In 2017, the global Blockchain technology market was predictedto reach 339.5 million U.S. dollars in size and is forecasted to grow to 2.3billion U.S. dollars by 2021. The smart contract has an increasing role ingoverning the legal relationship between the interested parties. This researchexplores the current position of smart contracts in Malaysia and the viabilityof the Malaysian framework in handling the latest development. This researchadopts the qualitative and doctrinal legal approaches in analysing the currentlegal practice, the relevant statutes and the (...) viability of the Malaysian legalframework. These approaches are necessary to be carried out in ensuring theworkability of smart contracts in Blockchain. Additionally, the practices ofsmart contracts from international experiences are collected as case studies inthis research. As a part of the findings, the researchers found that smart contractsare more or less similar to traditional contracts. Therefore, the requirements asstipulated under the Contract Act 1950 that are applicable in Malaysia mustbe followed accordingly. In this study, based on the nature of Blockchain technology, the researchers evaluate the current position of Malaysian laws indealing with smart contracts. Additionally, the researchers also looked at theacceptable legal practice of smart contracts in Malaysia. (shrink)

Luck (2009) argues that gamers face a dilemma when it comes to performing certain virtual acts. Most gamers regularly commit acts of virtual murder, and take these acts to be morally permissible. They are permissible because unlike real murder, no one is harmed in performing them; their only victims are computer-controlled characters, and such characters are not moral patients. What Luck points out is that this justification equally applies to virtual pedophelia, but gamers intuitively think that such acts are not (...) morally permissible. The result is a dilemma: either gamers must reject the intuition that virtual pedophelic acts are impermissible and so accept partaking in such acts, or they must reject the intuition that virtual murder acts are permissible, and so abstain from many (if not most) extant games. While the prevailing solution to this dilemma has been to try and find a morally relevant feature to distinguish the two cases, I argue that a different route should be pursued. It is neither the case that all acts of virtual murder are morally permissible, nor are all acts of virtual pedophelia impermissible. Our intuitions falter and produce this dilemma because they are not sensitive to the different contexts in which games present virtual acts. (shrink)

Background Decision making when patients ask a dentist for fee reduction is a real ethical dilemma at dental settings. The aim of this study was to evaluate how dental students and tutors think about their position for, or against fee reduction at dental offices. Method It was a questionnaire-based survey, which examined the ethical attitudes of students and tutors of an Iranian Dental School. The questionnaire included a vignette about an ethical dilemma at a dental office. Different ethical approaches, i.e. (...) duty-based, virtue-oriented and consequentialist arguments, for or against fee reduction at dental office were suggested. Respondents were asked to rank those ethical options. Data was entered and analyzed in SPSS 16.0. Result 121 dental students and thirty-six faculty members participated in this study. It revealed that a majority of dental students and tutors are in favor of charging patients less, when facing an imagined request at dental office, using either virtue-oriented or consequentialist argument for fee reduction. The difference between rankings of four options was statistically significant, while no statistically significant difference exists neither between male and female respondents, nor students and tutors. Conclusion This case study provides a basis for fruitful discussions in ethics courses for dental students. Our study suggests that financial issues should be considered as a part of ethical training within the dental student's curriculum. (shrink)

The Indus Basin's advantageous climate and topography rendered it a prime site for the implementation of an irrigation system. This study looks at how the Indus Basin is affected by climate change. Changes in water flow, glacial/snow melt, and catchment areas in the Indus and its tributaries are revealed by trend analysis from hydro-logical stations. A network of canals constituted of trans-boundary rivers was built beside the Indus River System (IRS), soon after the implementation of the Indus Water Treaty, about (...) 70% of its water was allocated for irrigation purposes. An evident increase from 8.5 to 18.2 million hectares (MH) in the cropland area in Pakistan is monitored, whereas in India it increased widely from 2.02 to 8.5 MH that is about three times of the pre-vious figures due to expansion of the Indus irrigation network. Water tables have dropped and water logging has resulted from urbanization and groundwater extraction, while the use of pesticides and fertilizers has lowered the quality of the water.These problems are made worse by climate change, which presents serious obstacles to the region's water security, environmental sustainability, and economic growth.This article provides a comprehensive analysis of the modifications in the Indus Basin irrigation system and the impact of these changes on environmental resources. We can create practical plans to lessen the consequences of climate change and guarantee the Indus Basin has a safe and sustainable water supply in the future by comprehending how it affects the basin. (shrink)

In this chapter, we examine different views of the structure of justification, including foundationalism, infinitism, and coherentism. We investigate how well or poorly they seem to do in responding to the regress problem, accommodating a robust connection between justification and truth, and getting the contours of justification right—i.e., making justification neither too easy nor too hard to get. We end by briefly discussing some challenges to finding a single sense of “foundational belief” defining the debate.

The thrust of this article is to give a brief account of the ultimate reality as viewed by Indian philosophical system namely, Vedic philosophy, Upanisads, Buddhism, Jainism and Charvaka. Though the root of this issue is traceable to the Vedic hymns, there are various interpretations of these hymns concerning the nature of ultimate reality, for instance some of the orientalists introduces henotheism as a transitional stage from polytheism to monotheism in Indian philosophy but according to some of the Indian thinkers (...) neither polytheism nor henotheism nor even monotheism can be taken as the keynote of the early vedic philosophy. This article has not covered the views of six Indian well-known schools of philosophy, i.e., Nimansa, Vedanta, Shankhya, Yoga, Nyaya and Vaisheshika particularly those of Shankara and Ramanuja concerning the nature of Brahma which are very interesting and thought-provoking. (shrink)

States in northern Nigeria are the latest in a list of political entities around the world formalizing religious law, or institutionalizing Shari'ah, into their public law system. Shari'ah applies in many Muslim-majority countries in the realm of personal law. However, when it is expanded and made to apply as part of public law, it carries enormous constitutional implications. This article examines the institutionalization of Shari'ah in twelve northern states of Nigeria in year 2000 and the likely implications on the constitutionally (...) guaranteed rights of non-Muslim minorities in those states. Muslims' objection to the methodology of human rights discourse stems mostly from the need to maintain integrity of the family, safeguard the interests of the community in addition to those of the individual, and preserve religious belief as manifested in ritual and in daily life. The author argues that the core issue in preserving Muslim values without trampling on the rights of the minorities lies in finding a synergy for simultaneous application of Shari'ah and human rights. A synergy is imperative because neither has proved to be satisfactorily workable at the public law level for contemporary Muslims—neither Shari'ah as represented by fiqh literature, nor the secular oriented human rights. It concludes that it is the goal of justice that should be immutable rather than the means for achieving the goal. Therefore, reconciling Islam with protection of non-Muslim rights in a Muslim-majority constitutional democracy should present less conceptual difficulties and social tension than is presently the case. (shrink)

There are two dominant approaches towards understanding medieval Muslim philosophy: Greek ancestry approach and religiopolitical context approach. In the Greek ancestry approach, medieval Muslim philosophy is interpreted in terms of its relation to classical Greek philosophy, particularly to the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle. The religiopolitical context approach, however, views a thorough understanding of the religious and political situation of that time as the key to the proper understanding of medieval Muslim philosophy. Notwithstanding the immense significance of the two approaches (...) for understanding medieval Muslim philosophy, the question on the reason behind medieval Muslim philosophers’ preference for Plato’s Republic over Aristotle’s Politics in political philosophy is not accurately answered. This preference is usually attributed either to the availability or unavailability of the text or to the suitability or unsuitability of the text for Islamic theological views. However, this article shows that neither the availability or unavailability of text nor its suitability or unsuitability for Islamic religious and theological views can appropriately explain medieval Muslim philosophers’ preference for Plato’s Republic over Aristotle’s Politics in their political thought. This article proposes that the key to understand this preference lies in understanding the transmission of Greek philosophy to medieval Muslim philosophers. Contribution: This study highlights the significance of the thorough understanding of the transmission of Greek philosophy to medieval Muslim world as one of the important approaches towards proper understanding of medieval Muslim philosophy, particularly medieval Muslim political philosophy. (shrink)

Miriam Schoenfield argues that moral realism and moral vagueness imply ontic vagueness. In particular, she argues that neither shifty nor rigid semantic accounts of vagueness can provide a satisfactory explanation of moral vagueness for moral realists. This paper constitutes a response. I argue that Schoenfield's argument against the shifty semantic account presupposes that moral indeterminacies can, in fact, be resolved determinately by crunching through linguistic data. I provide different reasons for rejecting this assumption. Furthermore, I argue that Schoenfield's rejection of (...) the rigid semantic account is based on a presupposition that ultimately implies the very same claim that is under dispute: the vagueness of moral predicates in imperfect languages persists in the perfect language, as well. (shrink)

“Being is an ocean in perpetual agitation,Of this ocean people perceive but the waves.On the apparent surface of the ocean, hidden in them,Look at the surging waves arising from secret depths!”One of the leitmotifs of the literature of Iranian Sufism is the “quest for the Orient” (istishraq). It is an Orient that is neither localized nor localizable in the realm of positive geography. It escapes our normal perception; it is the mystic Orient, point of Origin and of Return, located at (...) the “heavenly pole” of the cosmic North. It figures in that geographia imaginalis that is perceived only by the power of the imagination. It is located, then, beyond the devastated lands of this sensible world, lands that incarnate troubled and dispersed hearts for Iranian Sufism. (shrink)

It might sound rather convincing to assume that we owe the pleasure of reading the novel form to our elemental repository of physical perception, to our feelings. This would be true only if mere feelings could add up to something more than just emotions, to some deep understanding of the human. After all, a moment of epiphany, where we begin to realize things that dramatically disturb our normal state of mind, is not just emotional, nor indeed a simple moment. Despite (...) its root in the corporeal, a mo(ve)ment of affective realization reaches beyond the realm of the human and opens up the plane of virtual potentials. In this work, we intend to map out the points and relations of affective singularity that pervade the narrative of Toni Morrison’s Sula (1973). Also, we will discuss how these mo(ve)ments of sensation give form to Sula’s and Nel’s experiences and contribute to an affective transformation in morality and friendship. (shrink)

Abu Nasr Muhammad Alfarabi, the medieval Muslim philosopher and the founder of Islamic Neoplatonism, is best known for his political treatise, Mabadi ara ahl al-madina al- fadhila (Principles of the Opinions of the Inhabitants of the Virtuous City), in which he proposes a theory of utopian virtuous city. Prominent scholars argue for the Platonic nature of Alfarabi’s political philosophy and relate the political treatise to Plato’s Republic. One of the most striking similarities between Alfarabi’s Mabadi ara ahl al-madina al- fadhila (...) and Plato’s Republic is that in both works the theory of virtuous city is accompanied by a theory of soul. It is true that Alfarabi’s theory of soul differ considerably from that of Plato’s Republic. However, we propose that notwithstanding the differences, the two theories of soul do play an identically important role in the respective theory of virtuous city. The present article explores the relationship between the soul and the city in Plato’s Republic and Alfarabi’s Mabadi ara ahl al-madina al- fadhila, and intends to show that in both works the coexistence of the theory of soul and the city is neither coincidental nor a casual concurrence of two themes. Rather, the concept of soul serves as a foundation on which Plato and Alfarabi erect their respective theory of perfect association. Thus, Alfarabi’s treatise resembles Plato’s Republic not only in the coexistence of the theory of soul and the city, but also in the important role of the concept of soul in the theory of virtuous city. (shrink)

This thesis is an attempt to investigate the relation between the views of Wittgenstein as presented by Kripke and Donald Davidson on meaning and linguistic understanding. Kripke’s Wittgenstein, via his sceptical argument, argues that there is no fact about which rule a speaker is following in using a linguistic expression. Now, if one urges that meaning something by a word is essentially a matter of following one rule rather than another, the sceptical argument leads to the radical sceptical conclusion that (...) there is no such thing as meaning anything by any word. According to the solution Kripke’s Wittgenstein proposes, we must instead concentrate on the ordinary practice of meaning-attribution, that is, on the conditions under which we can justifiably ascribe meaning to each other and the utility such a practice has in our life. Davidson has also argued that following rules is neither necessary nor sufficient for explaining success in the practice of meaning something by an utterance. According to his alternative view of meaning, a speaker’s success in this practice is fundamentally a matter of his utterance being successfully interpreted by an interpreter in the way the speaker intended. On the basis of these remarks, Davidson raises objections to Kripke’s Wittgenstein’s sceptical argument and solution. In this thesis, I will argue that Davidson has failed to fully grasp the essentially sceptical nature of the argument and solution proposed by Kripke’s Wittgenstein. I will argue that as a result of this Davidson’s objections and his alternative solution to Kripke’s Wittgenstein’s sceptical argument are mistaken. These criticisms are pursued via an investigation of Davidson’s problematic reading of Quine’s sceptical arguments for the thesis of the indeterminacy of translation. Having criticized Davidson’s actual response to Kripke’s Wittgenstein, I will claim that Davidson’s best option for resisting the sceptical problem is to adopt a form of non-reductionism about meaning. Claudine Verheggen’s recent claim that Davidson’s use of the notion of triangulation will help to establish non-reductionism will be argued to be a failure. I will urge that the main obstacle in defending a non-reductionist view is the problem of accounting for the nature of self-knowledge of meaning and understanding. After discussing Davidson’s account of self-knowledge and Crispin Wright’s objection to this account, I will argue that, although Wright’s objection is ultimately unsuccessful, Davidson’s account fails for other reasons. Finally, I tentatively suggest that the resources for an alternative response to the sceptical problem can possibly be extracted from Davidson’s account of intending, which has some features suggestive of a judgement-dependent account of meaning and intention. (shrink)

Although the prevalence of facial recognition-based COVID-19 surveillance tools and techniques, China does not have a facial recognition law to protect its residents’ facial data. Oftentimes, neither the public nor the government knows where people’s facial images are stored, how they have been used, who might use or misuse them, and to what extent. This reality is alarming, particularly factoring in the wide range of unintended consequences already caused by good-intentioned measures and mandates amid the pandemic. Biometric data are matters (...) of personal rights and national security. In light of worrisome technologies such as deep-fake pornography, the protection of biometric data is also central to the protection of the dignity of the citizens and the government, if not the industry as well. This paper discusses the urgent need for the Chinese government to establish rigorous and timely facial recognition laws to protect the public’s privacy, security, and dignity amid COVID-19 and beyond. (shrink)

Don't tell terrible stories—everyone here has enough of their own. Everyone here has a whole bloody sack of terrible stories, and at the bottom of the sack is a hammer the narrator uses to pound you on the skull the instant you dare not believe your ears. Or to pound you when you do believe. Not long ago I saw a tomboyish girl on Khreshchatyk Street demand money of an elderly woman, threatening to bite her and infect her with syphilis. (...) Don't stroll through Volodymyr Hill Park, don't stroll around the botanical garden, and especially don't stroll on Kontraktova Square. Don't stroll anywhere. Don't go to the pavilion with the Golgotha panorama near St. Alexander's Church. Not even the twelve-meter-tall crucified Christ will save you. Don't go outside when it's dark and people turn into shadows a shade darker than dark. Also don't go where you can be seen from far away. Not to imply that people used to be like a bunch of lilies, but now they stink like a cellar of cabbage.The city, which earlier might have had some fun, is now going crazy. It's like a fish in warm water: it doesn't react to anything, swims slowly like it doesn't care if it swallows a hook or not. The excitement and exaltation pass into oppression, just as our necks have sunk into our shoulders, our shoulders into our lumbars, our lumbars into our nether regions. The holiday turns into a funeral, the parades into explosions, depression into mania. Winter passes into summer, people turn into beasts, the hours into ages, and the ages into hours. It's worth simply walking around the city to see a soldier from an unknown army taking a piss near the opera. Farther on is a row of identical old widows selling ball gowns and candelabra. Then there are the aristocrats and manufacturers who throw so much at the prostitutes that they'll soon be richer than their wives.I returned late through the Kyryliv Wood, not heeding all the warnings that I myself have given here. It really is dangerous—the place is famous for it. There's a madhouse nearby, caves where criminals and the sick can hide out. Also, once upon a time, as they say in fairy tales, the great dragon Zmei Gorynich lived here beside the Puchai River. The stench in these places drives away the most committed misanthropes and even one type of philanthrope—that is, perverts. It sounds dumb, but the stench is cleansing. I don't know where it comes from. After the operating theaters and the rooms with amputees, the stench no longer repelled or attracted me; it just was. And this was a great place to think. As I walked, I considered an incident with our patient.The patient, a respectable individual whose name carries too much weight for me to state it directly, one day began to assault people. He nearly strangled a merchant who he believed asked too much for a beaver coat. He likewise wanted to kill his business partner when he didn't say hello loudly enough. But the worst was, he lost all shame of his own nakedness. At first it was the police who took care of it. When our future patient slipped off his pants and undergarments, he was taken to Kyrylivska, which has had means for dealing with such cases dating back to the day when unhinged Cossacks and composers from Kyiv Mohyla Academy were taken there.During the examination we determined that the patient was experiencing a severe breakdown. His wife added that lately, more than once, he had allowed himself strong words in front of the children and often suffered from ennui. Furthermore, she said, the patient had been undergoing treatment for “the French disease” for some years—which was, obviously, where we needed to start.“Syphilis!” Skorsky spat out the matchstick he was chewing on. He was a specialist on the psychological aspects of diseases related to the venereal. “Tertiary syphilis! When poorly treated, over time ‘the French disease’ can destroy the central nervous system. Hence the patient's chicanery. Such theater!”Skorsky and I had not spoken since the incident at Bilinsky's. Meanwhile, something significant had happened to him. The most boring person on earth, Skorsky had simply caught fire. He said hello and kibitzed. I even heard the doctor got drunk alone in his office, then wandered through the forest. Could he be using narcotic substances?“Cocaine!” was the doctor's second proclamation. It was his favorite treatment for the psychological complications of syphilis. Skorsky himself never took what he called “the universal drug”—good for alcoholism and toothaches, neuroses and morphine dependency—though he had read in an article by a respectable Viennese physician, who used cocaine as a panacea, that it was not addictive. That doctor subsequently recanted, but Skorsky paid no attention. He believed the retraction was made under pressure from pharmacologists who had no incentive to cease production of the medications that cocaine might supplant. Their representatives either paid or threatened the Viennese to repent.As the patient was escorted to his room, he assaulted the orderly, Alevtyna. They tried pulling him off her, but, though he released his fingers from her neck, he buried his teeth in her leg. The poor orderly, who had not until then been attacked by a psychotic, nearly died of fear. Later, panic set in over Skorsky's diagnosis. He told her about the consequences of syphilis: grotesque patterns on one's face due to infection of the skin, mucous membranes, cartilage, and bones. He went on about the devastation to the central nervous system, which they had just observed in real life: “The face starts to look like lace some mangy dogs fought over before rolling in the mud.”Alevtyna, who had not yet regained her faculty of speech, straightened up. Ignoring the slavering male orderlies, she bared her leg to get a better look at the wound. She then ran down the hall and out into the garden, where she fell on the ground to rip up grass and small bunches of daisies. Alevtyna ate them along with the soil in their roots.“Minor hysteria. She needs fifteen milligrams of cocaine.”Skorsky took a snuff box out of his pocket and scooped up some white powder with a toothpick made from a goose feather. He gave the order to close Alevtyna's mouth and one of her nostrils, forcing her to snort the medication.We fretted over her so long that evening fell. I decided to walk down, along the ravine, behind the church.It was unlikely there were any large beasts there, but something was rustling. The pits and mounds, ravines, paths, graves of witches whose living sisters flew in the treetops from time to time, the whispers of the forest spirits, the spirits of the nutcases who died in the hospital, the spirits of the monks from the St. Cyril Monastery, Zmei Gorynich and the bogatyrs who wanted to defeat him. The city would be calmer without this forest. I saw the gaps between the trees and went off in the direction of the tram tracks.As I was coming out of the forest, there was a patch of Amanita muscaria that had been trampled into porridge. A bit farther on, the body of Professor Bilinsky lay killed in the blackberry bushes. The way he was lying it looked as though he had not struggled before death. I quickly examined his body but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no wounds, no dirt under the fingernails. Animals had not yet smelled the carrion, but swarms of various insects covered him. Oh, why did I have to find the putrid body?The best thing would be to take the tram to his house to inform his relatives. The doors closed, and I noticed my own calm. This death had not evoked any emotions in me other than a feeling of responsibility, the need to tell the family. But also—some alarm at the thought of who the murderer could be. I knew that it was murder.“Your nose is bleeding.” A woman as round as an onion, carrying two baskets full of strawberries, offered me an ironed and starched handkerchief.“Have I dirtied my shirt?”“No, it's as neat as a pin. It's just your nose that's dirty. Wipe it now before you spray blood on my strawberries.”“No one will see the red on red.”“Ah, but it's salty!”“You know why it's not sweet? We'd drink it like syrup.”“Those with Christ in their heart do not talk that way.”“Are your strawberries expensive?”“Why? What?”“I'm checking to see if you have God in your heart.”“Child, if you knew how I have to work for this berry! I have to weed it a hundred times. In a week, the quitch grass grows as high as a horse. And I water it with water I carry from the stream, it kills my arms... ”“How much are the berries?”“They're not for sale. Anyway, soon money won't mean a thing. Soon all money, all these papers made from the skins of sinners on their satanic presses will be annulled. What matters is how we treat each other.”“So if I try your strawberries for free, my ‘thank you’ will be enough?”“Hands off!” she said and thwacked my fingers.I heard loud laughter behind me—same laughter as from the café near the Continental. There was no one sitting near Alina. (This is what fate looks like, remember.) Without asking, I sat next to her, away from the old lady.“Excuse me, but the night before last didn't you, yes, didn't you intrude on my privacy?” She started right away.“I saw it a little differently. Who was that young man with the mustache who paid me for you?”“Are you checking to see if you can flirt?”The tram stopped. People got on and off.“Are you coming back from the hospital?” she asked. “Don't be shocked. My uncle works there. He's told me all about you.”“An uncle by the name of Skorsky?”(Remember: this is what fate looks like.)“Yes. Skorsky's been strange recently—says things that make me wonder if he hasn't lost his mind. Have you noticed anything?”“I don't know.”“You know perfectly well.”“Where are you going?” I tried to change the subject.“I have to send something to my theater friends in Odesa. By the way, they'll be putting on Oedipus Rex soon in Kyiv—in Ukrainian.”“Greek tragedy in Ukrainian! That's a first.”“Exactly. The troupe is rehearsing now in Odesa. The theater where they will perform this fall is being remodeled.”“Wait. Now I remember where I've seen you before—it was at a performance! Vynnychenko's Black Panther and White Bear, at the Bergonier on Fundukleivska.“The same director is doing the Oedipus. He's my friend.”“He's your friend in what sense?”“Again with that tired subject. By the way, I've been thinking about you.”“And I about you.”“That's good. I was thinking not about you, to be precise, but about that elevator you invited me on.”“Who was that man with you?”“Like a broken record! Even if he had been my fiancé, I'm not bought or inherited. I'm not a brooch or a hundred acres of land, and I'm not a house in Kaniv!... Who was with you when you saw Black Panther?“Ah, so.”“Answer!”“That was my mother. She looks very young. She is coming to Kyiv the day after tomorrow. I can introduce you.”“Oh, this is my stop.”I looked out the window and realized that I had long since passed the stop for Bilinsky's.“Can we see each other again?”“We can. But you have only one chance.”Alina the anarchist wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.Morning, not morning but a thick porridge (I hate porridge). Dew, thick spit, crushed fruits, urine, all on the sparkling cobblestones. The sun, just barely having made its appearance, is already scorching. The human masses scurry and grumble like poorly digested food inside a stomach.I walked diagonally across St. Sofia's Square, then along the perimeter, then one edge, then again diagonally across. I went underground. The basement café of the Continental Hotel was practically empty. I again asked the server to bring the cloth with the embroidered portrait, but I couldn't remember the musician's last name, only that it ended with -sky. The server said that -sky was currently in the southern cities of Yalta and Odesa. I added that Kurbas, the director, Alina's friend, was also in Odesa, rehearsing Oedipus Rex, and that he'd previously put on Black Panther.I was bored, so I walked along Khreshchatyk and then headed down, calling to mind all the Kyiv churches of Podil: there's Birth of Christ, St. Nicholas on the Shore, Intercession, Pyrohoshcha, Holy Presentation, St. Dymytrii Rostovsky, St. Illia's. And also the Epiphany Brotherhood Monastery, Ascension Convent, and St. Katherine's, all these whipped-cream churches on the waffles of our streets. A few of them reminded me of themselves by appearing suddenly out of nowhere.The smells on Kontraktova Plaza where commerce buzzed were like multicolored light bulbs turning on one after another. Here you could catch the aroma of Balabukha jam, which blended with the next smell, English shoe polish at the Raiskys’ shop. Then the crunchy-smelling cabbage from old women standing in a row like herons and spitting out the shells of sunflower seeds. Farther on, the stench of a good-sized rat that crawled under Mrs. Shevchuk's shop where she sells broadcloth. Oh, she can't scream: no, she'll quietly dig that rat out herself so as to not scare off her clients.I bought a paper and two pairs of underwear. I asked two laughing young chambermaids who were secretly puffing in a grape-filled yard for a smoke. I wandered around Podil until evening when I came across a sawmill near the Dnipro that surprisingly smelled pleasantly of mazut fuel oil. The weather was dry, yet in the middle of the road was an enormous puddle, a deep dark black. A forty-year-old woman in a pale pink dress stood near it. The theatricality of it all provoked me to pose her a question,“Ma'am, what should I do?”But she paid me no attention. I shouted,“What should I do?”“What to do, what to do?” she said in Polish. “Jump in the water and swim so far away that you cannot return.”I quickly crossed a section of the forest. The wind brought a mixture of unpleasant air, like a stinky handkerchief held under one's nose. Passing the trees, I saw light in the spaces between them and exited at the hospital.Outside the windows, two orderlies lay in chairs with their heads thrown back. Two others—fools—ran around the yard in different directions, peering out at... something. The lights on the first floor of the hospital were on, and the staff milled about.“You're just in time!” said Ivan, a tall, young orderly.“For what?”“Your patient ran away! We went into his room and he wasn't there.”“What patient?”“The one who bit Alevtyna,” said Danylo, the other orderly, short and middle-aged.“That's Skorsky's patient, not mine.”I had no intention of helping them. This was all history—like my family, Kyiv, and my previous life. I had no intention of thinking about it. I wanted to go to my office, pack up my field surgery kit, and get out. So what? Their psychotic syphilitic ran away—it happened.Of course, that patient could have something to do with Bilinsky's murder. But that was no longer my problem.“What a strange coincidence!” the doctor on duty said. “Comrade doctor, the other one responsible for this patient was just here.”“And where is he now?”“He took off toward the church to look for the patient.”“Didn't the patient escape earlier?”“Don't know.”“How do you not know? You had better call the police, moron, before he kills someone. And get those sleeping orderlies to look for him.”“They can't... ”“Why not? Should I go wake them?”“They're on morphine.”“And you, I can see, have lost your mind. Go, catch your psycho! If it turns out that he killed Bilinsky—and on your watch—you can't imagine what's in store for you.”I adjusted my homburg and set off in the direction of St. Cyril's, that unwelcoming monolithic cube. I glanced around—what if our escaped syphilitic were to jump out of the bushes and bite or strangle me. I looked around because I wasn't sure of my actions, wasn't sure of my choices. Tripping over a clump of clover, I reached the open doors of the church. I couldn't stop myself from going in.The walls and ceiling were covered with frescoes. There was what used to be an angel rolling up the sky on the southern column of the narthex. But also graffiti: people scratched their names on it so as not to be forgotten—their idea of eternity. Prince Volodymyr the Great compared this activity to the desecration of graves. The vandals paid a fine and were beaten with canes. During the raids of Batu Khan, the church was deserted and cracks appeared all over it. Wild martens and feral dogs sought shelter here; insects swarmed under the ceiling with its red mosaics. Birches grew in its midst. Water seeped in the cracks, the water became ice, the ice widened the cracks, more water seeped in the cracks, becoming more ice that further widened the cracks, the wall split and nearly fell over, and then the wall fell over. Yet the angel is still rolling up the sky... When I reached the exit, I heard a rustling behind me. I turned after I stepped outside: in the depths of the church, like a stick in a pot of tar, stood a man with a large bag thrown over his shoulder and a revolver pointed right at me.“Is that you, Doctor?“Don't move!”“What's... Skorsky, what's with you?”“Don't move, I say!”“What are you doing here?”And finally I understood... Skorsky was himself the psycho! (Really, I had known for a while.)“You are the murderer! I knew it! But—why?”“Shut up.”“It was you. You! The stolen cigarettes, the strange behavior, Bilinsky. If I shout, everybody will come running. They've already called the police!”There was heavy breathing behind me. And then a gun rang out.The city is overgrown with new buildings. They encircle everything that was once on the periphery. Kyiv has become an old lady that can no longer restrain herself in the face of pastries. The city climbs farther. It steps over the swamps, turns the old rivers into a series of lakes; the other bodies of water it drives into canals. The grain that falls from the wild wheat is black. When the sun heats it, the grain melts and trickles into the earth. St. Cyril's stands indestructible. No one spackles the small cracks in its walls with either expensive putty or glues, nor with cheap cement and whitewash. One day a small fox appears in the doorway. It runs inside and along the floor of simple gray tiles. The gods watch from the walls, watch and fall into ruin. The fox runs to the iconostasis. Before it is a time-darkened Virgin Mother and Child in oil on sheets of zinc. The fox runs the metal steps that wind up to the second floor. The fox runs past all the vaults, naves, all the frescoes. A buckthorn seed flies in through a broken window. It will be the first. Soon the buckthorn will grow everywhere. A dumb hare will make its nest in the buckthorn bushes and nightingales will settle in the upper branches to sing until the end of the world. The fox runs between the thick rays that penetrate the windows. It catches one of the rays, squints its eyes, and warms itself in the sun.The shot rang out, but I did not fall. I looked around—and on the church threshold was our syphilis patient bearing a rod. His head lay on the rocks by the doorway.“If only he'd been at the stage of nose deformity! Just imagine: a hole instead of a nose plus a hole from the bullet—like an extra pair of eyes!” Skorsky laughed at the corpse.“We need to call the orderlies.”“They heard the shot. They'll run here on their own. You see, Professor Bilinsky believed it would take two or three years to wrap up this patient's case,” Skorsky told me. “But I took care of it much faster!”“Excuse me, but I'm going crazy in this city. I thought that you were Bilinsky's murderer.”“Just so. Why not? I am Bilinsky's murderer.”“Don't tease. You've changed a lot recently, so... ”“Yes, I've started killing people. You might term such a change significant.”“You have the right to irony.”“I am not being ironic.”“Let's call it sarcasm.”“It's the honest-to-God truth.”“And yes, you have the right to mock me.”“Well then, let's be done. To the horses!”“What horses?”“Alina's waiting!”Alina, her uncle Skorsky, a few others I didn't know, and I rode like the wind that ripped off my homburg and carried it back to Kyiv.“There's a fresco in the choir loft at St. Cyril's where Vrubel painted himself and patients from the hospital as the apostles. When I came across it by accident, I really believed they were saints,” Alina said.“I've never been up there. I've only seen the church from below.”“Remember the way back so you can see it sometime.”“The Puchai River used to flow here. You shouldn't trust the landscape,” Skorsky said, reaching for something, perhaps his bag, just when we left the darkness of the trees and saw the endless steppe ahead of us.We rode all night without stopping. Though no one was chasing us. Though we had nowhere to be. We rode like beasts released from a cage. The promises of the horizon turned what we'd left behind into a cage fit for those from whom freedom had been severed, like an anomaly, at birth.The pre-morning sky looked at first like a sack of turnips—filled with something heavy. But with each verst, the sky became lighter. When it was finally light enough to see clearly, we arrived at a knoll at the foot of a stone wall that from a distance had appeared to be a gigantic piece of halva. The exterior ruins of the castle gave no hint of how it was when all was fine here, when people defended themselves successfully from the nomads’ raids. From far off, the wreckage looked like a natural agglomeration of stones—a rocky elevation, no more: a cluster of cliffs. It would rain a few hundred more times, a few hundred more winds from a few hundred directions would blow on this heap, and it would collapse as though nothing had ever been here.A few stalks of wheat grew from one of the rocks. Someone had probably cast a handful of grain here for some birds that forgot to eat it.“Who could this castle belong to?” I asked Skorsky.“I reckon the Swan Princess,” the doctor rejoined, hoping to sound knowledgeable.From behind one of the piles of gray sandstone emerged a young man in a black reptilian coat and a white papakha as lush, bright, and out of place as a dahlia. His name was Artem. The heat was melting our brains, but he was dressed like that, in rooster fashion, which was popular among the otamans. Artem helped Alina dismount her horse and tried to kiss her on the lips, but she offered him a cheek instead.Had she been racing to see this clown?We entered the yard—the ruins had fashioned an internal space that was more or less protected, at least from strangers’ eyes. It turned out that there were even places where it was possible to hide from the rain, and from there the ruins didn't look half bad.In the center of the court was a table, and on it a wooden bucket with pink gladiolas. How romantic! It all looked like it came from outer space. Where on earth, in the middle of the steppe, far from any village or town, did this table, this simple table, come from? And the gladiolas? The steppe hadn't been plowed in so long that any cultivars would have gone wild, degenerated, dried up completely.A campfire crackled nearby—a little preview of what we would soon do to the houses, villages, and cities. Artem the otaman brought over a cezve from the fire and poured the first portion into a small, copper cup for Alina. He also got out a porcelain cup with images of rosy cherubim—but how...?“Who else would like coffee?”Only Skorsky and I responded. The question excited me, even distracted me from the thought of the kiss I had recently witnessed and the Kyiv I had recently left.“It's obvious who the professors here are; cultured people drink coffee. Are you both doctors?”“Uh-huh.”“For wolves of the steppe, like us, doctors are gold, even more precious than gold. Actually, a Hippocrates like you should eat more, because those in your profession will soon be worth your weight in gold. Work on your figures, both of you.”“Who will take pity on the horses that have to carry us?”“We'll find the horses. And very large doctors can be transported on machine-gun carts. We'll need to seat the otamans near you. Only a fool would shoot at a doctor.”“I think we'll find quite enough fools here.”“With your beard, Doctor, you look like Tsar Nicholas II. But even so you won't be shot. You might even be canonized!”“We've only just arrived and you're going on about executions,” Skorsky grumbled and checked to make sure that he still had his bag.“Apologies, apologies, pardonnez-moi. But you are not merely a doctor. A venereologist! Skorsky, you're a specialist! A venereologist is the most important person in wartime. The most valuable! You are the botanists of war. You can't imagine what varieties of flowers grow here, and these beds have long awaited a proper gardener. Or even just a man with a scythe!”“Bite your tongue,” Alina said. “I don't need to listen to this.”“Yes, yes, of course. Excuse me, my r—. ” He almost said “rose.”We rested all day. We went down to a surprisingly close river overgrown with lilies. We rowed the boats left by fishermen. I talked to Skorsky. He took his bag everywhere, refusing even to swim so he wouldn't have to part with it. I asked him what he had in it, but he said it wasn't my damned business.Alina rowed with the otaman to the middle of the river. They were having a loud discussion. She was waving her hands. The current carried their boat downstream slowly and smoothly. What a nuisance, that current!I tried to meet with Alina one-on-one, but she was avoiding me. In the morning I was confused, by lunch I was sad, and after lunch I got angry.In the evening, I lay on the hot grass and drank another cup (I have no idea where they got such good coffee), which had no effect at all on my sleep. I watched the Perseids. Every year, the Earth passes through the tail of Comet Swift-Tuttle. People can see the meteor shower and make a wish. I wished. I counted forty-seven falling stars. All forty-seven of my wishes were for the same thing.Around the campfire, they were sitting, talking. I saw how he tickled her face with a piece of grass and she brushed him off in annoyance. Then they were screaming at each other. Later they again spoke kindly, after which they again quarreled. My joy grew after each tiny mistake that Artem made. I wanted him to show the worst he was capable of.They were screaming at each other, but all I could hear was beautiful opera singing. The stars fell to the sound of their screaming. The stars blessed my joy.Then this happened: Alina kicked the fire, scattered burnt kindling, and burned some of the grass. Artem grabbed her by the arm, but she broke away from him and ran off to the horses.“Go then! I guarantee you'll get to Katerynoslav and return with your tail between your legs.”“I'm going to Huliai-Pole! To Father Makhno!”I jumped up and ran after her.“Where do you think you're going?” Artem shouted.Really—where was I going? I was going after her: to Huliai-Pole, to Katerynoslav, to Rome, to Washington, to Istanbul, to Montevideo... “Go to sleep,” he said. “Come morning, this coquette will be here, right as rain. We've already been through this show. Tomorrow she'll be right here next to my boot!”... No, she won't.In some sort of shape we entered some town. There were some buildings that were some colors, some trees, some streets, some roads, and some signs. Posts, flustered birds’ nests, echoes, colors, shapes—each of some kind. A wedding procession was coming toward us. If you want to make orange, you need to add yellow to red, and then bam—it's black. If you want to salt the soup, shake in a little, and then bam—two handfuls. You want to say a kind word, and then bam—a punch in the face. I was rocked around like a watermelon on a boat and threw up my breakfast straight into the horse's fluffy mane. Sanko found this hilarious, but I said I'd pulverize him. So Sanko sped ahead.No one knew anything about Alina. The daytime sky was like a poorly washed bowl. The sun was a squashed, rotten apricot. The night sky looked like the sole of a boot to me. The moon was a dirty cheap copper coin that had gotten stuck to the sole. Everything seemed spoiled to me, irrelevant, unnecessary. Without her, this journey was a waste of time.“You'd better stay away from everyone,” Artem said. “You'll infect us with your pining, and pining is worse than the clap.”The wedding procession was before us. The young couple, still utter children, walked so calmly it was as if they didn't see us. As if we were made of a light breeze—our bodies, clothes, our horses and their iron shoes—of the lightest gasses. As if we were visible only to ourselves and the coal-black dog that barked, panting and gasping.The wedding was headed straight for us. We were in the middle of the road, and so were they. We approached each other slowly, a wave going toward a wave. Some ten meters before their indifferent faces, I noticed the color of the bride's eyes. And the coral-colored tulips that fell on the road before her. Round goose eggs on meaty stems, the flowers were falling and falling before her. The bride's eyes were almond shaped.“Hey there,” Artem shouted at me. “Wake up!”I came to and saw the whole village, everyone there, not realizing my group had turned left onto a side street away from the procession. The tulips disappeared—where'd they get tulips in the fall? I was sitting alone on my horse in the middle of the road, and the entire wedding procession came to a stop. I moved to the side, and the throng marched on, cutting off our escape route. We rode a few more meters and came across the synagogue.“You know what, you're right,” said the otaman.“Who is?”“Oleksii is the only one here who's right.”“About what?”Artem turned his horse and raced back. Everyone stood still while he ran his horse into the crowd and began firing his revolver. People scattered in all directions. Artem trotted, cackling like an imbecile. The horse kicked an old guy in the mouth. The man fell, spitting out his gold teeth. We rode up to the commotion and formed ranks, but none of us wanted to join the otaman.The bride stopped in the middle of the street. On both sides were buildings and trees, as well as dust, sky, and sun. She stood still, beautiful, as if nothing had happened. Then she adjusted her garland and walked calmly on.“Well, should we get some sugar now?” Artem laughed, looking at the bride, and off he went toward the sugar factory.It was then I noticed that all of the houses had shutters—fuchsia, blue, ocher—and that all the shutters were closed.We flew toward the dirty building, whistling and shouting. If there had been aesthetes among the otamans, they would certainly have razed the abomination in this field after seizing it. They would have spread soil on top and sown buckwheat. Long live buckwheat!, that wonderful crop. Like hunting dogs hot on the trail, we raced to our defenseless victim, with the baying of hundreds of hounds behind us. The field shook beneath us. We became an artist's canvas, evolving from Realism to Romanticism, Romanticism to Expressionism, Expressionism to Suprematism. If we had been painted in black and white, we would have been splotches (until the ink ran, annihilating all remaining patches of white).Two men stood near the gate—unarmed and undressed, in nothing but their undershirts and boots. Our fervor, our kinship with the elements, our entirety, were all for naught.“Jesus Christ! What bores!” Artem exclaimed. “How boring you are!”“Maybe boring for us, but fireworks for them,” Sanko said, dismounting his horse.“The fear of death engenders creativity,” our otaman—a distinguished philosopher of the early twentieth century, that demonic breed—prophesied.He went on, “Excuse me, but with all due respect, we are not going to search you. Just show us right away where the money is. Why are there so few of you? Don't say there's not much money. I want piles and piles of money! If you don't show it to us, we'll print our own on your skin. Believe me, we will.”We entered the factory grounds. There were no workers, only an enormous mountain of sugar beets that looked like a pile of coal from a distance and a pile of dead rats from up close.“So, did you have a good year?” Artem asked a man in an undershirt.“Not really—too dry.”“Nah, that's fine. You wouldn't have been able to gather most of the harvest this year anyway. There's a fire burning across all of Ukraine, all of Russia. The whole world!”While Artem tossed thoughts like well-chewed sunflower seeds into the crowd, the two men quietly stepped aside and then ran fast ahead to the factory's main hall. The gigantic door slammed shut. The gate was locked behind us! The windows were smashed! The factory roared from inside like a cumbersome machine starting up. Bullets whirred through every window.“Bastards! It's a trap! Quick, after me!”Still on horseback, Artem bounded over to a vast window, low to the ground, and smashed it mercilessly. He broke the frame and jumped inside on his horse. I and a few others followed. We broke into their lair, threw open the doors, and let the other warriors inside.Iron vats of hot sugar were steaming, pipes were clattering; machinery groaned.“Parasites!” Artem gritted his teeth. “I'll get you. I'll get you red sons of bitches. Painted whores!”At the word “painted,” his horse fell to the ground. Lying prone, Artem continued fighting, but the red soldiers wouldn't let him stand. Fighting nearby, I rode over to assist but did not know where to aim. Artem got up, ran forward, and brought his sword down on the head of the closest soldier, all the way to the middle of his skull, to the bridge of his nose. It was like butchering a pig. Artem thrust the sword into the buttock of another who was fleeing and cut off his leg at the bend in the knee.“I'll cut off every last one of your asses! Cut off your asses!” Artem bellowed.A half hour later, the dead were lying, the captured sitting, and the victors doing anything they pleased.“Skorsky, are there a lot of casualties?” I asked the doctor, whose hour it was. I hoped not, because I was too tired to help him.“Just a few. The dead are already dead, and the wounded are not ours.”Though Skorsky rarely asked my help, and though I'd become an ordinary soldier, the doctor in me was still present in the most unpleasant attribute—knowledge. Others saw an eviscerated man, pieces of dusty flesh smeared with clay, soil, sand, and straw. I saw a perfectly formed kidney hanging perfectly from the rest of its body like a child's mitten from its coat. You could try this death on for size. Wear it like a sanbenito of the Inquisition.Artem counted the money and then lay on the floor alongside the gigantic sugar mountain in the middle of the room. From time to time, the crystals rustled as they fell.“I didn't think you'd be such a fighter!” the otaman said without turning toward me. “I thought you'd be healing us. You'd keep to the rear and we'd hide you like a girl. But here you are, in the vanguard, like a lion!”“I got excited,” I told him, choosing not to react to the “girl” part.“’Cause Alina said there was no sense counting on you to fight.”“Really?”“Does that sting?”“Why would it? I'm a doctor—not everyone is. It requires a brain. Unlike waving a sword.”“Yeah, yeah. I gave her gladiolas. We were lying in the boat near that castle, doing all manner of things, and she told me all about you. How you met.”“You were lying in that boat talking about me?”“It was the day before you left Kyiv. You agreed to go with the anarchists so quickly!”“Were you surprised? Doctors make fast decisions.”“But you probably had great prospects. Your parents are rich, right?”“And who are your parents?”“Probably all your relatives fled abroad—bourgeois. Why did you stay?”“What the hell's your point?”“Alina, by the way, died a while ago. Probably.”“Don't jinx her.”“Listen here,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “And listen good. If you have designs on her—dead or alive—it's best you castrate yourself now.”“After you.”“If I want to kill somebody, you know, I just do it.”At last he looked at me. I was lying on the floor nearby and looking in his direction, sweaty and relaxed, my appearance complemented by my disdain for his opinion, his authority, his stupid hat. His everything.Artem raised his arm above his head, stuck a finger in the sugar mountain, and licked it. We both got up. Had I anticipated this turn of events, I would have readied a gift for him. Artem held his revolver. Under my hand I found a knife the workers used for gathering beets: it was a deliberately sharpened arc they sank into the swollen brassicas. I jumped up and quickly stepped around the sugar mountain.Artem's bullet hit a pane and broke the glass.“Not man enough for hand-to-hand?”The otaman shot again.“You should've challenged me to a duel, you romantic!”Encrusted with white crystals, I charged Artem from the sugar mountain. We fell in, and the sugar stuck in our hair, mustaches, nostrils, armpits.The gang ran in to get us apart, then backed off because it had nothing to do with them. By now the sugar mountain had burst its banks. Of the once perfect pyramid, a deformed mound remained.Wounded, Artem fell on the sugar mound, turning the white red.I stood before the gang sugar-coated and holding a bloody hook. The old otaman was drawing his last breath. Blood trickled from the corner of Artem's mouth and streamed from the left side of his breast.“What's the commotion?” Old Roman had just come in.“Be quiet,” the boys told him. And a good thing they did.“You killed him? You killed the otaman!”“Shut your mouth,” the boys told him.“You... ”I slugged Roman's stinky herring mouth. How did that son of a bitch find pickled herring in a sugar factory? My fist was now bigger and stronger than ever before, a steel anvil that could split nails and shatter memorial plaques. The unfortunate man's jaw twisted like an upper millstone that had gone off track from the lower.“Let's get out of here and go to Makhno's camp,” I gave my first order.We galloped so fast the grass burned beneath us. The birds and bugs had no time to fly out of the way; hooves trampled the burrows of rodents who didn't dare crawl out of their holes for a long time after. We raced like no one had ever raced before.The steppe, that sly fox, pretended to be an innocent fool. The steppe said, “I'm like Adam: I don't even know my own name.” But its grass harbored the tracks of thousands of armies and the heels of Herodotus, the crunch of Trypillia vessels, and the smell of Scythian hemp, Roman coins, clay figures of wolf people, the chevrons of Denikin's army, glass from the Chekists’ ruby stars, traces of uranium from flying saucers. I threatened it: “Steppe, show me your layers, or I will burn you, plow you under, flood you.” But it just replied: “I'm like Adam: I don't yet know my name.”I lost geography as if it were a silver coin. It fell out of my pocket and rolled through the feather grass that blanketed the steppe in white foam. The open space ahead was so endless that the whole world might as well have been steppe. If people ended up here from somewhere else, they would conclude they were on another planet. The coin fell and became an argentum, became one with the ring on the hand of the princess who had one green eye and one blue, with the twisted candlestick at the monastery on the other side of the steppe, with melted ingots. It broke down into simpler elements, simpler and simpler yet. The horse carried me spreading the seeds of northern plants to the south, just as southern riders had once brought flowers and weeds to the north. And then I turned back. Just as I had no geography, I had no time. Every night I fell asleep with the thought that the next day I would again race. Through all spacelessness, all timelessness. I exchanged one horse for another, got on a train, on a boat, traversed forty versts on foot—in rain that brought the river up to the road, in heat that overturned cattle. The earth I walked on became mine. Mine was the water in the lakes and springs, clean water, dirty water, enlightened water, contaminated with oil, stinking of algae, of fish that died in wells, stinking of the memory of atrocities, water as clean as broken bread. The water did not become Alina.I was doing this for her: I got the basturma out from under my saddle, sodden with the horse's sweat, sliced the throat of a rich man whose daughter I had danced with at a ball, climbed into a vat of beet juice and took a sugar bath, carried out the expropriation of the savings banks, wiped the sweat from my face with my shirt—and the cloth turned red; I didn't know from what. If it was someone else's blood, I didn't care; if it was my own, even less.We mostly came across Reds. We scraped them up like old red paint on a door in order to repaint the boards black. Black looked better. Red is tasteless, but black has style. Healthy men died before us of myocardial rupture like bunnies found in the nest. The ones whose hearts were sewn of steel wire envied the deceased. Seizing estates, banks, distilleries, and prisons reminded us of gathering in the harvest. If you're too lazy to pick an apple, you can shake the tree; some of the fruit gets bruised when it falls. We seized buildings like we were shaking apple trees. No one picked the fruits, we just shook: shook under the beds, under the tables, behind the curtains. No, there was no picking. We just shook until the red juice spurted from the apples.Near the Khorol River with Father Makhno and me in charge, we captured sixteen machine guns and four cannons, as well as five hundred prisoners who immediately came over to our side. The villagers voluntarily gave us bread and cheese, chickens and kvas. People joined us. The front of the machine-gun cart said “You can't run,” and “You won't catch us” at the back. We took factory after factory. Millions of karbovantsi, thousands of poods of sugar, weapons. We smashed the telephone exchanges and captured the telegraphs. We made alliances with some and then with others. Lenin, Wrangel, Frunze, the Germans, Chinese, Australians, Kaiser Wilhelm II, Cleopatra, Maria Theresa Walburga Amalia Christina. We ran the steppe. There were a hundred thousand of us. There were three hundred thousand of them. There were three hundred thousand of us. There were a million of them. There were two million of them. We were all of humanity. We were so many that we were none.The nobles’ estates were long ago forsaken. In the people's deepest trunks lay silks and guipure laces that were once perhaps used only to cover a table. Five steps from the barn in the direction of the pear tree, some silver candlesticks are buried; there's a plaster figure of an angel in the chicken coop, covered with shit and feathers.I was reluctant to be going to my home, but I didn't see any way out. Fate intended me to be a different being from the one I was before.Here my grandfathers and great-grandfathers were born. Here the ones who caused my grandfathers and great-grandfathers to flee had stopped. When we were still far off I noticed that someone was in the house. It was our men—Skorsky had brought them here, about twenty in all. I asked Sanko, whom I had walked with side by side more than once, where the doctor was now. All the men answered that he was around somewhere, but I didn't see him that evening.In 1918, the spirit of my great-grandfather Stepan, along with my mother and uncle, had gotten into a britzka and scrambled off to Paris, to Napoleon, against whom my great-grandfather had fought with the Cossacks, to whom the Russians promised to return self-rule. Following him in the cart went the soul of Grandpa Oleh, who lost a finger when he cut down the old linden near the house; his second finger was blown off by a cannonball near Balaklava, and later his entire hand was cut off by some Turk. Next went the spirit of my father, also Stepan, who did not take part in any war but died of measles at the age of forty. They all got the hell out of here. First, they went to Kyiv, led by my mother, Tamara Makarivna, in order to collect Uncle's family and me, their son. And their son, it turns out, has now come back to rob his own home (I didn't drive my war buddies away, did I?). It's a shame that I didn't know where the bathtub was, or whatever they bathed me in when I was small. It would have been good to walk through the ranks of anarchists with that basin and tell them all to spit into it.Remembering every room, I carried Alina upstairs to my mother's bedchamber. There was no longer furniture or pictures, only bare walls. The bed and mattress remained, but that was enough. Mother hated noise, so she set up her room far away from the running in the halls and the creaks on the stairs. I adjusted the mattress; in a gap, looking like a stalk of wheat, there lay a gold bracelet that she lost in the haste and that the thieves could not find in the mayhem. I tucked it into my pocket.The place could still be saved. It was strong, built under the leadership of my grandfather, who knew how to do it right. He built a sawmill, a gristmill, a dress factory (today it's probably been ransacked, maybe even by our own men).Alina had a complete, displaced break in her right fibula. We needed water first. I went downstairs—the guys were dragging out the piano like an old cow to the slaughter.“What are you doing with that?”“Taking it out.”“Why?”“What's it to you? We want to have fun.”“Can you play?”“We're not your bourgeois lily-handed bitches.”They couldn't play, but they were famous at destruction. “Noise is the music of the new time,” one of the smarter among them might have said. “But noise is the opposite of music. Just as a rose is the opposite of your ugly mugs,” I'd have responded if there was anyone to say it to. I could also have said that this was a Bosendorfer grand piano, that it was very valuable—but do the guys not deserve such a luxury?“Why are you so boring? We're relaxing.”“Then let me play a little first.”“Go ahead, but fast. One-two.”So I played. As before. My fingers ran up and down the black and white keys, which weren't simply keys of these, the simplest, colors. These were the keys that remembered my fingers specifically—achieved by that slovenly German Katerina, our governess. She knew a bundle of languages, could play the piano, and was interested in the latest scientific discoveries. But she had not an ounce of sympathy for anyone who couldn't master anything on the first try. More than once she hit my pinkie against the black key that remembered every one of its four thousand touches. She would pound it on the key and shout, “Si bémol! Si bémol,” and later bang my fingers and translate, “B flach! B flach!”I played. I could not expose myself, so the only thing I could do was believe in miracles. What if these coarse men saw value in this bit of furniture so unintelligible to them? And what if they didn't destroy it, this emblem of my childhood, my land, my air, which I could protect in no other way? My air. My water.“Shchedryk, shchedryk, shchedrivochka,” one of them who recognized the tune began to sing along.“Look at you.” They did not expect music from me, who had until recently been drinking blood like water.They said, “Again, again!”A group of curious men gathered around me. They were ordinary farmers, thieves, and recidivists, peasants and workers, everyone except for Skorsky. They needed this music as they needed baths. The music cleansed them from the inside, perhaps. They had not heard anything besides the whistle of a bullet, the neighing of a horse, or the knocking of a chisel and the whirring of a saw, amputating limbs, for a long time.But it could not go on long. I did not close the piano lid, just stood and went to fetch water for Alina, leaving the unfinished song for later. The well was to the north—that is, at the “Head.” My father once promised to give me a compass if I could learn to identify the ends of the earth by means of the sun. And to make it easier to remember, I gave each one of them a name: the east where the day begins was “Right” (my right hand), the west “Left,” the north “Head,” and the south “Feet.” Back when I could still do whatever I wanted all day long, I would wake in the morning and say: I'm going to the Feet. The mound was at the Feet, Left had the river, Right had the forest. It was only to the Head that I rarely went, because a village was located there. When the villagers saw me, they would speak in whispers and avoid the master's son.... I wiped her brow and her burning, sunken cheeks. I lay down next to her to feel the heat of her skin.When the fire in Alina calmed slightly, I went out into our orchard. My father had once been given a gift from Japan—a tulip tree that blossomed with yellow-green flowers. It had to have grown in the time that I was away. It would have been fatal had it been cut down. I again took the stairs down into the drawing room and came across nobody—they had all disappeared in search of food or were hidden away in their burrows. In the middle of the hall, like an opened rib cage, was the piano, irreparably shattered.B Flach! B Flach!Translation © Ali Kinsella 2022. (shrink)

Monetary Intelligence theory asserts that individuals apply their money attitude to frame critical concerns in the context and strategically select certain options to achieve financial goals and ultimate happiness. This study explores the bright side of Monetary Intelligence and behavioral economics, frames money attitude in the context of pay and life satisfaction, and controls money at the macro-level and micro-level. We theorize: Managers with low love of money motive but high stewardship behavior will have high subjective well-being: pay satisfaction and (...) quality of life. Data collected from 6586 managers in 32 cultures across six continents support our theory. Interestingly, GDP per capita is related to life satisfaction, but not to pay satisfaction. Individual income is related to both life and pay satisfaction. Neither GDP nor income is related to Happiness. Our theoretical model across three GDP groups offers new discoveries: In high GDP entities, “high income” not only reduces aspirations—“Rich, Motivator, and Power,” but also promotes stewardship behavior—“Budget, Give/Donate, and Contribute” and appreciation of “Achievement.” After controlling income, we demonstrate the bright side of Monetary Intelligence: Low love of money motive but high stewardship behavior define Monetary Intelligence. “Good apples enjoy good quality of life in good barrels.” This notion adds another explanation to managers’ low magnitude of dishonesty in entities with high Corruption Perceptions Index. In low GDP entities, high income is related to poor Budgeting skills and escalated Happiness. These managers experience equal satisfaction with pay and life. We add a new vocabulary to the conversation of monetary intelligence, income, GDP, happiness, subjective well-being, good and bad apples and barrels, corruption, and behavioral ethics. (shrink)

Background: Nursing is a profession that has always been accompanied with common ethical concerns. There are some evidences which indicate that narrative writing on traumatic experiences may improve an individual’s emotional health. Objective: This study aimed to determine the effectiveness of narrative writing on moral distress of nurses working in intensive care unit. Research design: This study was a clinical trial with pre- and post-test design. The frequency and intensity of moral distress was measured by a valid and reliable questionnaire (...) (Corely) at baseline and after 8 weeks. The intervention group was asked to write about their deepest emotions and stressful experiences in the intensive care unit for 8 weeks. Participants and research context: Using consensus sampling, 120 nurses of intensive care unit and neonatal intensive care unit of the teaching hospitals (in Iran) were invited to and were randomly allocated into the intervention and control groups. Ethical considerations: Participation was voluntary, data were anonymized, and the confidentiality of the participating nurses and their institutions maintained. The ethical approval was obtained from an IRB or research ethics committee. Findings: In total, 106 nurses completed the trial consisting of 87.75% females. The mean work experience of nurses in the intervention and control groups was 7.21 ± 4.96 and 8.28 ± 5.45 years, respectively. Independent t-test showed no statistical difference neither in the intensity of moral distress ( P = 0.8), nor in its frequency ( P = 0.5) between the two groups. Discussion: As nurses constantly face ethical tensions, moral distress is a phenomenon that results from the different situations of critical care units. Their concern about receiving negative feedback from the managerial level may have influenced the outcome of the intervention. Conclusion: Narratives writing by the nurses showed no effect on reducing the intensity and frequency of moral distress. It seems that due to the intensity of moral distress in clinical settings, we need to test variety solutions to reduce the problem. (shrink)

The late Professor Hossein Ziai's interests focused on the Illuminationist (Ishrāqī) tradition. Dedicated to his memory, this volume deals with the post-Avicennan philosophical tradition in Iran, and in particular the Illuminationist school and later philosophers, such as those associated with the School of Isfahan, who were fundamentally influenced by it. The focus of various chapters is on translations, editions, and close expositions of rationalist works in areas such as epistemology, logic and metaphysics rather than mysticism more generally, and also on (...) specific texts rather than themes or studies of individual philosophers. The purpose of the volume is to introduce new texts into the modern canon of Islamic and Iranian philosophy. Various texts in this volume have not been previously translated nor have they been the subject of significant Western scholarship. (shrink)

There are two metaphysical pictures of spacetime: The evolutionary picture and the all-at-once picture. According to the evolutionary picture, spacetime is nothing but the evolution of space over time. In contrast, the all-at-once picture considers spacetime as ‘a global, four-dimensional boundary value problem’ that can be solved only in an all-at-once manner, i.e. as a whole which is fundamentally four-dimensional and non-decomposable into spatial and temporal parts. The two most-known formulations of general theory of relativity, i.e. the Hamiltonian (or the (...) canonical) and the Lagrangian (or the standard) formulations, enjoy the evolutionary and all-at-once pictures of spacetime respectively. Here, we have argued that (1) the all-at-once picture is more aligned with the philosophy of relativity theory, i.e. uniting space and time into spacetime, (2) the evolutionary picture is not as general as the all-at-once, since only in special cases, such as globally hyperbolic spacetimes, is it possible to deal with spacetime as the evolution of a spatial slice over time, and (3) the all-at-once picture paves the way to better understanding _four-dimensional_ physical entities, like event horizons, which cannot be explained within an evolutionary picture without raising a paradox. Therefore, the evolutionary picture is neither the _fundamentally-true_ nor the _naturally-chosen_ picture of spacetime. Rather, we choose the evolutionary picture for practical and computational reasons. While the all-at-once picture seems a more appropriate description of the quantum and cosmological reality, the evolutionary picture can be applied occasionally and locally, or quasi-locally, and is not the proper metaphysical picture of spacetime at the fundamental level of reality. (shrink)

In olden time the Arabian desert was, as it is at this day, the roaming-ground of independent Bedouin tribes. With free and healthy minds they contemplated their monotonous world, whose highest charm was the raid, and whose intellectual treasure was the tribal tradition. Neither the achievements of social labour, nor the accomplishments of elegant leisure were known to them. Only on the borders of the desert, in regularly constituted communities, which often had to suffer from the incursions of those Bedouins, (...) a higher degree of civilization had been attained. This was the case in the South, where the ancient kingdom of the Queen of Sheba continued its existence in Christian times under Abyssinian or Persian overlordship. On the West lay Mecca and Medina (Yathrib), by an old caravan route; and Mecca in particular, with its market safe-guarded by a temple, was the centre of a brisk traffic. Lastly on the North, two semi-sovereign States had been formed under Arab princes: towards Persia, the kingdom of the Lakhmids in Hira; and towards Byzantium the dominion of the Gassanids in Syria. In speech and poetry, however, the unity of the Arab nation was set forth to some extent even before Mohammed’s time. The poets were the ‘men of knowledge’ for their people. Their incantations held good as oracles, first of all for their several tribes, but no doubt extending their influence often beyond their own particular septs. Mohammed and his immediate successors, Abu Bekr, Omar, Othman and Ali (622–661) succeeded in inspiring the free sons of the desert, together with the more civilized inhabitants of the coast-lands, with enthusiasm for a joint enterprise. To this circumstance Islam owes its world-position: for Allah showed himself great, and the world was quite small for those who surrendered themselves to him (Muslims). In a short time the whole of Persia was conquered, and the East-Roman empire lost its fairest provinces,—Syria and Egypt. Medina was the seat of the first Caliphs or representatives of the prophet. Then Mohammed’s brave son-in-law Ali, and Ali’s sons, fell before Moawiya, the able governor of Syria. From that time dates the existence of the party of Ali (Shiʻites), which in the course of diverse vicissitudes,—now reduced to subjection, now in detached places attaining power,—lives on in history, until it finally incorporates itself with the Persian kingdom in definite opposition to Sunnite Islam. (shrink)

Isma‘īl b. ‘Ali, who is referred to as Abū Sa‘d as-Sammān, was born in Ray, Iran, between 981 and 983 and he devoted most of his life to educational travels, especially for hadith and he returned to his city of birth towards the end of his life and died there in 1053. Isma‘īl b. ‘Ali is well-known with the name of as- Sammān, meaning butter trader, because of he was grew up in a family of butter traders. The movables and (...) real estates in his inheretence show that he belongs to a wealthy family. As-Sammān, who seems to be in the twelfth generation of Muʻtazilite tradition, approve the thoughts of Abū Hāshim al-Jubbā’ī (ö. 321/933) and Abu'l-Ḥusayn al-Baṣrī (ö. 436/1044) and he was accepted as the leader of the Muʻtazila in his own period. He had education from scholars such as Abū Tāhir al-Muḫallis, Ibn Abū Nasr at-Tamīmī and Abkasī (ö. 405/1014-15) in the discipline of hadith. As-Sammān, was an authoritative figure both in the fiqh of Hanafi and disagreements between thoughts of Hanafism and Shafi'ism as well as in the fiqh of Zaydism. In addition, he educated himself in the topic of Qur’anic recitation, scholars of narrators, genealogy, law of inheritence and arithmetic. Among the works of as-Sammān, who are stated as many, only one record seem to be extant until today: “Kitāb al-Muvāfaqa bayn ahl al-bayt wa's-sahāba wa mā ravāhu kullu farīqin fī haqq al-āḫar”, which was written to point out the fondness and respect between the first three caliphs and ‘Ali. Thus, it is not possible for us to have a detailed knowledge about his thoughts in kalam and fiqh. However, Ibn al-‘Adīm (ö. 660/1262) gives us some ideas about thoughts of al-Sammān through his will narrates in his “Bughyat aṭ-Ṭalab fī tārīḫi Ḥalab”. As-Sammān states that his thoughts of kalam and fiqh are formed on the school of Ahl al-‘adl wa't-tawḥīd, in particular parallel with Muʻtazila-Zaydiyya and he designed his will, which he gave about two years before his death, according to the Muʻtazilite theological paradigm. In this context, according to as-Sammān, Allah is one and eternal. Attributes of Allah such as Power, Knowledge, Life, Hearing, Sight and Wealth are by virtue of His essence. Allah does not resemble anything, nor a body or an accident. All actions of Allah are good, and He never do evil. Allah does not wish for a sin nor have any consent to sin. Allah does not test people with what they cannot afford. Allah does not oppress people nor punish anyone with no justice. Allah is faithful to his promise that he will reward people who are good and will punish people who do evil. Voluntarily actions are created by people themselves. Revelation regarding the doomsday and the hereafter are true. Also, worships performed by the living on behalf of the dead such as hajj, ‘umrah, charity, reciting the the Qur'an and visiting the graves of them are useful for the dead. Repentance which is the forgiveness of sins is the decisiveness of not to commit it again with regret. As-Sammān has been criticized because of his Muʻtazilite thoughts, but his credibility, his intellectual effort and his abilities have been appreciated even by his opponents. The combative and dynamic nature of his life was reflected in his will are analysed in this work and it is concluded that he expressed his thoughts on belief and deeds in his will as a true Mu‘tazilite manifesto. (shrink)

V domnevno Platonovem dialogu Alkibiadu I je postavljena trditev, da je del duše, ki skriva naše pravo sebstvo, naš jaz, podoben Bogu: nekdo, ki ga uvidi in je spoznal božansko – boga in razumnost, bo tako najbolje dojemal tudi samega sebe. Vprašanje sebstva v dialogu nastopi kot smiselno nadaljevanje poprejšnjih izpeljav, po katerih se določa, da mi nismo ne telo, ne naše lastne stvari, temveč duša. S tem, ko sebstvo poistovetimo z Bogom, nekako uidemo problemu samonanašanja in postavimo vprašanje samovédenja (...) v novo dimenzijo. Članek obravnava nekatere nejasnosti definicije sebstva , torej vključujočega telo in dušo, ali le kot duše, kot v Alkibiadu Prvem , ki uporablja telo in mu vlada , v odnosu do božanskega.In Alcibiades I, for many interpreters still a spurious dialogue, Plato claims that our true self resembles the divine. Someone who looked at it and grasped everything divine, God and intelligence, would have the best grasp of himself as well. The question of the self comes as the natural consequence of previous claims showing we are neither our possessions nor our bodies, but our souls. By making the self similar to God, we can tackle the problem of reflexivity differently, putting the question of self-knowledge into new perspective. The article discusses some unclear questions concerning the definition of the self, defined as »the whole man« in Charmides , i.e. including body as integral part, or as excluding it in Alcibiades I, where the self is the soul , since the soul uses the body and rules it , and its relations to the divine. (shrink)

Petrić, koji na Pletonovu tragu spise poznate pod naslovom Kaldejska proroštva pripisuje Zoroastru, »suvremeniku Abrahamovu, prvom otkrivaču astrologije i magije tj. mudrosti«, objavljuje te spise u »Dodatku« svoje Nove sveopće filozofije 1591. te 1593. godine pod naslovom Zoroaster et eius CCCXX Oracula Chaldaica, eius opera e tenebris eruta et latine reddita . Spisi će 1593. godine kao zasebno izdanje biti objavljeni u Hamburgu pod naslovom Magia philosophica hoc est Zoroaster et eius CCCXX Oracula chaldaica .Zoroastru pripisanu filozofiju Petrić zajedno sa (...) svojom vlastitom i s još tri filozofije, kao jednu »pobožnu filozofiju« podastire papi Grguru XIV. u zamjenu za Aristotelovu »bezbožnu « filozofiju što se »posvuda predaje po školama«.Prema njegovim vlastitim riječima, Petrić ulaže »nemali trud« u prikupljanje 324 stiha Kaldejskih proroštava, raspršenih po djelima različitih autora poglavito novoplatoničke orijentacije, sakupljajući ih u jedan cjelovit spis, koji raspoređuje u nekoliko tematskih cjelina i prevodi na latinski.U tekstu se nastoje sagledati Petrićevi motivi izdavanja Zoroastru pripisanih Oracula chaldaica, što se povezuje prije svega s pitanjem o tome jesu li i, ako jesu, kako su učenja iz Oracula prisutna u njegovoj vlastitoj filozofiji izloženoj u Novoj sveopćoj filozofiji.Svoj načelni stav o tome kako Proroštva funkcioniraju u njegovoj filozofiji iznosi Petrić u šestoj knjizi »Panarchije« Nove sveopće filozofije gdje kaže: »Ali mi filozofiramo pozivajući se na autoritete [pri čemu misli prije svega na Zoroastra] više kao na ures nego kao na temelj. Pozabavimo se stoga dokazima!« Premda, naime, Zoroastra priznaje kao autoritet, Petrić njegove izrijeke ne smatra filozofskim dokazima!Analizom Nove sveopće filozofije pokušava se u tekstu doći do odgovora na pitanje stoji li ova Petrićeva tvrdnja o pozivanju na autoritete kao na ures. Ujedno se nastoji sagledati specifičnost njegove interpretacije Kaldejskih proroštava, napose interpretacije koncepcije počela u njima izložene.Na kraju su značajke Petrićeve recepcije tih spisa rezimirane u jednoj njegovoj izjavi, vezanoj doduše uz pitanje razuma, no koja se može primijeniti i na sva ostala učenja izložena u Oracula chaldaica. Petrić u njoj znakovito kaže: »Međutim ta [sc. Zoroastrova] povijest o razumu ne čini se da se mnogo tiče naše filozofije, niti se pak mnogo razlikuje od nje.«The article attempts to examine Petrić’s motives for publishing Oracula Chaldaica, attributed to Zoroaster, and relate them primarily with the question of whether the teachings from the Oracles are present, and if so, in what way are they present in Petrić’s philosophy laid out in his Nova de universis philosophia.Petrić introduces his basic position on how Oracles function in his philosophy in the sixth book of “Panarchia” in Nova de universis philosophia, where he says: “But we philosophise by appealing to the authorities [by which he primarily means Zoroaster] more in the sense of an ornament than in the sense a foundation. Let us therefore deal with proofs!” Although, in fact, Petrić recognizes Zoroaster as an authority, he does not regard his sayings as philosophical proofs!Through the analysis of Nova de universis philosophia the article tries to answer the question whether the claim of appealing to the authorities merely as an ornament is justified. At the same time, it tries to expound the particularity of his interpretation of Chaldean Oracles, especially the interpretation of the notion of substance found in Oracles.Finally, the features of Petrić’s reception of these writings are summarized in one of his statements, although connected to the issue of reason, but which can be applied to all of the teachings of Oracula Chaldaica. He indicatively states: “However, this [sc. Zoroaster’s] history of reason does not seem to concern our philosophy very much, nor does it greatly differ from it.”. (shrink)

A number of innovative hermeneutical approaches emerged in Muslim exegetical discourse in the second half of the 20th century. Among these developments is a trend of systematic reform theology that emphasises a humanistic approach, whereby revelation is understood to be dependent not only upon its initiator, God, but also upon its recipient, Prophet Muhammad, who takes an active role in the process.Ali Akbar examines the works of four noted scholars of Islam: Fazlur Rahman, Abdolkarim Soroush, Muhammad Mujtahed Shabestari and Nasr (...) Hamid Abu Zayd. His study shows that the consequences of taking a humanistic approach to understanding revelation are not confined to the realm of speculation about God-human relations, but also to interpreting Qur'A nic socio-political precepts. And the four scholars emerge as a distinctive group of Muslim thinkers who open up a new horizon in contemporary Islamic discourse. (shrink)

Članak je usmjeren ususret paradigmi nove fizike koju treba iznijeti LHC, ali s kritičkim prosuđivanjem toga razvoja pomoću Kuhnovih teza i epistemologije povezanih s modernom fizikom. Promišljanja i prosudbe nove filozofije niču iz LHC-fizike, koja se tumači kao »science universelle« . LHC, kao najveći sudarivač čestica u svijetu do sada, nije motiviran time da uništi Boga niti bilo koju vjeru u svijetu, već za otkrivanje novih čestica s njihovim interakcijama i kozmologijom u Prirodi, baš onoliko koliko pružaju LHC-scenariji na Tera-elektron-volt (...) skali. Polazeći od ponovnog otkrića fizike Standardnog modela i otkrića Higgsovih bozona, nova fizika na LHC-u ide mogućim putovima u skladu s problemom hijerarhije u suvremenoj fizici. K tome još, SM nije konačna teorija i upućuje se prema ne-standardnoj fizici poput supersimetrije , dodanih dimenzija na TeV-skali s kozmološkim posljedicama te ostale scenarije. Ne-standardna fizika, teorija i pokus, predviđa se otvorenom pa je formuliran novi princip agnostičkog eksperimentalizma kao najprikladniji filozofski princip, jer se ne mogu sva opažanja znati/predvidjeti na LHC-u. Čak i ako eksperimentalni program LHC-a krene u krivome smjeru, mnoge će mogućnosti izroniti iz Pandorine kutije fizike. Tada će filozofska promišljanja postati vrlo važna, napose Kuhnovi pogledi kao i naš AE princip te noviji mediteranski razvoj filozofije. Uostalom, standardna paradigma kao i nova fizika na LHC-u ne opisuju svijet u kojemu danas živimo.A paper is aiming towards a new physics paradigm to be brought by the LHC with a critical assessing on that development by the Kuhnian theses and epistemology related to modern physics. Thinking and critical assessments on the new philosophy arise up from the LHC physics, which is interpreted as the ‘science universelle’ . The LHC as the world’s largest particle collider as ever been was not motivated neither to destroy God nor any religion in the World, but to investigate new particles with their interactions and cosmology of the Nature inasmuch as it has proposed by the LHC scenarios on the Tera-electron-Volt scale. Starting from the rediscovery of the Standard Model and discovery of the Higgs bosons, the new physics at the LHC goes by the possible roads according to the Hierarchy Problem in contemporary physics. However, the SM is not a final theory by inquiring a Non-Standard physics, such as Supersymmetry , Extra Dimensions on the TeV scale with cosmological implications, and other scenarios. A Non-Standard physics, both theory and experiment, is foreseen to be open and a novel view of agnostic experimentalism was formulated to be the best philosophical principle, since we can’t know/predict everything to be observed in the LHC. Even if experimental programme of the LHC wouldn’t go in the right way, then many possibilities may emerge from the Pandora’s Box of physics. Then, philosophical considerations would become very important, particularly Kuhn’s views on it including our AE principle and new Mediterranean development of philosophy, respectively. After all, either standard paradigm or the new physics of the LHC doesn’t describe the world in which we live. (shrink)

Terrorist organisations have increased and widened in Iraq in particular and the world in general in recent years. People have suffered a lot from these terrorist organisations due to their thirst for killing innocent civilians. The study aims to convey the suffering of innocent Iraqis caused by terrorist acts to the world. In order to achieve the aim, the research adopted Barthes’s framework to analyse the selected photographs. The researchers have selected iconic photographs for the analysis. The photographs are taken (...) from the main websites of the local, Arabic, and foreign media. The study found out that terrorism is the brutal enemy of all Iraqi societies including Sunnis, Shia, Kurds, Christians, and Yazidis. This research is a clear example that shows the world the extent of the suffering, pain, and fear Iraqi people are facing because of terrorism. (shrink)

A widely held assumption is that hallucinations are not a type of perception. Coupled with the idea that hallucinations possess phenomenal character, this assumption raises a problem for naive realism, which maintains that phenomenal character is at least partly constituted by perceived worldly objects. Naive realists have typically responded by adopting a disjunctive view of phenomenal character. But in what follows, I argue that to resolve the conflict we should instead reject the idea that hallucinations are not a type of (...) perception. I argue that this idea is supported by six alleged differences between hallucination and perception, but these differences are all accommodated for in a particular type of perception, picture perception. Drawing on picture perception’s resources, I offer an account of hallucinations which construes them as a type of perception, and does so in a way that that preserves their idiosyncrasies and varieties, and in a way compatible with naive realism. (shrink)

The article discusses sexual violence by ISIS against women in Iraq, particularly Yezidi women, against the historical background of broader sexual and gender-based violence. It intervenes in feminist debates about how to approach and analyse sexual and wider gender-based violence in Iraq specifically and the Middle East more generally. Recognizing the significance of positionality, the article argues against dichotomous positions and for the need to look at both macrostructural configurations of power pertaining to imperialism, neoliberalism and globalization on the one (...) hand, and localized expressions of patriarchy, religious interpretations and practices and cultural norms on the other hand. Finally, the article reflects on the question of what a transnational feminist solidarity might look like in relation to sexual violence by ISIS. (shrink)

What was the relationship between government and religion in Middle Eastern history? In a world of caliphs, sultans, and judges, who exercised political and religious authority? In this book, Ali Humayun Akhtar investigates debates about leadership that involved ruling circles and scholars of jurisprudence and theology. At the heart of this story is a medieval rivalry between three caliphates: the Umayyads of Cordoba, the Fatimids of Cairo, and the Abbasids of Baghdad. In a fascinating revival of Late Antique Hellenism, Aristotelian (...) and Platonic notions of wisdom became a key component of how these caliphs debated their authority as political leaders. By tracing how these political debates impacted the theological scholars and their own conception of communal guidance, Akhtar offers a new picture of premodern political authority and the connections between Western and Islamic civilizations. It will be of use to students and specialists of the premodern and modern Middle East. (shrink)

The contribution of women to China’s economic growth and development cannot be overemphasized. Women play important social, economic, and productive roles in any economy. China remains one of the countries in the world with severe gender inequality and sex ratio at birth (SRB) imbalance. Severe gender inequality and disenfranchisement of girls with abnormally high sex ratios at birth reflect deep-rooted sexism and adversely affect girls’ development. For China to achieve economic growth, women should not be ignored and marginalized so that (...) they can contribute to the country’s growth, but the sex ratio at birth needs to be lowered because only women can contribute to growth. Thus, this study empirically predicts an asymmetric relationship between gender inequality, sex ratio at birth and economic growth, using NARDL model over the period 1980–2020. The NARDL results show that increases in gender inequality and sex ratio at birth significantly reduce economic growth in both the short and long term, while reductions in gender inequality and sex ratio at birth significantly boost economic growth in both the short and long term. Moreover, the results show the significant contribution of female labor force participation and female education (secondary and higher education) to economic growth. However, infant mortality rate significantly reduced economic growth. Strategically, the study recommends equal opportunities for women in employment, education, health, economics, and politics to reduce gender disparities and thereby promote sustainable economic growth in China. Moreover, policymakers should introduce new population policy to stabilize the sex ratio at birth, thereby promoting China’s long-term economic growth. (shrink)

A central debate in the philosophy of virtual reality (VR) focuses on the reality of virtual items. Broadly, there are two main disagreements. Some views accept a metaphysical orientation to VR, and disagree on the reality of virtual items. For instance, David Chalmers (Disputatio 9(46):309-352, 2017, Disputatio 11(55):453- 486, 2019, 2022) defends digitalism, the view that virtual items are real digital items. Neil McDonnell & Nathan Wildman (Disputatio 11(55):371-397, 2019), by contrast, defend fictionalism, which maintains that virtual items are unreal (...) fictions. Other views, like Grant Tavinor’s (2021), reject the metaphysical orientation, argu- ing that focusing on the reality of virtual items is a mistake. In what follows I evalu- ate these two disagreements. I argue that experiences of virtual items depend on episodes of picture perception. Recognizing this reveals that the current debates are either easily resolved in favor of one view, or are not disagreeing about the reality of virtual items, but about what virtual items are. (shrink)

In this commentary I present a brief overview of Maiese and Hanna’s work, The Mind-Body Politic, and highlight their valuable contribution in extending the insights from philosophy of mind to critically evaluate our contemporary social institutions and politics. Then I discuss some of the reservations and open questions about the way Maiese and Hanna lay out their version of a political philosophy of mind. In doing so, I focus on three main shortcomings in Maiese and Hanna’s work. First, I discuss (...) how despite their critical view of Cartesian dualism, their own view of the way society is organized and works is dualistic. I argue that their dualistic view of society results in utopian thinking, and perhaps a more productive and constructive approach to our current predicaments would rather be an immanent critique. Second, I highlight the unclarity and confusion in some of their conceptual frameworks and their account of politics such as the way they use ideology and governmentality. Finally, I criticize their analysis of social institutions, especially the way they see new institutional structures can be formed. The project for a political philosophy of mind that Maiese and Hanna set up is worth pursuing and Maiese and Hanna already provide many hints and directions for its productive and constructive pursuit. (shrink)

The rise to taking over state power after elections of 2014 by majoritarian forces in India has since witnessed weakening of institutions of governance. The ruling Bhartiya Janata Party has returned to power with an enhanced parliamentary majority in the 2019 elections. The rise of hindutva, the Hindu nationalist political philosophy of the formations comprising the BJP and the Sangh parivaar or affiliates of the right wing Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, has reshaped the discourse on the “idea of India”. Under the (...) extensive reframing in majoritarian nationalist terms of Indian political verities, it is conceivable that the Indian military, widely regarded as a professional, apolitical and secular force, will also be impacted. There has been little academic scrutiny of the possible influence of majoritarianism on the Indian military. The paper examines impact of the onset of majoritarianism democracy on India’s military by taking a close look at the movement in civil-military relations under the BJP government. There is a shift in civil-military relations from objective civilian control, that enhances professionalism and keeps the military apolitical, to subjective civilian control, wherein the military is co-opted through subscribing to the ideologybased security perspective of the ruling party. This shift poses for the military a risk of losing their a political ethic. Erosion of the apolitical ethic of the military will open up the military’s secular ethic to modification. The conclusions are both relevant for policy and theory. The relevance for policy lies in the need for the Indian state and the military to preserve professionalism by persisting with the objective civilian control model. The theoretical relevance is in discerning limits to the concept of obedience of the military to the civilian political rulers. Where there is a threat from a political ideology or its penetration into the military’s intellectual domain with the potential to dilute the military’s professionalism, the military needs to pushback for the sake of national security. (shrink)

The article charts my trajectories as a feminist activist/academic seeking to research, write and talk about gender-based violence in relation to the Middle East. More specifically, I am drawing on research and activism in relation to Iraq, Turkey and Lebanon to map the discursive, political and empirical challenges and complexities linked to scholarship and activism that is grounded in both feminist and anti-racist/anti-islamophobic politics. While reflecting on my positionality, the article aims to challenge the binary of activism and academia as (...) well as Western and Middle Eastern contexts in terms of knowledge production. (shrink)

In olden time the Arabian desert was, as it is at this day, the roaming-ground of independent Bedouin tribes. With free and healthy minds they contemplated their monotonous world, whose highest charm was the raid, and whose intellectual treasure was the tribal tradition. Neither the achievements of social labour, nor the accomplishments of elegant leisure were known to them. Only on the borders of the desert, in regularly constituted communities, which often had to suffer from the incursions of those Bedouins, (...) a higher degree of civilization had been attained. This was the case in the South, where the ancient kingdom of the Queen of Sheba continued its existence in Christian times under Abyssinian or Persian overlordship. On the West lay Mecca and Medina (Yathrib), by an old caravan route; and Mecca in particular, with its market safe-guarded by a temple, was the centre of a brisk traffic. Lastly on the North, two semi-sovereign States had been formed under Arab princes: towards Persia, the kingdom of the Lakhmids in Hira; and towards Byzantium the dominion of the Gassanids in Syria. In speech and poetry, however, the unity of the Arab nation was set forth to some extent even before Mohammed’s time. The poets were the ‘men of knowledge’ for their people. Their incantations held good as oracles, first of all for their several tribes, but no doubt extending their influence often beyond their own particular septs. Mohammed and his immediate successors, Abu Bekr, Omar, Othman and Ali (622–661) succeeded in inspiring the free sons of the desert, together with the more civilized inhabitants of the coast-lands, with enthusiasm for a joint enterprise. To this circumstance Islam owes its world-position: for Allah showed himself great, and the world was quite small for those who surrendered themselves to him (Muslims). In a short time the whole of Persia was conquered, and the East-Roman empire lost its fairest provinces,—Syria and Egypt. Medina was the seat of the first Caliphs or representatives of the prophet. Then Mohammed’s brave son-in-law Ali, and Ali’s sons, fell before Moawiya, the able governor of Syria. From that time dates the existence of the party of Ali (Shiʻites), which in the course of diverse vicissitudes,—now reduced to subjection, now in detached places attaining power,—lives on in history, until it finally incorporates itself with the Persian kingdom in definite opposition to Sunnite Islam. (shrink)

The vast majority of extant empirical research examining the relationship between corporate social performance and financial performance selects samples of only those firms which are observed engaging in CSP. In this study, the authors assert that firms’ efforts to pursue CSP and subsequently their appearance in social-choice investment advisory firms’ ranking databases are non-random. Studying the CSP–FP link using selected samples of only those firms whose social performance is ranked by SIA firms introduces a sample-selection bias which limits generalization of (...) results to a population of all firms, and at worst provides alternate explanations for observed relationships. The authors test these assertions on a large sample of public corporations in the United States over 6 years and find a sample-selection bias. Upon correction of this bias, this study confirms the positive impact of CSP on FP. (shrink)

Background: Ethics development is one of the most important aspects of professional practice in health sciences students. Understanding factors affecting ethics development can enhance clinical and professional performance in students. Objective: This study was conducted to explore students’ perceptions about factors affecting professional ethics development. Research design: This study is a conventional content analysis. Data were collected through 20 semi-structured interviews and two focus group interviews (12 students) during 2017–2018. Data were analyzed concurrently with data gathering, using the conventional content (...) analysis approach of Graneheim and Lundman. Participants and research context: In total, 8 students of nursing, 5 medical students, 4 students of anesthesia and 3 operating room students in individual interviews, and 12 students in two focus group interviews from one university in the south of Iran were selected through purposive sampling. Ethical considerations: The research was approved by the Ethics Committee of one university in the south of Iran. Findings: The findings revealed two themes: personal and background factors. Personal factors consisted of the two categories of individual motivation and tendencies and interpersonal interactions. Background factors consisted of the two categories of role and function of teachers and environmental agents. Discussion and conclusions: According to the findings, both background and individual factors affect development of professional ethics in students. Understanding these factors along with reinforcement of educational planning in this field can improve healthcare services. (shrink)

Emerging markets are a growing force, and the resulting increase in wealth—especially among the middle class—promotes conspicuous consumption with potentially negative impacts for societal and environmental well-being. Efforts to encourage ethical consumer behavior in emerging markets often meet various forms of consumer resistance. One reason that ethical consumption may suffer in emerging markets is because consumers have difficulty considering ethical other-focused attributes, such as Fair Trade or eco-friendly options, especially if those attributes do not directly benefit the self. Our research (...) demonstrates a simple way to encourage more ethical consumption in emerging markets, without economic incentives. In particular, when consumers see narrow (vs. broad) product categories, they are more likely to incorporate both salient (self-focused) and non-salient (other-focused) attributes into their decision. Thus, narrow product categories encourage consumers to consider ethical attributes to a greater extent than they normally would. This finding holds in private settings, across various product categories (i.e., coffee, tea, juice) and contexts (i.e., online and in the field), and in different emerging markets (e.g., India, South Africa, and Iran). (shrink)

In this paper, we argue that the system of student debt functions as one of the most egregious and yet poorly understood mechanisms by which structural racism is reproduced in the U.S. today. We present evidence that student debt is unevenly distributed across race and gender, show that this pattern arises from policy choices made over time, and demonstrate that these disparities play a significant role in maintaining and exacerbating racial and gender wealth gaps. Our paper contends that the student (...) debt crisis not only erodes the core principles of higher education but also perpetuates a cycle of racial and gender inequality and given the crucial role played by business corporations, urges scholars of business ethics to pay attention to this issue. (shrink)