES LEHRBERGER, O. CIST. anything about God, human beings, and the universe before the advent of faith? While Augustinian scholarship has tended to stress the way in which philosophical thought. especially Neo-Platonism, operates within Christian faith, I hope to show that Augustine conceives the " faith and reason " relation in broader terms.2 More specifically, in this paper I hope to show that the Confessions presents reason itself, without revelation, as capable of assaying the possibility of any religious claim to 2 The problem of "faith and reason," or " authority and philosophy," in Augustine's thought has a history of critical analysis reaching back to the last century. The early discussions of this question have been traced by Sister Mary Patricia Garvey, in Saint Augustine: Christian or N ea-Platonist (Milwaukee, 1939), pp. 3-40, and more briefly by J. O'Meara, in St. A.ugustine, A.gainst the Academics, "Ancient Christian Writers," XU (Baltimore, 1950), pp. 19-22. The more recent discussions have failed to produce any consensus. H. A. Wolfson, in The Philosophy of the Church Fathers, I (Cambridge, 1956), pp. 127-140, sees Augustine as illustrating the patristic "double faith" against Manichean credulity. R. Cushman, in "Faith and Reason in the Thought of St. Augustine," Church History, 19, 1950), 271-294, awards the primacy to faith on the basis of the perversity of the will. P. Courcelle, in Recherches sur les Confessions de Saint Augustin (Paris, 1950), pp. 251-255, understands Augustine to progress from Neo-Platonism to Christianity without abandoning the former. R. Holte, in Beatitude et Sagesse: Saint Augustin et le probleme de la fin de l'homme dans la philosophie ancienne (Paris, 1962), pp. 373-386, considers the cooperation of reason and authority in Augustine's use of Christianity to confront the philosophic problems of his age. J. O'Meara, in The Young Augustine (New York, 1965), pp. 196197, admits a clarification in Augustine's thought but no basic change in his understanding of the primacy of faith over reason. R. O'Connell, in Saint Augusti.ne's Confessions: the Odyssey of a Soul (Cambridge, 1969), insists on a strong Neo-Platonic influence on Augustine's understanding of the human being as the " fallen soul." A. H. Armstrong, in " St. Augustine and Christian Platonism," Plotinian and Christian Studies (London, 1979), Ch. XI, 1-66, argues that the designation "Christian Platonist" is insufficient to characterize Augustine; the way in which Augustine takes up and transforms... (shrink)

Why should we seek and tell the truth? Does anyone know what truth is? Many are skeptical about the relevance of truth. Truth Matters endeavours to show why truth is important in a world where the very idea of truth is contested. Putting philosophers in conversation with educators, literary scholars, physicists, political theorists, and theologians, Truth Matters ranges across both analytic and continental philosophy and draws on the ideas of thinkers such as Aquinas, Balthasar, Brandom, Davidson, Dooyeweerd, Gadamer, Habermas, Kierkegaard, (...) Plantinga, Ricoeur, and Wolterstorff. Some essays attempt to provide a systematic account of truth, while others wrestle with the question of how truth is told and what it means to live truthfully. Contributors address debates between realists and anti-realists, explore issues surrounding relativism and constructivism in education and the social sciences, examine the politics of truth telling and the ethics of authenticity, and consider various religious perspectives on truth. Most scholars agree that truth is propositional, being expressed in statements that are subject to proof or disproof. This book goes a step farther: yes, propositional truth is important, but truth is more than propositional. To recognize how it is more than propositional is crucial for understanding why truth truly matters. Contributors include Doug Blomberg (ICS), Allyson Carr (ICS), Jeffrey Dudiak (King’s University College), Olaf Ellefson (York University), Gerrit Glas (VU University Amsterdam), Gill K. Goulding (Regis College), Jay Gupta (Mills College), Clarence Joldersma (Calvin College), Matthew J. Klaassen (ICS), John Jung Park (Duke University), Pamela J. Reeve (St. Augustine’s Seminary), Amy Richards (World Affairs Council of Western Michigan), Calvin Seerveld (ICS), Ronnie Shuker (ICS), Adam Smith (Brandeis University), John Van Rys (Redeemer University College), Darren Walhof (Grand Valley State University), Matthew Walhout (Calvin College), and Lambert Zuidervaart (ICS). (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Mary J. Reichling (March 29, 1941–July 4, 2023)Barbara KennisonIn the early morning hour on July 4, 2023, Mary died from cancer at the age of 82. On July 8, 2023, her family, professional colleagues, former students, and friends gathered in Holy Family Chapel, Nazareth, Michigan to celebrate her life and legacy. In this sacred space, several in attendance offered expressions regarding Mary’s impact on their life professionally and (...) personally. Reflecting on the words in the music served to provide comfort and solace as did the choir and instrumental interludes. Monsignor Michael Hazard celebrated the mass of Christian Burial.Mary was born on March 28, 1941, in Detroit, Michigan, the oldest child of Clarence and Evangeline Reichling. As a young child, she aspired to becoming a physician and was quickly discouraged by others as this was viewed as a profession for men, not women. Her father, recognizing her talent and interest in music, continued to support her as she pursued her music studies, giving her a high level of confidence and skill in piano performance while still in high school.Her teaching career was launched after completing her undergraduate degree from Nazareth College, Kalamazoo, Michigan, August 5, 1966, her Masters in Music Education from Indiana University in 1969, and a Doctor of Music Education from Indiana University in 1991. [End Page 89]Her initial teaching began at Nazareth College, addressing the academic needs of students holding an interest in music and music education. Mary also provided private lessons to young children, teens, and adults. On several occasions I had the opportunity to observe her work with children and young people and was fascinated by her depth of understanding in addressing not only the musical learning needs of her private students as well as the social and psychological issues that had an impact on their musical abilities.An event stands out in my mind. Two adults, well known to the Kalamazoo community, Father John Grathwohl, Pastor, St Thomas Moore Student Parish, Western Michigan University and Evan LeDuc, Kalamazoo’s City Manager, decided to take violin lessons with Mary as their instructor. They appeared at her studio door, dressed like Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi in the film, The Blues Brothers, as they were wearing long oversized trench coats, black overshoes, black felt crumpled hats, and dark sunglasses, carrying their violin cases, and looking unshaven and disheveled. Mary, seeing them, lost her composure and began to laugh uncontrollably as the two stood there in stoic silence. Regaining her composure, she directed them to their respective chairs in front of music stands, had them take out their violins, and the lesson began. Not only was she respected by these two men but also by all the children and young people in her academic care.Having completed her undergraduate and graduate studies, Mary maintained an intense interest in learning, especially in philosophy and neuroscience with a focus on concepts such as thought, imagination, emotion, movement, space, and time. She was fascinated by the relationship between the performer and the audience, with respect to emotion, images, and imagination. Research for her doctoral dissertation, which she titled, “Images of Imagination: A Philosophical Study of Imagination in Music with Application to Music Education,” is reflective of her interest and research in the neuroscience field. Mary was awarded the Dean’s Dissertation Prize, Indiana University and awarded first place in 1991 Outstanding Dissertation in Music Education, national competition sponsored by the Council for Research in Music Education.In 1991, Mary accepted a position in the Department of Music, University of Louisiana, Lafayette where she taught undergraduate and graduate students. She served as advisor to graduate students in the music education concentration as well as serving on students’ dissertation committees. Her commitment to students was exemplified by her availability, in spite of other commitments to the University and music community beyond the university. The fruits of her professorial activity were evident in graduating students obtaining teaching positions in Lafayette, Vermillion, and Iberia parishes.In an effort to promote the music program and recruit students, she maintained a strong connection with area music teachers. This relationship served to [End Page 90] foster and facilitate high school students... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:I Am Speechless:Thank You, Colleague FriendsRita M. GrossBecause I had not seen half of these tributes before the session at which they were presented, I did not have a written paper, or even prepared notes, with which to respond to these colleagues. I was so touched by the care with which each person had prepared their remarks—a fully written paper in each case—and the wonderful things they said, that (...) when finally it was my turn to get up and take the podium, all I could say was, "I am speechless." That was my first response, but I am also very used to public speaking, so I did come up with some comments, which I reproduce here with some degree of faithfulness.I have known most of these friends for most of my professional life. I have traveled in India with two of them (Nancy and Kathleen), coedited or coauthored books with three of them (Nancy, Rosemary, and Terry), and cotaught with one of them (Paul). With everyone except Rosemary, we have visited each other's homes as well. One of the blessings of the academic life is sharing deep interests and concerns with one's colleagues, and I certainly have experienced that blessing. In person, I decided to respond to each person in the order in which they entered my life and I will also follow that format in these written comments.Nancy Auer FalkThe first person in this group whom I encountered was Nancy Falk, though, as she said, she doesn't remember me from those very early days. I entered the University of Chicago Divinity School in 1965, and because there were so few of us in those days, I clearly noticed a woman who was finishing her work in the same field I was entering—the history of religions. There were twelve women among some four hundred students at the Divinity School and six of us had entered that year! I remember that the professors were very worried about what to do with "all these women who now want to study religion." One of my professors said that he was changing some of the material he lectured on because of the presence of women in his class.In such an environment, I should have known better than to do a dissertation [End Page 89] studying women in religion and using feminist methodologies, which had not yet been developed, but which I did develop in my dissertation! It has taken me a long time to learn that telling the truth can exact a heavy price. I've often commented that all I've ever tried to do in my scholarship and in my thinking is to tell the truth. It's been hard to understand how that could be so controversial or so resented by so many people. But my dissertation was very controversial even though Mircea Eliade, who was still revered in those days, encouraged me to write the dissertation I did. But what I was doing was so controversial, largely I think, because I claimed that the sacrosanct University of Chicago methodology in the history of religions was inadequate, given that it simply had no tools with which to study the religious lives of at least half of humanity. Even years later I heard via some gossip train that students of the professor who most opposed my work were telling people that I was not supposed to have gotten a degree, but somehow, it had slipped though anyway. Now, some thirty-five years later, I am amazed at the level of insight I had as a graduate student in my mid to late twenties.During these graduate school battles, Nancy was already teaching at Western Michigan University, so I did not have her as an ally. But, as soon as I finished my degree, as she narrates in her comments, we began to work together on Unspoken Worlds, which, having been put together before computers, was extremely labor intensive. I really enjoyed the process of working together on that book. I enjoyed not having to hold back on anything. I enjoyed the give and take, the way we could put... (shrink)

Revisiting the history of relativity Content Type Journal Article DOI 10.1007/s11016-010-9466-4 Authors Lewis Pyenson, Department of History, Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5242, USA Sean F. Johnston, School of Interdisciplinary Studies, University of Glasgow, Rutherford-McCowan Building, Dumfries, Glasgow, Scotland G2 0RB, UK Alberto A. Martínez, Department of History, University of Texas at Austin, 1 University Station B7000, Austin, TX 78712-0220, USA Richard Staley, Department of the History of Science, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 226 Bradley Memorial Building, 1225 Linden Drive, (...) Madison, WI 53706-1528, USA Journal Metascience Online ISSN 1467-9981 Print ISSN 0815-0796 Journal Volume Volume 20 Journal Issue Volume 20, Number 1. (shrink)

This paper describes one of the first attempts in the U.S. to teach wisdom in a semester-long course for the undergraduate students of the Lee Honors College at the Western Michigan University in Spring 2012. The issues of can wisdom be taught an wisdom-oriented curriculum are investigated. Furthermore some wisdom essentials are also included. As the result of this course the Solar-Cloud Model of wisdom has been presented in this paper. Some conclusions about the experiment of teaching of (...) this course are provided. (shrink)

The following article is the concluding piece of a series on the vernacularization of science, medicine, and technology in the Late Middle Ages inaugurated in 1998 with a special issue of ESM and continued with two articles in ESM in 1999, featuring papers selected by William Crossgrove and Linda Ehrsam Voigts. All of these articles grew out of a series of papers presented at the Thirty-Second International Congress on Medieval Studies at Western Michigan University in May 1997, a (...) series which now concludes with the present. (shrink)

To teach information literacy, many colleges and universities use a version of TILT (the Texas Information Tutorial) or Searchpath, a modification of TILT by Western Michigan University. This paper describes our experience customizing Searchpath for Kutztown University’s Rohrbach Library, including the impetus behind the project, the process of customizing Searchpath, the project pilot, collaborative efforts, and challenges encountered. The authors also discuss the decision to select Searchpath rather than TILT, how Kutztown’s version of tutorial is currently being used, (...) and future plans for the product, along with suggestions to those considering Searchpath for their libraries. (shrink)

continent. 2.3 (2012): 218–223 Vijay Prashad. Arab Spring, Libyan Winter . Oakland: AK Press. 2012. 271pp, pbk. $14.95 ISBN-13: 978-1849351126. Nearly a decade ago, I sat in a class entitled, quite simply, “Corporations,” taught by Vijay Prashad at Trinity College. Over the course of the semester, I was amazed at the extent of Prashad’s knowledge, and the complexity and erudition of his style. He has since authored a number of classic books that have gained recognition throughout the world. The Darker (...) Nations , a peoples’ history of the Third World, sent defibrillating shockwaves through an academic world that had almost forgotten the epic scope and historic dignity of the non-aligned movement and post-colonial struggles. In his recent, award-winning work, Arab Spring, Libyan Winter , Prashad delves into his capacious knowledge of the Third World to excavate the discourses and narratives surrounding the upheavals of 2011. “Revolutions have no specific timetable,” states Prashad in the opening line of this exciting and provocative look at contemporary events. Instantly, an atmosphere of suspense emerges. The reader is alerted to the problem of history. Does the making of history then involve a suspension of historical time, or is it a continuous narrative structure into which events must eventually be integrated? Arab Spring, Libyan Winter shows that the answer to the question, “How is history made?” lies just as easily in the asking. The first half of the book works through the events that transpired to bring about the explosive popular uprisings of Arab Spring: Tunisia and Egypt, Yemen and Bahrain. But the events are not put together in a cohesive, chronological fashion. Using an uncommonly gripping style more akin to the folk-story motif of the djeli than to traditionally Orientalist academia, Prashad suspends a given situation, points out its components, and traces back the characters and genealogies that define each link before resuming a narrative. Every moment is an end to itself, and an origin of something different. Thus, the making of history becomes the suspension of its own progress, it’s catastrophic 'stability,' in a process of differentiation through inclusion. Empirically, one might suggest that history is a condition of time, and by extension, of the subject, but history is also an eminent producer of the Subject and her concept of time through memory and narrative. Hence, history is often overdetermined by a dominant narrative of the sovereign. The apparently chaotic composition of Prashad’s historicity is, then, an interstitial morphology of resistance. It illustrates that the time to act for the revolutionary lies in the gaps within the dominant historical realities. It points out the sorties of signifiers constituting nothing in the obliterated ruins of history. Through such illuminations, Arab Spring, Libyan Winter breaks through “the surface of history” to elaborate revolution’s snapping synapses, exploding interruptions and breaches, connecting flows. Messianic Politics It is tempting to think, 'History is either singular, or it is diffuse. It is either one coherent factual narrative, or it is comprised of the aletheia of the multitude.' Yet the reader finds Prashad examining the structure of history on multiple levels. For Prashad, world history is shaped by geographically defined political movements, such as communism or national liberation, with historical agents like the working class for the former and the nationalist militant for the latter. Religion, however, is another matter: “Religion has an unshakable eschatology which a post-utopian secular politics lacks.” Within the telos of religion, there appears on the horizon the image of Benjamin’s thoughts on messianic time—time as “a small fissure in the continuous catastrophe,” a break with history, may contain an ultimate redemption of the human beyond the political power struggle. Succoring the split between geo-political and utopian-religious (messianic) time in the context of Arab Spring, Prashad indicates that the base of “the deep desire and commitment to some form of democracy” is forged by the affinity between eschatological Islamist politics with the People. To think about the Subject of messianic time in the context of the lack of a “coherent timetable” for emancipatory politics, it is perhaps best to return to the modern tradition of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose prefigurative blending of liberation theology and emancipatory politics became most important during his works of 1963, the climactic year of “The Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” the March on Washington, and the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church. In “The Letter,” King states the point bluntly: Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct-action campaign that was “well timed” in view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word “wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This “Wait” has almost always meant ‘Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.” The timing of rebellious action must not be a part of history. It must change history. The kairos appears spontaneous and untimely in its convulsive, shocking presence, yet it is, deeper still, a path, a longue durée , forged through diligent and rigorous praxis. King put a finer point on the path of historic liberation in his declaration in his 1963 speech at Western Michigan University: “[T]ime is neutral.... Somewhere along the way we must see that time will never solve the problem alone but that we must help time. Somewhere we must see that human progress never rolls in on the wheels on inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals who are willing to be co-workers with God. Without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the insurgent and primitive forces of irrational emotionalism and social stagnation. We must always help time and realize that the time is always right to do right.” Time, then, exists in “the neutral,” while action must turn to the kairos , not only of taking time, but taking the right time. By turning our relation to time into kairos , we move time from its context within history to a duration between histories—the longue dure?e of Messianic time. The implementation of neutrality in this context suggests a broad space of time to extend through the valley of positive and negative. In Roland Barthes’s lectures from 1978, the neutral takes place in this minimal distance of non-conflict that exists outside of two extremes. It is, in the words of Maurice Blanchot, “the non-general, the non-generic, as well as the non-specific.” For Blanchot, the neutrality of time permeates life as death, impassive and beyond control; such is the neutrality of messianic time, which permeates the charge of history, changing the "I" into the "one." The neutrality of time therefore implicates history in a case against extremism, showing that the work of the radical is not to tend to any particular side, but to have the time to navigate through the terrible terrain of history by altering its course, its patterns and rhythms of movement, connection, sociality. Hence, one does not simply “make history,” one alters the course of history in accordance to “the right time.” The historical path toward emerging power is transmitted as a gesture to the outside of history, against history; a gesture as simple as reaching out. Thus a counterhistory, to use Foucault’s term, is brought forward as the guide of time past a point of no return, a Rubicon, the point where the normal path of history falls to the past. The subject, who must be the only true agent of history, facilitates time through helpfulness, and both the Subject and her history become decentered in relation to one another. Yet history negates the neutrality of time. As Barthes discloses, although the neutral is the “thought and practice of the nonconflictual, it is nevertheless bound to assertion, to conflict, in order to make itself heard.” Engaged with history, time is charged with a destiny, and becomes an opposition. As Prashad insists, “For Arab lands, the events of early 2011 were not the inauguration of a new history, but the continuation of an unfinished struggle that is a hundred years old.” The emergence of the Subject during Arab Spring did not conceive of a new history, but changed the path of history toward a different destiny. “Historical grievances combined with inflationary pressures now met with the subjective sense that victory might be at hand—this was not simply a protest to scream into the wind, but a protest to actually remove autocrats from their positions of authority. The facts of resistance had given way to the expectation of revolutionary change.” The negativity of this charge toward “revolutionary destiny” rendered control, as a positive force, seriously lacking. The lack of control lies in the problem that the Subject is not totally detemporalized or timeless, but untimely in her presence. The Subject is untimely, because her work is visionary, and it is only through such visionary work that the Rubicon can be crossed. Still, the crossing of this border is haunted by anxiety over an impending disaster that lays in wait. It is only through the form of what Benjamin calls divine violence, captivated not with the justice of the means, but the ends—the transformation of history—that a revelation of history’s traumatic foundations can be liberated, and patterns and rhythms of time developed throughout obscured traditions awakened. In this situation, the Subject appears to be outside of right, but setting the state to rights. Because her position is correct, in-so-far as the rebelling subject rebels due to a lack of recognition, her representation appears outside of the norm, which is mistaken as right. Therefore, such visionary work must be carried out through obscured traditions, underground, away from the surveillance of empire. Explaining his method from the start along the lines of Marx’s metaphor of the mole, Prashad insists, “It is the burrowing that is essential, not simply the emergence onto the surface of history.” Arab Spring, Libyan Winter is a book on uncharted networks of time, spread out over the 252 pages like an elaborate spider’s web of passages intertwining with and overwhelming the machinery of the state. Although untimely, Arab Spring was not a flash in the pan, or a Facebook or Twitter revolution. Prashad notes that the government’s suspension of these tools led to further radicalism by furthering communications through face-to-face encounters. In existential terms, Arab Spring might be thought of as a revolution of Being over techne , an uprising of the unchartable, infinite potential of the Other. The name of this Other is found in Chance. The faith of the revolution lies in the proper decentering of the subject, its giving to the Other of time, for only with respect to time does history actually appear on the horizon of the subject, rather than as an imposition. This time of historical agency appears as a moment when anything can happen—a revolutionary truth event where everything comes into question while being realized in its Otherness as a community of the people begins anew in the streets amidst discourse, friendship, reconfigurations of hegemony, and a becoming of a constituent power. Throwing a wrench into the gears of the “cobwebbed tradition” of Orientalism, the decentering of history in Arab Spring, Libyan Winter is a defining quality of its impassioned revolutionary cry. But perhaps the most paradigmatic points of the book emerge from the unexpected voices. To make the connection between the particular manifestations of revolutionary demands to the general historic terms of revolution, Prashad quotes an anonymous young Egyptian in Tahrir Square, who reminds us, “[T]he French Revolution took a very long time so the people could eventually get their rights.” Far from timelessness, the historicization of Arab Spring must exist precisely within the most uncanny appearance of time, as something that does not appear to come from the natural state of time as we know it, but in arriving has completely transformed the way that we understand time. Strange Monsters Revolution is never as simple as a revolt from below against a rusting structure of elites trying to remain in power. As with the French Revolution, Arab Spring consisted of complex familial ties, outside interests, and religious factions fighting alongside, often in awkward juxtaposition to, liberals, working class parties, farmers, and students. It is perhaps because of this historically difficult and incongruous composition that the Arabic word for revolution is thawra , referring to the image of the bull, or thawr , which has religious significance as a pagan deity for the Ancient Semitic tribes and Cartheginians. If Daniel Guérin was correct in saying, “Anarchism and Marxism drink from the same spring,” then it is quite a different oasis that drove the thirsty beast of revolution through what Prashad calls, “the Libyan labyrinth.” Recalling Bataille’s Acéphale, the intestinal labyrinth gains significance as the mode of metabolism and rumination in which, “(the Acephale) has lost himself, loses me with him, and in which I discover myself as him, in other words, as a monster.” Unraveling the discourse of the revolution, the flows of power and hegemony—from Qaddafi’s nationalist coup in 1969 to the wars with Chad from 1978 to 1987, the neoliberal reforms of the 1990s to, finally, the War on Terror—we find that the metabolic process of Libyan Winter ends in the production of oil. In a process of what Prashad calls “involution,” Qaddafi’s bellicose policies, along with his attempts to nationalize Islam together with oil, mutated the source of his power, turning his house against itself. Already a divided nation, with its two major cities on opposite geographic sides of the country, Libya became split between two opposed political powers—liberal reformists and staunch nationalists—as Qaddafi’s political disengagement manifested through what can only be described in psychoanalytic terms as a recursive passage a l’act (mysteriously calling Wikipedia “Kleenex,” declaring that opponents drank hallucinogens with their instant coffee, and so on). Prashad declares, “The mercurial style that Qaddafi adopted was not about his personality alone, but also a leader’s natural response to a system that relied upon power brokers whose own loyalty… did not have any ideological commitment to the system.” As in the case of other nations during Arab Spring, the true expression of revolt was an outward exposition of what had inwardly been happening in microcosmic societies throughout the realm—from indigenous tribes to political parties, for a century, the people, partly motivated by (and in resistance to) economic impositions of development, had been changing the traditional social compositions and participating in what Ruth Wilson Gilmore calls, “the relative autonomy of the movement from the leaders.” It was this empowerment of political reconfigurations taking place under the context of new democratic assemblages that shocked the elites and evoked such a powerful response. Unlike Qaddafi’s awkward policy choices and rants, real acts of power from the West were clear and decisive. Prashad sets the stages of war and diplomacy, far removed from the deserts, mountains, and cities that forged the backdrop of popular politics. Taking place under the now-classic architecture of the “four pillars” of US interests—oil, the War on Terror, Israel, and the circumvention of Iranian hegemony—we find elites rubbing elbows in “Heliopolist cocktail parties and hushed conferences in Kasr al-Ittihadiya” as well as the Concorde-Lafayette hotel in Paris, which provides the setting for a meeting of anti-Qaddafi figures consolidating their power. These scenes are buttressed with the careful portraiture of key historical actors. As Prashad brings the stage of history to life, we find the diplomats and liberals like Frank Wisner, whose career has brought him from Enron in the late 1990s to the Obama Administration, under the aegis of which he was meeting with Mubarak about military support during Arab Spring. We spy the provocateurs, for instance, gauche cavalier , Bernard Henri-Levy, who telephones Sarkozy from Benghazi about the need for more NATO air strikes. We follow the rebel military establishment as it suffers mysterious deaths and even more mysterious assents (like that of apparent CIA cohort, Khalifa Hifter). In each of these intriguing characters, we find different representations of the security state biopolitique: an oil-injected reification that drives Arab Spring from the resentment of rising food prices to the brink of implosion in Libyan Winter. Reminiscent of the scenes of Cold War soirées represented in old Bond films, the aristocratic fight for oil against democracy that was Libyan Winter presents a harsh truth that the new global crisis is simply the continuation of the old history: the global exploitation of capitalism waged against the imagination of the people. As Benjamin laments, “The labyrinth is the right path for the person who always arrives early enough at his destination. This destination is the marketplace.” Yet, “(t)he labyrinth is the habitat of… a humanity (a class) which does not want to know where its destiny is taking it.” Thus, the labyrinth leads, like the desert, only further into itself. As Blanchot explains, “The desert is even less certain than the world; it is never anything but the approach to the desert.” Only the visionary can take time out of the involution toward oblivion. It is here, in this approach to and escape from history, that we find ourselves within Benjamin’s Golgotha, Blanchot’s desert: A space of indeterminate uncertainty where we become familiar only with our own exile. Blanchot writes, “For the moderated and moderate man, the room, the desert, and the world are strictly determined places. For the man of the desert and the labyrinth, devoted to the error of a journey necessarily a little longer than his life, the same space will be truly infinite, even if he knows that it is not, all the more so since he knows it.” The desert, as allegory, provides an eschatology, a mortality in the destiny of Arab Spring. But any allegory of nature might lead to a labyrinthine eschatology (for example, in Bachelard, the forest presents "a limitless world"); the prescience of the untimely is always an uncanny acceptance of the infinite within the finite—the outside of what is understood. Transgenerational and occupied with the image of the future, the untimely makes otherness its home as it proceeds toward liberation. In the work of helping time navigate this dangerous passage of history, Prashad illustrates that the more violent break with history may have occurred in the peaceable struggles of Tahrir Square, and not in the military clashes of Qaddafi with his former Generals who defected to the CIA and NATO countries. It might be possible to suggest, then, that in the case of Tunisia and Egypt, the historical subject of the people was drawn together in a Dionysian dance of different rhythms in the marvelous realm of the ancients, while we fear that the case of Libya suggests an Apollonian future where time, itself, may lay dying under the machinic hand of history. The properly Nietzschean inversion would follow: time is dead, for history has killed it. Yet, if time is dead, struck down in Golgotha, exposed in the desert, mauled by the thawra , it is only in the present sense that it is rendered impossible outside of the context into which the untimely has thrown us. Thus, if history becomes an art of revolution, life as being-towards-death (death as the provocation of the neutrality of time) becomes what Benjamin calls “the allegory of resurrection” through the glorious ruins of history. Prashad ends his work with a rousing finale: “The time of the impossible has presented itself. In Egypt, where the appetite for the possibilities of the future are greatest, the people continue to assert themselves into Tahrir Square and other places, pushing to reinvigorate a Revolution that must not die… For them the slogan is simple: Down with the Present. Long live the Future. May it be so.&rdquo. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy of Music Education Review 12.2 (2004) 188-193 [Access article in PDF] Response to June Boyce-Tillman, "Towards an Ecology of Music Education" Mark Garberich Michigan State University June Boyce-Tillman's "Towards an Ecology of Music Education" challenges the foundations of music education philosophy and its application to practice. Beginning with the identification and clarification of what are described as "subjugated ways of knowing," she advocates the restoration and application (...) of these approaches to instruction. She completes the description and definition of the interlocking [End Page 188] areas of musical experience by providing an actual project that exemplifies these tenets. I offer my humble appreciation of the attention she gives to the exploration of alternate approaches to music instruction and to the need for a clearer connection between community and individual and between culture and music education."Toward an Ecology of Music Education" is about values. Values may well be the defining word of this era in Western education and society. Changes in demographics, belief systems, and political dogma have de-stabilized the foundations of social and political frameworks, regardless of their efficacy. So, I would like to elaborate on the values represented in this paper, discussing them in relation to teaching, democracy, and diversity in music education. Values and Teaching Each of us carries our worldview into our work and we cannot deny our philosophical identity. However, the degree to which we allow our worldview to affect our teaching should be limited by the priorities of our instruction. Consider music education as having three broad perspectives: (a) purpose in society, (b) purpose for the individual, and (c) aesthetics (inherent value). The position of the three is not hierarchical and each can be considered apart from the others. We give evidence of our real motivation in music education by the emphasis we place upon each of these three. The aesthetically inclined find appeal in teaching for the inherent value in music. Those who strongly maintain a social agenda may be attracted by the possibilities of improving society as a whole through music education. Plato's view of music education was oriented almost exclusively toward his purposes for society. In his writing, any consideration of effect on the individual was only incidental to his primary concern of its effect on society.The true teacher, however, will always gravitate toward the purpose for the individual. A person is the source of his ideas, and does not the creator stand above his creation? Do music teachers teach music? No, they teach students about music. Though we cannot separate ourselves from our love of beauty of form and expression in music nor can we forget our personal commitments toward improving the world around us, yet we must remember that it is the individual student who is the focus of music instruction. If this is true, we can draw some conclusions about our right to bring about change.Do we have the right to proselytize individual students so that they might become adherents of our worldview? As an evangelical Christian, perhaps even a fundamentalist, I admit that I have observed changes in society over my lifetime with some sadness. It is difficult to see the country I love, which was founded upon Judeo-Christian principles, gradually losing touch with those principles. How will departure from those principles affect the direction and stability of the [End Page 189] nation founded upon them? As a teacher, however, I understand that it is my responsibility to teach students about music and that I have a responsibility to parents, who in a democratic society, hold responsibility not only for the spiritual, moral, and social education of their children, but also for the spiritual, moral, and social direction of a nation. Teachers are obliged to live as moral examples to students and to demonstrate values in their actions, but to consider the wishes of parents when it comes to the advancement of personal agendas. We do not have the right to encroach upon the mentoring relationship between parents and children. We must also be careful lest we... (shrink)

Thomas Eisele explores the premise that the Socratic method of inquiry need not teach only negative lessons. Instead, Eisele contends, the Socratic method is cyclical: we start negatively by recognizing our illusions, but end positively through a process of recollection performed in response to our disillusionment, which ultimately leads to renewal. Thus, a positive lesson about our resources as philosophical investigators, as students and teachers, becomes available to participants in Socrates' robust conversational inquiry. __Bitter Knowledge __includes Eisele's detailed readings of (...) Socrates' teaching techniques in three fundamental Platonic dialogues, _Protagoras, Meno_, and _Theaetetus_, as well as his engagement with contemporary authorities such as Gregory Vlastos, Martha Nussbaum, and Stanley Cavell. Written in a highly engaging and accessible style, this book will appeal to students and scholars in philosophy, classics, law, rhetoric, and education. "This book is original, fresh, and of very high quality, opening up these Platonic texts, central to Western culture, in new ways. In addition, it establishes a method that others can use and apply to the other dialogues. It would be a wonderful text to assign in courses in philosophy, basic humanities, education, and law." --_James Boyd White, University of Michigan_ "Through his thoughtful and incisive readings of Plato, Thomas Eisele puts Socrates in a new light. In Eisele's hands, Socrates offers us a method not simply for philosophy but for the challenges of life and mind. This superb book builds on the great readings of Plato, adding to the richness of our understanding of the enigmatic figure of Socrates. These are profound readings of Plato." --_Dennis Patterson, Rutgers University School of Law_ "Eisele's book is much more than an erudite, seductive, and imaginative exploration of three central Platonic dialogues. It is also a fine general treatment of philosophy, discussing the kind of finality or closure to which philosophical questions are susceptible and the appropriate stance of the inquirer. It considers the pedagogy of philosophy and law brilliantly." --_Thomas Morawetz, University of Connecticut School of Law_. (shrink)

Is moral evolution a mere illusion, as postmodern thinkers state or a more or less permanent feature of history though it can be thwarted by unfavorable conjunctures, as Weber or Durkheim thought? The question is tentatively answered by a reanalysis of data drawn from the World Values Survey conducted under the lead of the University of Michigan. The data on seven Western countries show, when comparing the answers of younger to older respondents and of more to less educated (...) respondents, that definite trends characterize the frequencies. On the questions regarding issues related notably to work, authority, morals, religion, politics and attitudes towards other people, the younger and the more educated appear as giving answers less inspired by tradition. On the whole, the data illustrate Weber’s notion of ratio­nalization. The same trends can be observed in countries outside the Western world as India, Russia and Turkey. Such trends may plausibly be reinforced by globalization. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Making of Roman India by Grant ParkerJoseph L. RifeGrant Parker. The Making of Roman India. Greek Culture in the Roman World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. xv + 357 pp. 11 black-and-white figs. 3 maps. Cloth, $99.India as a strange land—vast, wild, mystical—has long excited the western imagination, even after the British colonial downfall. This vision of danger and desire has deep roots. While India was (...) nearly out of reach of those great ancient empire-builders, the Macedonians and the Romans, on the distant fringe of the Mediterranean sphere of contact and commerce, it was very much on their minds. [End Page 672] Grant Parker’s The Making of Roman India, like the India of fantasy, is sprawling and full of wisdom, if somewhat untidy. Rather than attempting to reconstruct the historical travels and concrete relations between Rome and South Asia, Parker examines the development of a literary discourse during the Empire, a collection of responses to and representations of that faraway place that were “conceived in terms of power relations in Roman society” (5–7). The scale of the inquiry is breathtaking, encompassing an array of texts in various genres from the Achaemenid background to the Christian reception and beyond, as it were, from Darius I to St. Thomas.Parker’s book, which grew from his Princeton dissertation through a Michigan fellowship and an early career at Duke, marks the culmination of a series of publications that include his co-edited volume, Ancient India in its Wider World (with Carla Sinopoli [Ann Arbor, Mich. 2008]), and several notable articles (e.g., Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 45.1 [2002]: 40–95; Ars Orientalis 34 [2007]: 19–37; Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 37 [2007]: 1–7). This ongoing project has established Parker as an important scholar of the classical tradition, cultural criticism, and travel literature. In his preface, Parker comments on the personal impact of Momigliano’s Alien Wisdom and dutifully notes the broad influence of Saïd’s Orientalism, while cautioning against the transposition of postcolonial theory to a preindustrial setting (8). He belongs to an energetic generation of classicists who are drawing a new picture of how the Greeks and Romans envisioned the East in literature and art. The Making of Roman India shares common ground with other recent studies of the dynamic construction of identity, and how one culture defines another under its own conditions, such as those by Phiroze Vasunia and Ian Moyer on Egypt (The Gift of the Nile [Berkeley 2001] and Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism [Cambridge 2011]) and by Nathanael Andrade on Syria (Syrian Identity in the Greco-Roman World [Cambridge 2013]). Parker has a distinct advantage because India, unlike Egypt or Syria, was an uncharted region of little historical consequence which intellectuals could shape and re-shape in line with their evolving interests. His study stands out for its remarkable blend of erudition, philological rigor, and creative insight.The book unfolds as an exploration of Indography through time. Part 1 (11–65) covers the Greek tradition up to the first century b.c.e. in four stages: Greek historiography out of Asia Minor during the Late Archaic to Late Classical periods; the explosion of knowledge emanating from Alexander’s campaign in 327–325 b.c.e.; the diplomatic activities of the Hellenistic kingdoms (particularly Megasthenes chez Chandragupta); and geographical thought. Parker’s handling of disparate, often challenging, sources is always accurate and incisive. His concluding remarks to individual sections can be less than startling: Hecataeus situated India in an ordered, pre-cartographic model of the world (20–21); Ctesias’ taste for marvels set him up for indictments of mendacity (30–33); Eratosthenes tied the subcontinent into his geodetic calculus (52–53). But the readings serve as reliable introductions to many texts that remain hard to access, and here the whole is more than the sum. Parker’s sweeping juxtaposition of a chain of thinkers effectively [End Page 673] reveals how they defined India as a finite structure for physical measurement, a problem for veridical historiography, and a prodigiously fecund environment for scientific... (shrink)

"A rich collection. Since it holds a number of introductory pieces along with advanced essays and review articles, the volume will be accessible to a broad audience and will work well in philosophy of science courses....Essential."--Lawrence Sklar, University of Michigan.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Violent Conflict, the Struggle for Identity, and the Contagion of Mimetic Desire in the Prison EnvironmentCarlos GarciaMy name is Carlos Garcia. I am 56 years old and a junior class member of the Hope College–Western Theological Seminary Prison Education Program. I have lived my entire life in the state of Michigan. Unfortunately, more than forty of those years have been spent in juvenile detention centers, county jails, (...) rehabilitation centers, reformatories, and prisons. I have been accused, tried, and convicted legitimately, and wrongfully, for just about every crime less than murder. Needless to say, I know a thing or two about violence. As a result, I have embarked on a journey to understand and make use of those things I have learned in the field of mimetic desire to challenge the current system of prison politics. This writing is what I hope will be the first of many steps toward comprehensible prison reform and lasting rehabilitative programing within the Michigan Department of Corrections and beyond.What is it that makes the prison environment such a volatile place? Could it be the nature or character of the kind of men and women that fill its beds? What, then, does this say about the societies from which they came? Societies may have, in fact, played the greatest role in creating who they have come to be. [End Page 95] Could it be that their communities shaped their natures and made them into the kinds of people that many now fear and look at with curious fascination? Who we think we are might surprise us. Furthermore, who we think we "might" be may surprise us even more.This essay attempts to address and answer the question, "What role does mimetic desire play in the prison environment, and what effect might it have on the violence therein?" It also addresses how inmate identity might be shaped. Does the intentional limitation of material, intellectual, social, and spiritual resources that one may have also restrict individuality in a way that creates an environment of sameness? I suggest the answer is a resounding "yes." As such, mimetic desire becomes the driving force behind the violence therein.It is, I argue, this environment of sameness and the disintegration of differences—not the differences, in and of themselves—that ultimately leads to mimetic desire, competition, and rivalry. Often, and to the point, this environment is where winning the rivalry replaces the initial desire for the material, intellectual, or social object as the desired goal.As I unpack and answer the question and argument just offered, it is important that we first understand the premise upon which they have been formulated. Mimesis, mimetic desire, and mimetic theory are rooted in the idea of imitation. Mimesis, in and of itself, is nothing new. It is simply defined as "imitation or mimicry."1 In context of this essay, however, I address mimetic desire more specifically, as it has been theorized by its founder, French professor of history and literature René Girard. Luke Burgis, the author of Wanting: Mimetic Desire in Everyday Life, defines mimesis as "A sophisticated form of imitation that in adults is usually hidden. In mimetic theory, mimesis has a negative connotation because it usually leads to rivalry and conflict."2 Mimetic desire is defined as "Desire generated and formed through the imitation of what someone else has already desired."3 This means that what we want or desire is what the other—someone we might consider to be a model or mediator—wants, or desires, not necessarily because of the intrinsic value of the object, but because of the value we perceive the other's desire has placed on it. Again, it is mimetic desire sitting at the center of most conflicts and of the struggle for identity (i.e., autonomy) that I believe makes the prison environments volatile.We, as a species, struggle to find our place in the world. Each of us is trying to create our own identities, individually, culturally, collectively, even nationally. In very few places is the struggle more real, or its potentially violent consequences more severe, than in the prison environment. The identities of most inmates have been lost or stripped... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Vergil's Aeneid and the Roman Self: Subject and Nation in Literary DiscourseJames J. O'HaraYasmin Syed. Vergil's Aeneid and the Roman Self: Subject and Nation in Literary Discourse. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2005. x + 277 pp. Cloth, $65.This book, which "began as a PhD dissertation at the University of California, Berkeley" (1997), tackles a timely, large, and difficult topic, possibly a topic too difficult (...) to be handled in a satisfactory way in a dissertation and first book. In sum, it makes a decent but flawed contribution on a topic that needs much more work, and in some ways, much more careful work.Two introductory chapters describe the importance of the Aeneid in imperial culture and the role of manipulation of the emotions in ancient theories of rhetoric. In a section called "The Reader's Subject Position," two chapters (both largely on Aeneas and Dido) treat "The Gaze" and "The Spectacle of Emotions." In the next section, on "Gender and Ethnicity," four chapters treat "Gendered Emotions" (before Allecto's visit, Amata is worried, but Turnus is calm; "frenzy, then, is female," 122), "Gendered Ethnicity" (Dido's characterization as Punic "is hard to detect because it is blended with her lover's persona," but it is still significant, 145), "Cleopatra and the Politics of Gendered Ethnicity" ("Augustan representations of Cleopatra form the birth of the Western discourse of orientalism," 177, somewhat overstated, but with interesting ideas about the connection between Cleopatra and Dido), and "Romanitas" (Greek stereotypes, and others, define Romans but are characterized by a "fundamental ambivalence," 203). A brief conclusion ends the book.The interesting argument that Syed makes in the first few chapters is "that the Aeneid used its visuality and its sublime style to appeal to the readers' emotions, and that it created a fictional space for an internal reader within the poem for [End Page 317] 316 whom the poem could articulate an identity by creating various fictional characters as figures of identification" (35). Both these and later chapters offer a mix of the new, the familiar, and, at times, the unconvincing. Two of the book's flaws are actually signaled in the surprising final paragraph, which declares that the book's "most glaring omission has been that of considering more Italian characters and generally of giving more attention to the second half of the poem" (227). Syed says that this "focus" on other aspects of the poem "has been a personal decision on my part," but it is hard to imagine thinking about "subject and nation" in the Aeneid without discussing the relationship between Rome and Italy both in the poem and in Vergil's world; see C. Ando, "Vergil's Italy: ethnography and politics in first-century Rome," pp. 123–42 in D. S. Levene and D. Nelis, eds., Clio and the Poets (Leiden, 2002), whose date is probably too close to Syed's publication date. Presumably there will be a full discussion of Rome and Italy in Alessandro Barchiesi's forthcoming The Geopoetics of Vergil's Aeneid.The lack of attention to Books 7–12 is also a problem, because often the arguments Syed makes about the parts of the Aeneid that she does treat are less convincing when we think about passages in the second half of the poem. The claims that Aeneas has a special ability "to control his emotional responses to the world" (70) and that "in contrast to Aeneas, whose emotions are carefully controlled, many characters in the poem give free rein to their emotions" (87), surely cry out for a consideration of Aeneas' rampage after the death of Pallas in Book 10 and the rage with which he kills Turnus in the poem's final lines. The discussion of Dido's wounds and of Lavinia's association, through allusive simile, with the wound of Menelaus (125–35) is fairly good. But Syed does not mention that Turnus at the start of Aeneid 12 is compared to a wounded deer, or that right before the Lavinia scene Vergil says Turnus "grows sicker with the attempt to heal" (aegrescitque medendo, 45). Lavinia is indeed associated with Menelaus by allusion, but Aeneas... (shrink)

This collection of photographs uncovers the mystery and beauty of a part of the country that for most people is hidden in plain view, Places of Grace reveals both the physical splendor and the natural history of a ten-state region encompassing Illinois, Nebraska, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan. Open Places of Grace and be guided through forest, wetland, and prairie into the heart of the undiscovered Midwest. From the prairie grasses of western Nebraska to (...) the boreal forests of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, this volume delights the eye and fires the imagination with unexpected images of lands that yet retain the marks of their primeval origins. (shrink)

Why would I spend a good portion of my time over the last 35 years gathering information on the Gymnosophists? The story begins even earlier. As an undergraduate student in the Flint College of the University of Michigan, I pursued an English major with a strong history minor-always looking for something between the two, and rarely finding it. Then in my practice teaching, I happened into one of the early experimental high school courses in Interdisciplinary Humanities. With the exciting (...) interrelationships between art, literature, music, philosophy and history, I said YES-this was what I had been looking for. So I pioneered in teaching high school Humanities for the next few years. Interdisciplinary Humanities was a bottom-up movement. Gradually, colleges began offering Masters programs to give teachers the rich background they needed. I decided I was not tied to Michigan where it was cold; I would find the best Masters program in Humanities anywhere in the world, and go there. Well, it turned out that the best Masters program in the world was at Wayne State University in Detroit, of all places. Unlike other programs that were really just double majors, Wayne offered truly interdisciplinary classes. Moreover, they offered an Eastern track and a Western track. Knowing that I would never find that Eastern track anywhere else, I studied interdisciplinary courses in the cultures of India, China, Japan, and Egypt. (The middle-eastern professor was on sabbatical when I was there.) I especially liked India-perhaps because I had already travelled around the world, and India impressed me the most. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Ethics & the Environment 10.2 (2005) 101-135 [Access article in PDF] Truth, Knowledge and the Wild World Jim Cheney One ought not to put too much stock in the word 'philosophy'.... [T]here are alternative ways of intelligently engaging the world. To construe one's thinking in terms of belief is characteristic of a particular kind of world view and it remains to be seen whether those who share an indigenous (...) world view conceive of experience in such an overtly intellectualized manner. Leroy N. Meyer and Tony Ramirez (1996, 104)1 Wilderness treats me like a human being. Tom Birch2As Holmes Rolston III has said, "A principal characteristic of human life is that it develops into biography. In that sense, humans do not want their values in nature, any more than they want other goods in life, to come seriatim, like beads on a string.... Humans want a storied residence in nature where the passage of time integrates past, present, and future in a meaningful career" (Rolston 1988, 351). This is what I had hoped for: a narrative of storied residence in Midwest prairie, lake, and river country, and in the mountains and deserts of Idaho, with the history of the development of an environmental ethic (or ethos) left largely implicit within that larger narrative, leaving readers to reflect as they may on the philosophical dimensions of the journey. To leave traditional philosophical [End Page 101] modes of expression completely behind proved impossible (for now), but it has been for me a worthwhile exercise to locate my reflections on "truth, knowledge, and the wild world" in something of a narrative form. It is the lakes and rivers, prairies, mountains, and deserts that have remained implicit. They have cast their spell, however, on any attempt to impose cultural order on the relationship between truth, knowledge, and the wild world. I Looking back on it, it seems that my entire philosophical career has been implicated—in one way or another, directly and indirectly—in these two questions: "How important is truth to knowledge and epistemology?" and "What is the role of natural environments in the production of knowledge?" Furthest back, at the very origin of my philosophical life, reflections on philosophical knowledge were inevitably posed and thought about in natural environments, particularly in my meditations as I drifted in the early morning mist on the St. Croix River and several Minnesota lakes, especially Cedar Lake. Even now, when I am trying to make my way to a new understanding of some philosophical issue, I walk along the shores of Lake Michigan and the Milwaukee River, or sit by rivers and lakes in Idaho, a place that became my second home after meeting my partner, Fran. Northern White Cedars stand in our yard, front and back; Western Red Cedar holds our house in its embrace.There is no question in my mind that natural environments are the deepest sources of whatever philosophical understandings I may have come to. In terms of formal studies, however, the question of the role of natural environments in the production of knowledge did not emerge for me until, well into my teaching career, I discovered the newly-emerging field of environmental ethics. It was at that point that the deepest wellspring of my philosophy and my life came together with my professional philosophical interests—in an uneasy balance. Until that time, as I think of it now, my philosophical track through the curious environment of the academy, however well it prepared me to think about central issues in environmental ethics, was mostly marked by a fascination with glittering baubles and gemstones and did not truly touch the soil, water, and atmosphere of my life.Questions of truth, knowledge, and epistemology took center stage from the beginning of my formal philosophical studies. As an undergraduate [End Page 102] at Berkeley, Thompson Clarke introduced me (in three courses) to the skeptical implications of Ordinary Language Philosophy that had escaped the attention of J. L. Austin and others. This baptism into the rigors of skeptical philosophy left me pretty much convinced, as my partner and... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Postmodernism:A Self-InterviewIhab HassanThe following interview did not take place in Ihab Hassan's study in Milwaukee, with a view of Lake Michigan, rippling turquoise, blue, and mauve under a sky of fluffy paratactical clouds.Interviewer: You are sometimes known as the Father...Hassan: Please! At most, the Godfather of Postmodernism, though I don't know who the Godmother is. Maybe Madam Hype?I: Why hype?H: Because postmodernism began as a genuinely contested idea (...) and is fading as a form of media hype.I: Can you define it, however tentatively?H: I would prefer not to. In fact, I cannot, no more than I can define romanticism or modernism in a sentence or paragraph. Such definitions are best left to some onomastic genius. Once, I offered a table of features contrasting modernism with postmodernism. Once is quite enough.I: Why is that?H: Because it was as widely cited as pounced upon, nearly everyone ignoring my pointed disclaimer: "Yet the dichotomies this table represents remain insecure, equivocal. For differences shift, defer, even collapse; concepts in any one vertical column are not all equivalent; and inversions and exceptions, in both modernism and postmodernism, abound."I: Well, if we can't define postmodernism, how can we talk about it? [End Page 223]H: The way we talk about everything else: say, freedom, justice, love, spirit, happiness.... We talk about postmodernism by using the word in various verbal contexts—Wittgenstein would have said "language games"—and seeing what happens.I: What happens?H: Some discussions engage postmodernism and clarify it in certain perspectives, without actually defining it: for instance, the works of Hans Bertens, Charles Jencks, Andreas Huyssen, even Fredric Jameson....I: Why even Jameson?H: Because Marxism has a tenuous relation to contemporary reality, as everyone knows except some Western academics.I: Some would say that the entire phenomenon of postmodernism is an exercise of Western academics.H: That's a bit of a non sequitur but true enough, true up to a point. Remember, the phenomenon has overflowed its theoretical origins to become a kind of ironic cultural awareness, a mode of historical reflexivity—if you wish, a perpetually anxious exercise in self-definition.I: But Western, always Western, right?H: Japan has contributed vigorously to postmodernism, especially in art and architecture. So, instead of saying "Western," let's say high-tech, mass-media, omni-consuming societies.I: That, in effect, excludes four fifths of the world, wouldn't you say?H: Yes—and no. You see, cultural postmodernism has mutated into geopolitical postmodernity. By the latter, I mean both globalization with its thousand faces (multinational capitalism, cyber technology, cultural imperialism, "Americanization"), and counter-globalization with as many masks (local knowledge, old cultural traditions, postcolonial ideologies, anti-Western resentments). It's the monster phenomenon of our time.As I have written a good deal about this phenomenon, most recently in Angelika, I won't repeat myself here. The point, however, is that postmodernity is a planetary process, postmodernism is not.I: That suggests a political dimension, which some say you have slighted in your work. How would you respond to that criticism?H: Writing in the late sixties and early seventies about postmodernism, I lacked the benefits of hindsight. For instance, I focused on high culture, Beckett and Borges and Nabokov and Barthelme and Barth. I did not foresee then that postmodernism would become a media phenomenon, involving pop and kitsch. And I recognized the emergent process of globalization only in the Seventies, in Paracriticisms (1975).But I "slighted" the political only in the sense that I did not give it [End Page 224] priority, did not make it an "absolute horizon." In fact, I believe that a primary emphasis on politics flattens, impoverishes our lives. The current paradigm in the humanities ignores the inner cost of "politics."I: Forgive me, but that's another example of what some colleagues in the profession perceive as your contrary or cross-grained character. Can you explain why politics impoverishes our lives?H: Conformists—remember Harold Rosenberg's quip about "the herd of independent minds"?—are quick to discover perversity everywhere. But never mind that. The gravamen is that politics... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:“Destined to Fail”: Carl Seashore’s World of Eugenics, Psychology, Education, and Music by Julia Eklund KozaJune Boyce-TillmanJulia Eklund Koza, “Destined to Fail”: Carl Seashore’s World of Eugenics, Psychology, Education, and Music (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2021)This is a difficult book to read not only because of its length but also its content. While reading the history of eugenics and how it played out in (...) the invention of the holocaust, I found myself feeling the nausea that I similarly feel when embarking on Margaret Attwood’s Handmaid’s Tale. I also remembered how I had used the Seashore tests of musical ability in my time teaching in London primary schools. I was faced with a common problem in UK State schools–three places for violin tuition and twenty children seeking them. The Seashore tests appeared to be the answer to the problem. The claims made for them were that they would tell me which children were likely to succeed because they had more musical ability than others. It was only in the process of using them that I realized that this was an unjustified claim. Conversations with John Sloboda revealed two other aspects that might play out in musical success. One was a moment/event which made a person fall in love with a particular instrument and want to learn it. The other was the amount of time a person would put in to practice the instrument, which in many London contexts with high-rise flats and no soundproofing [End Page 83] was extremely difficult. All that the Seashore tests showed was the third aspect involved in engagement with music, which was the ability to recognize the musical patterns of a particular culture. But what this book shows us so clearly is the danger of rating this ability to grasp the musical patterns of the Western classical musical traditions as the totality of musical ability. Beneath this is the belief that some people are innately musical but, more significantly, others are not. In my experience, musicality is a difficult area in our UK culture; people are more likely to say that they are not musical in a way that they would not in relation to any other academic discipline such as English, geography or history. In many educational contexts, I have pointed out that, if a teacher believes that some students are musical and some are not, then it is unethical to have class music lessons for everyone in the curriculum. Helpfully, in the final chapter of the book, some of these shades from the past, that still color contemporary thinking about music education, are clearly set out.To turn to the book itself, the first chapter sets out Seashore’s life as a “Mendelian hereditarian who believed that musical talent is biologically inheritable, differently bestowed, and immutable.”1 The author contextualizes the belief system in which this is rooted, discussing the American Eugenics Society, the best baby contests, and the “great man” narratives of the early to mid-twentieth century (first set out in Galton’s idea of genius). Seashore’s legacy figures in a number of academic fields, including audiology, aesthetics, educational reform, the American Psychological Society, and the National Academy of Sciences. She hopes to initiate a debate about how eugenics has, and still does have, a part in stories of both music education and education generally. She situates her work in a view of “‘the past’ as a dynamic construct created and recreated in the present.”2 She sets up a different way of remembering the past by acknowledging that past, present, and future are culturally constructed and bounded, in which she uses Foucault’s concept of power.3 She considers the role of “solid” science in supporting both eugenics and its responsibility for the Holocaust. I would recommend that anyone embarking on historical musicology read this chapter to understand the complex mechanisms which need to underpin such study.My own academic research has been about deconstructing the patriarchal values that filled my own miseducation in music history. The legacy of Galton’s construction of genius dominated my music education and when I took my professorial... (shrink)

This paper outlines new work in cross-cultural psychology largely drawn from Nisbett, Choi, and Smith (Cognition, 65, 15–32, 1997); Nisbett, Peng, Choi, & Norenzayan, Psychological Review, 108(2), 291–310, 2001; Nisbett, The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerners Think Differently...and Why. New York: Free Press 2003), Ji, Zhang and Nisbett (Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 87(1), 57–65, 2004), Norenzayan (2000) and Peng (Naive Dialecticism and its Effects on Reasoning and Judgement about Contradiction. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, (...) class='Hi'>Michigan 1997) Peng and Nisbett (Cross-Cultural Similarities and Differences in the Understanding of Physical Causality. Paper presented at the Science and Culture: Proceedings of the Seventh Interdisciplinary Conference on Science and Culture, Frankfort, K. Y. 1996), and Peng, Ames, & Knowles (Culture and Human Inference: Perspectives from three traditions. In: D. Matsumoto (Ed.), Handbook of Cross-Cultural Psychology (pp. 1–2). Oxford: Oxford University Press 2000). The paper argues that the findings on cultural influences on inference-making have implications for teaching and education generally, and specifically for the debate on conceptions and misconceptions of Asian students studying in western tertiary institutions around the world. The position defended is that, while there seems to be compelling empirical evidence for intercultural differences in thought patterns, these patterns are, for the most part, insignificant in everyday exchanges, though language and culture might subtlety modulate our inference-making at the margins. Linguistic determinism however is not defended. Nonetheless, the evidence provides food for thought, and it needs to inform the recent debates about international students studying overseas. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 124.4 (2003) 621-624 [Access article in PDF] HARRY B. EVANS. Aqueduct Hunting in the Seventeenth Century: Raffaello Fabretti's De aquis et aquaeductibus veteris Romae. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2002. xvi + 309 pp. 38 black-and-white figures. Cloth, $55. Stretching across the Roman Campagna, the tall arches of ancient aqueducts, even in their present ruined condition, are vivid reminders of the powerful (...) state and skilled engineers that built them. Scholarly interest in the geography and topography of the Campagna, with its natural and manmade wonders, had its genesis in such ancient commentators as Pliny the Elder and Strabo, but perhaps no scholars were more energetic than the early modern. Antiquarians and archaeologists perused the ruins of Rome and its countryside, among them the talented epigrapher and hunter of aqueducts, Raffaello Fabretti. A prominent figure in the learned world of seventeenth-century Rome, Fabretti published a study of the city's ancient aqueducts in 1680. It was the earliest modern topographical work to take the water system as its subject and among the most influential studies of its kind. Until now, Fabretti's treatise, titled De aquis et aquaeductibus veteris Romae, was available only in the original Latin (reprinted in The Printed Sources of Western Art series); its language quirky, ornate, and difficult, the treatise was not readily accessible to most readers.In the volume under review, Harry Evans, a veteran scholar of the Roman countryside and its water system, provides a complete English translation of and commentary on Fabretti's Deaquis. In the original text, Fabretti takes his readers on an exhaustive tour of the Roman Campagna that includes not only the aqueducts—whose water sources, conduit routes, and distribution systems he details—but also the ancient road system and city gates; he even assesses the size of the ancient city itself. His discussion encompasses literary, epigraphic, and archaeological evidence and is invaluable for its description of physical remains long since lost. Focusing primarily on the topographical issues addressed by Fabretti, Evans assesses his methods, contributions, and errors; at the same time, Evans offers a glimpse into the lively, often deeply contentious world of early modern scholarship.Fabretti's treatise was initially written as three separate "dissertations," published together in 1680. The first addresses the route and purpose of the Aqua Alexandrina, a third-century imperial conduit; the second explores the sources of the Aqua Marcia and Aqua Claudia in the upper Anio valley east of Tivoli; the third investigates a discrepancy between the number of aqueducts cited by Procopius (14) and the number of water sources listed in the fourth-century regionary catalogues (20). In two introductory chapters, Evans reviews Fabretti's biography and provides historical context for the treatise. Each of the following three chapters addresses one of the dissertations, with Evans' commentary following a full translation of the text. In a brief conclusion, Evan reflects upon Fabretti's contribution to later archaeological and topographical scholarship down to the twentieth century. Evans provides a readable translation of Fabretti's Latin text (while remaining faithful to the original), a text that will amuse [End Page 621] readers with its frequent barbs aimed at rivals in the field. Amply illustrated, including reproductions of the topographical maps that accompany each dissertation, this volume is a significant resource not only for philologists but also for historians of Rome more generally.Like many polymaths of his day, Fabretti had a career in the Church but made his name as a scholar of the ancients. His knowledge of Rome and the Campagna was not simply literary, though his command of the written sources was unquestionable, for as superintendent of the catacombs and custodian of antiquities, Fabretti had ample opportunity to excavate and examine Roman remains firsthand. He formed his own collection of inscriptions and published a number of ambitious archaeological tomes, including one on the column of Trajan. Intimate with the most learned persons of his day, Bernard Montfaucon and Giovanni Ciampini among them, Fabretti moved in the scholarly... (shrink)

Is there a special Mediterranean approach to Bioethics and if so what are the roots of this approach? And why not a Bosphorus, or a ‘lake Michigan’ bioethics? The answer to such a question depends on the focus one takes on defining ‘Mediterranean’? On the one hand one can refer to the Mediterranean region which includes the surrounding coasts, having Europe on its northern coast line, northern Africa on its southern coast line (and these will include the north and (...) South West coasts), and in the Eastern region countries which border with Middle-Eastern countries. This approach is the approach currently being taken by European Parliamentarians when they speak about the Mediterranean, namely including countries like France, Italy and Libya. On the other hand there is the look upon the Mediterranean as ‘Southern Europe’; this is a more ‘traditional’ way on how westerners view the Mediterranean. This common approach is often recognized when, for example, we speak of ‘Mediterranean diet’, or, ‘Mediterranean Temperament’. It would include Eastern countries like Greece and Cyprus. This article focuses on these two approaches to Mediterranean ethics after discussing issues pertaining to the region which are important to define in this context. It then analyses the need for having a Mediterranean approach to bioethical issues. (shrink)

continent. 2.2 (2012): 76–81 Comments on Eugene Thacker’s “Cosmic Pessimism” Nicola Masciandaro Anything you look forward to will destroy you, as it already has. —Vernon Howard In pessimism, the first axiom is a long, low, funereal sigh. The cosmicity of the sigh resides in its profound negative singularity. Moving via endless auto-releasement, it achieves the remote. “ Oltre la spera che piú larga gira / passa ’l sospiro ch’esce del mio core ” [Beyond the sphere that circles widest / penetrates (...) the sigh that issues from my heart]. 1 The axiomatic sigh of the pessimist is in a way the pure word of philosophy, a thought that thinks without you, speaks where you are not. The live pneumatic form of the soul’s eventual exit from the dead body’s mouth, the sigh restores consciousness to the funeral of being, to the passing away that is existence. Pessimism speaks in piercing aphorisms because first it sighs. “Beyond the sphere passeth the arrow of our sigh. Hafiz! Silence.” 2 … pessimism is guilty of that most inexcusable of Occidental crimes—the crime of not pretending it’s for real. To the pessimist, the ‘real’ world—the world on whose behalf we are expected to wake up in the morning—is a ceaseless index of its own unreality. The pessimist’s day is not an illumined space for the advancement of experience and action, but a permanently and inescapably reflective zone, the vast interior of a mirror where each thing is only insofar as it is, at best, a false image of itself. Within this speculative situation, inside the doubleness of the mirror, pessimism splits into two paths, false and true, one that tries to fix pessimism (establish a relation with the mirror) and decides in favor of the apparent real, and another that totally falls for pessimism (enters the mirror) and communes with the greater reality of the unreal. These two paths are distinguished by their relation to pessimism’s guilt vis-à-vis the world’s reality-project. The first form, that which remains pessimism for the world and puts on a smiling face, stays guilty to itself (i.e. unconscious) and thus turns hypocritical, becoming at once the pessimism of the commoner who really just wants things to be better for himself and the pessimism of the elite who wants to critically refashion reality in his own image. The general form of this worldly, hypocritical pessimism is the impulse to ‘make the world a better place’, which is the global mask under which the world is diurnally made worse. The second form, that which follows pessimism away from the world and ceases to put on a smiling face, refuses guiltiness as itself theessential Occidental mode of pretense and turns honest, becoming at once the intelligent pessimism required of all ordinary action and the radical pessimism necessary for self-knowledge: seeing that no one is capable of doing good. The general form of this universal, honest pessimism is the impulse not to worry, to give up and embrace dereliction, which is the only real way the world is actually improved. Where worldly pessimism is the engine productive of interminably warring secular and sacred religions (good-projects), universal pessimism strives hopelessly for the paradise of a supremely instantiated pessimus: things are getting so bad that there is no longer any time for them to get worse; things are so constantly-instantly worst that this is BEST. Cosmic pessimism is the mode of universal pessimism which can yet discourse with the world, which has not chosen silence and can spread the inconceivably BAD NEWS in an orderly form ( kosmos ) that the world can understand (if it wanted to). … the result of a confusion between the world and a statement about the world. That is what the world is (the result of a confusion between the world and a statement about the world). … a generalized misanthropy without the anthropos. Pessimism crystallizes around this futility—it is its amor fati , rendered as musical form. Pessimism’s love of fate is a blind love, a love of the blindness of being human in a cosmos conceived around the human’s eclipse, a heavy levitation in the contradictory space between the inescapability of its having been and the impossibility of its will-be. Pessimism’s song of futility is a sensible way of loving fate, with a minimum of eros, by means of a kind of matrimonial love of the fatal. As music, pessimism stays open to the irreparable and the inexorable without the binding of affirmation, in the apparent absence of the radical, infinitely surplus will that absolute amor fati seems to require. Crying, laughing, sleeping—what other responses are adequate to a life that is so indifferent? “Unless a man aspires to the impossible, the possible that he achieves will scarcely be worth the trouble of his achieving it. We should aspire to the impossible, to absolute and infinite perfection [….] The apocatastasis is more than a mystical dream: it is a norm of action, it is a beacon for high deeds [….] For true charity is a species of invasion [….] It is not charity to rock and lull our fellow men to sleep in the inertia and heaviness of matter, but rather to arouse them to anguish and torment of spirit.” 3 … the impossibility of ever adequately accounting for one’s relationship to thought. “The paroxysm of interior experience leads you to regions where danger is absolute, because life which self-consciously actualizes its roots in experience can only negate itself [….] There are no arguments [….] On the heights of despair, the passion for the absurd is the only thing that can still throw a demonic light on chaos [….] I live because the mountains do not laugh and the worms do not sing .” 4 It took three attempts before she was fully decapitated, all the while she continued, perhaps miraculously, to sing. According to the earliest account of Cecilia’s martyrdom, the beheading turns out worse. After not severing her head in three strokes, “the cruel executioner left her half dead” (seminecem eam cruentus carnifex dereliquit). 5 Cecilia’s effortlessly powerful endurance of the three strokes—a fitting icon for pessimism as an art of dereliction—demonstrates the “passivity and absence of effort [….] in which divine transcendence is dissolved.” 6 There’s a ghost that grows inside of me, damaged in the making, and there’s a hunt sprung from necessity, elliptical and drowned. Where the moving quiet of our insomnia offers up each thought, there’s a luminous field of grey inertia, and obsidian dreams burnt all the way down. Like words from a pre-waking dream. There is no reason to think that they are not. NOTES 1. Dante Alighieri. Vita Nuova . ed. and trans. Dino S. Cervigni and Edward Vasta. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. 1995. 41:10. 2. Hafiz of Shiraz. The Divan . trans. H. Wilberforce Clarke. London: Octagon Press. 1974. 10.9. 3. Miguel de Unamuno. The Tragic Sense of Life in Men and Nations . trans. Anthony Kerrigan. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 1972. 305-6. 4. E.M. Cioran. On the Heights of Despair . trans. Ilinca Zarifopol-Johnston. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1992. 9-10. 5. Giacomo Laderchi. S. Caeciliae Virg[inis] et Mart[yris] Acta. . . Rome. 1723. 38. 6. Georges Bataille. On Nietzsche . trans. Bruce Boone. London: Continuum. 2004. 135. See Nicola Masciandaro. “ Half Dead: Parsing Cecilia .” A Commentary on Eugene Thacker’s "Cosmic Pessimism" Gary J. Shipley Pessimism is the refusal to seek distraction, the refusal to remodel failure into a platform for further (doomed) possibilities, the refusal of comfort, the acceptance of the sickness of healthy bodies, the cup of life overflowing with cold vomit. If, as Ligotti suggests when discussing Invasion of the Body Snatchers , 1 humans prefer the anxieties of their familiar human lives to the contentment of an alien one, then the pessimist, we could argue, represents some perverted combination of the two, preferring (presuming he has a choice) the defamiliarization of human life to the contentment of its unquestioned mundanity. The quasi-religious state of mind that Wittgenstein would mention on occasion, that of “feeling absolutely safe,” 2 is a state the pessimist could only imagine being approximated by death, or perhaps some annihilative opiate-induced stupor. This Wittgensteinian commingling of certainty and faith looks every bit the futile gesture, a mere rephrasing of collapse or partial collapse. The only certainty open to the pessimist is that of the toxic formula of life itself—a formula known and lacuna-free. Certainty, far from being the gateway to deliverance, becomes the definitive impediment; and the possibility of salvation, as long as it remains, becomes crucially reliant on postulations of ignorance, epistemic gaps, a perennial incompleteness: “the perfect safety of wooed death […] the warm bath of physical dissolution, the universal unknown engulfing the miniscule unknown.” 3 The height of Leibniz’s Panglossian insanity nurtured the idea that our knowing everything—via the universal calculus—could be accurately described a triumph, as opposed to a nightmare in which our every futility is laid bare. Stagnancy and boredom are perhaps two of the greatest ills of Western civilisation, and the most potent pessimism tells you that you’re stuck with both. The most we can hope for, by way of salvation, is to throw open our despair to the unknown. The fact that Schopenhauer’s pessimism stopped short of morality and allowed him to play the flute, as Nietzsche complained, highlights the predicament of a man who despite having adorned nothingness with a smiling face still found himself alive. The demand here is that it be felt: a cross-contamination of intellect and emotion. The safety net of numerous parentheses makes for a failed philosophy, rather than a philosophy of failure. Depressives make bad pessimists, because, unless they choose to die, living will always infect them with necessities of hope, forcing them to find something, anything (all the various “as ifs”) to make existence tolerable. For as Cioran observed, while “[d]epressions pay attention to life, they are the eyes of the devil, poisoned arrows which wound mortally any zest and love of life. Without them we know little, but with them, we cannot live.” 4 And even when cured of our depressions we’ll find ourselves consumed, eaten alive by the hyper-clinical (borderline autistic) mania that replaces them: a predicament captured all too clearly in the microscriptual fictions of Robert Walser, where spectral men and women stifle their depressive madness with protective comas of detail, their failed assimilations buried beneath thick crusts of remote data. Like Beckett’s Malone their stories may have ended, but cruelly their lives have not. Pessimism is an extraneous burden (a purposeless weight) that makes everything else harder to carry, while at the same time scooping it out and making it lighter. If pessimism had a sound it would be the harsh non-noise of tinnitus—the way that every person would hear themselves if they refused their distractions long enough to listen: a lungless scream from the extrasolar nothing of the self. The music of pessimism—if indeed we can imagine such a thing—is the reverberating echo of the world’s last sound, conjectured but never heard, audible only in its being listened for. The one consolation of this hollow paradox of audibility being, that “he will be least afraid of becoming nothing in death who has recognized that he is already nothing now.” 5 The pessimist suffers a derangement of the real, a labyrinthitis at the nucleus of his being: he’s the stumbling ghost relentlessly surprised that others can see him. If Cioran’s refusal is manifested in sleep (when even saying ‘no’ is too much of a commitment), then Pessoa’s resides in the dreams inside that sleep. Pessoa chooses to exploit the fact that he’s being “lived by some murmuring non-entity both shadowy and muddied” 6 by growing more voids to live him. His is a Gnostic breed of sleep, “sleeping as if the universe were a mistake,” 7 a sleep that dreams through Thacker’s cosmic pessimism (“a pessimism of the world-without-us.”, “the unhuman orientation of deep space and deep time” 8 ), through the critical error of there being anything at all when there could be nothing. The metaphysical pessimist is someone who, however well life treats them, still desires to wake from it, as from the poisonous air of a bad dream. Pessimism is a paradox of age, being simultaneously young and old; its youth residing in a refusal to accept the authority of existence (its rich history, its inherent beneficence), a refusal to “get over” the horror of what it sees with its perpetually fresh eyes, and its maturity in the unceremonious disposal of the philosophical playthings (those futile architectures) of adolescence. As Thacker remarks: “Pessimism abjures all pretenses towards system—towards the purity of analysis and the dignity of critique.” 9 A sentiment shared with Pessoa, who duly categorizes those that choose to enact this futile struggle: “The creators of metaphysical systems and of psychological explanations are still in the primary stage of suffering.” 10 If the pessimist has shared a womb with anyone, it’s with the mystic and not the philosopher. As Schopenhauer tells us: “The mystic is opposed to the philosopher by the fact that he begins from within, whereas the philosopher begins from without. […] But nothing of this is communicable except the assertions that we have to accept on his word; consequently he is unable to convince.” 11 The crucial difference between the mystic and the pessimist is not the latter’s impassivity and defeatism, but his unwillingness/inability to contain in any way the spread of his voracious analyticity, his denial of incompleteness, his exhaustive devotion to failure. The truth of our predicament, though heard, is destined to remain unprocessed. Like the revelations of B.S. Johnson’s Haakon (“We rot and there’s nothing that can stop it / Can’t you feel the shaking horror of that?” 12 ) the pessimist’s truths are somehow too obvious to listen to, as if something inside us were saying, “Of course, but haven’t we gotten over that?” Pessimism is simple and ugly, and has no desire to make itself more complex or more attractive. The true moral pessimist knows that the Utilitarian’s accounts will always be in the red. He can see that for all his computational containments, his only honest path is a negative one, and that such a path has but one logical destination: that of wholesale human oblivion. Thacker notes how at the core of pessimism lies the notion of “the worst,” through which death is demoted by the all-pervasive suffering of a life that easily eclipses its threat. And so with doom made preferable to gloom, death begins to glint with promise, “like beauty passing through a nightmare.” 13 But even among pessimists suicide is, for the most part, thought to be an error. Schopenhauer, for instance, regarded suicide a mistake grounded in some fundamentally naïve disappointment or other. Pessoa too thought suicide an onerous escape tactic: “To die is to become completely other. That’s why suicide is a cowardice: it’s to surrender ourselves completely to life.” 14 There is a call here to be accepting of and creative with the puppetry of your being, an insistence that it’s somehow a blunder to attempt to hide in death from the horrors you find inlife. 15 Tied up with this perseverance is the slippery notion of the good death, for maybe, as Blanchot warns, suicide is rarely something we can hope to get right, for the simple reason that “you cannot make of death an object of the will.” 16 “Even in cases where the entire corpus of an author is pessimistic, the project always seems incomplete,” 17 and this is not simply because the project itself belies something yet to be disclosed, but because the project itself is a thing waiting. It waits on a cure it knows will not come, but for which it cannot do anything (as long as it continues to do anything) but wait. NOTES 1. See Thomas Ligotti. The Conspiracy Against the Human Race . New York: Hippocampus Press. 2010. 91. 2. Ludwig Wittgenstein. “A Lecture on Ethics.” Philosophical Review . (74) 1. 1965. 8. 3. Vladimir Nabokov. Pale Fire . New York: Vintage. 1989. 221. 4. E. M. Cioran. The Book of Delusions . trans. Camelia Elias. Hyperion. 5.1. (2010): 75. 5. Arthur Schopenhauer. The World as Will and Representation. vol. 2 . trans. E .F J. Payne. New York: Dover. 1966. 609. 6. Eugene Thacker. “Cosmic Pessimism.” continent. . 2.2 (2012): 67. 7. Fernando Pessoa. The Book of Disquiet . trans. Richard Zenith. London: Penguin. 2002. 35. 8. Eugene Thacker. “Cosmic Pessimism.” continent. . 2.2 (2012): 68. 9. Ibid. 73. 10. Fernando Pessoa. The Book of Disquiet . trans. Richard Zenith. London: Penguin. 2002. 341. 11. Arthur Schopenhauer. The World as Will and Representation. vol. 2 . trans. E .F J. Payne. New York: Dover. 1966. 610-11. 12. B.S Johnson. “You’re Human Like the Rest of Them.” in Jonathan Coe. Like a Fiery Elephant: The Story of B.S. Johnson . London: Picador. 2004. 177. 13. Fernando Pessoa. The Book of Disquiet . trans. Richard Zenith. London: Penguin. 2002. 415. 14. Ibid. 199. 15. “Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.” Anne Sexton. No Evil Star: Selected Essays, Interviews and Prose . ed. Steven Gould Axelrod. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. 1985. 92. 16. Maurice Blanchot. The Space of Literature . trans. Ann Smock. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. 1989. 105. 17. Eugene Thacker. “Cosmic Pessimism.” continent. . 2.2 (2012): 75. (shrink)

If you are of a certain age, let us say, old enough to be a grandparent, you have seen it happen in your lifetime. You do not need this work to tell you that American public education at all levels has degenerated in the course of the past half century. Edmonson lays the blame on the unfortunate espousal in professional educational circles of John Dewey’s theory of education. Dewey’s emphasis on experience denigrates the inherited and the necessity to study ancient (...) and foreign languages in order to master the past. For him, the function of education is to challenge the received, to challenge Western civilization in its core beliefs. Dewey’s philosophy of education is, of course, only one aspect of his pragmatic naturalism, but more than that it is a political program. Dewey came to that position slowly. If one were to survey only his later atheistic and socialist writings, one would be surprised to find the newly created Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins lecturing to students at the University of Michigan on “Our obligation to know God.” That was when Dewey was still a convinced Hegelian and open to the transcendent. As Hegel came under fire by empiricists on both sides of the Atlantic for his failure to adequately account for method as actually practiced in the natural sciences, Dewey abandoned the idealism of his intellectual mentor in favor of British empiricism. He became a disciple of David Hume, John Stuart Mill, and Karl Marx, and subsequently embraced the social determinism of Emil Durkheim. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:BOOK REVIEWS 723 tremely incisive judgments on a range of modern writers and tendencies. What is outstandingly useful here is the way Dupuis shows how the most conservative of high Christologies can also he the most open and critically fruitful in engaging with other religions. The final chapters contain a fine exegesis of Vatican II and postconciliar documents regarding the confused and fluid status of interreligious dialogue in relation (...) to evangelization and mission. Dupuis promotes the view of dialogue as mutual evangelization and as essential to the mission of the church, although there is slight ambivalence in his comments that dialogue does not involve explicit proclamation (228). Why not, in some instances? While Dupuis's hook is an excellent statement of an orthodox inclusivist high Christology, there are certain weaknesses within his approach. First, the clash of faiths and the fragmented discontinuities so clearly evident are too easily harmonized in an evolutionary picture of salvation history. Second, his Christology could he more trinitarian and ecclesiocentric. For example, he neglects the apophatic elements of Christianity and its possible relation with traditions like Buddhism, and while he denies any real difference between eastern and western pneumatologies, his own preference for the western tradition could have been more starkly contrasted with some dangers that have entered the debate by those trying to utilize an allegedly more eastern pneumatology. His ecclesiocentric neglect diverts attention from the way in which communities are so deeply shaped by their practice of texts and the consequent difficulties of comparison across different textual world views. Such problems should not however obscure Dupuis' incisive and powerful vision of Christ at the center of all salvation history. University of Bristol Bristol, England GAVIN D'COSTA Dissonant Voices: Religious Pluralism and the Question of Truth. By HOWARD A. NETLAND. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 1991. xii + 323 pp. $17.95 (paper). This hook, written by an assistant professor of religious studies at Tokyo Christian University who is also an Evangelical Free Church missionary in Japan, contains a lucid and coherent argument in defense of Christian exclusivism. Its author values clarity and reasoned argument over sentiment, and has faith in the power of those virtues to solve deep problems, such as those set for Christians by the facts of 724 BOOK REVIEWS religious pluralism. This faith has enabled him to produce a book of considerable power; it has also led him at points to oversimplify exceedingly complex problems. This is scarcely surprising since oversimplification is a perennial temptation for those who value clarity. Netland understands Christian exclusivism to assert at least the following claims: that the "defining beliefs" of Christianity-nowhere listed, but defined formally as that set of beliefs whose acceptance is entailed for any individual just by being an "active Christian in good standing "-are all true; that the defining beliefs of non-Christian religious communities are false where they conflict with those of Christianity ; that salvation is to be had only through hearing and properly responding to the gospel of Jesus Christ; and that evangelization-the active proclamation of the gospel to those who have not yet accepted it-is an unavoidable duty for faithful Christians. Netland further thinks that Christian exclusivism, understood in this way, requires and rests upon a high christology and a strong view of the truth and divine inspiration of the biblical text. None of these positions is uncontroversial, as Netland recognizes, and the cluster of views that he calls Christian exclusivism has long been out of favor in the mainstream of Christian theological thought, both Catholic and Protestant. It carries conviction, indeed, only among evangelical Protestants and small cadres of unreconstructed pre-Vatican II Roman Catholics. Netland thinks Christian exclusivism deserves a wider hearing, and that it should finally be adopted by all Christians as the proper way to think about religious pluralism. He therefore needs to meet the standard objections to the position, and this book is largely an extended attempt to do so. In the first five chapters Netland meets objections which, if successful, would make both Christian and other varieties of religious exclusivism untenable. If the arguments in these chapters are successful they establish only the modal claim that Christian exclusivism is possibly... (shrink)

David Garland's The Culture of Control provides a powerful analysis of trends in crime and criminal justice policy over the last 30 years. This note re?examines two parts of the Garland thesis. First, it argues that punitive criminal justice policy is rooted in an authoritarian neoconservative politics that shares little with free?market ideology. Second, research on the collateral consequences of incarceration suggests that the penal system, at least in America, has become a significant influence on, rather than just a product (...) of, the social structure of late modernity. (shrink)

La construcci n de la naci n nasserista tiene varios niveles de explicaci n. La autora otorga especial importancia a la construcci n del poder y al uso de la reflexi n hist rica como medios para cambiarla. Los ejes elegidos son la selecci n cuidadosa del pasado para formular el futuro y para desautorizar las resistencias y oposiciones, el ejercicio meton mico de la revoluci nnaci n, las pol ticas concretas de identidad y la constituci n de los sujetos (...) en diferentes planos de la vida p blica como instancias de regulaci n de las conductas sociopol ticas. La naci n egipcia poscolonial se utiliza en este libro como prisma para examinar un conjunto de problemas relacionados con la modernidad, la descolonizaci n y las caracter sticas de los reg menes poscoloniales. (shrink)