Jenny and I are no longer homeowners - as of today, we are tenants, a situation we haven't been in for many, many years.
Yes, today (well, actually yesterday since it's now after midnight) was the settlement day on the sale of our house. We now have a lot more money in the bank, and we are renting back this place for the next 11 months ... so there's no immediate impact on our day-to-day lives. It feels just a bit funny, though, and we've loved this house. It will be really strange when we finally leave it after 20 years.
Now we need to plan the next move. As the year goes on, we'll be looking for cheaper real estate interstate, among all our other plans for the year. Onward!
About Me
- Russell Blackford
- Australian philosopher, literary critic, legal scholar, and professional writer. Based in Newcastle, NSW. My latest books are THE TYRANNY OF OPINION: CONFORMITY AND THE FUTURE OF LIBERALISM (2019); AT THE DAWN OF A GREAT TRANSITION: THE QUESTION OF RADICAL ENHANCEMENT (2021); and HOW WE BECAME POST-LIBERAL: THE RISE AND FALL OF TOLERATION (2024).
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
This postmillennialism nonsense
Wikipedia succinctly defines postmillennialism as "an interpretation of chapter 20 of the Book of Revelation which sees Christ's second coming as occurring after (Latin post-) the 'Millennium', a Golden Age or era of Christian prosperity and dominance."
Many of us who have encountered evangelical Christianity are more familiar with premillennialism: the idea that Christ's second coming will predate the eventual establishment of the Millennium. In this kind of thought, Christ is typically imagined as appearing during a time of great tribulations (as every historical era, including our own, imagines itself to be) and rapturing the faithful up into heaven - leaving behind the unbelievers. However, there are many variations on the theme: some premillennialists imagine a time of even worse tribulation after the second coming; different thinkers draw on different theological traditions dating back to ancient times; and so on.
There's a huge body of best-selling Christian literature that explains or exploits premillennialist ideas, most famously the novel Left Behind and its sequels. When I was young, Hal Lindsey's The Late, Great Planet Earth was a popular premillennialist text. I was taught in Sunday school that the second coming was likely to be in the 1980s, a "generation" after the recreation of Israel. Pity it didn't work out like that.
Postmillennialists see a duty to reform society along Christian lines to build the utopian age that is, as they understand it, prophesied in the Bible - particularly the Book of Revelation. Since they want to usher in this utopian age by human efforts, theirs is an eschatology of works and progress. It's easy to see that Nazism and Marxism contained concepts of history closely analogous to this - but it is too clever by half to say that these belief systems just are postmillennialist. They are not, because they don't have anything to say about the the second coming of Christ at the end of the millennium. Though they envisage apocalyptic events, posit quasi-religious views of the unfolding of history, and are clearly influenced by Christian thought, they are not themselves Christian sects.
It is even more strained when any system of thought at all that envisages progressive improvement in the human situation is labeled postmillennialist, as if any such ideas make sense only in the context of Christian religious doctrine. Though Christian views of history may have made it easier to imagine a direction to history, we have another very good reason to do so: the observable facts of scientific and technological change, with their implications for society. Whatever else we might think about progress, science really does gain greater insight into the nature of our world and technology really does become more powerful. Somebody who thinks that we can use the increasingly powerful science and technology at our disposal to improve the human condition does not need to be motivated by religion. Nor does the plausibility of her position stand or fall with the plausibility of religion itself.
That's an important point to make, because critics of technological meliorism (in its various guises) often adopt a kind of world-weary cynicism, in which technological meliorism is dismissed as just another kind of religion, and just as likely to be wrong as the supernaturalist doctrines of real religions. That's clearly a mistake.
These people could make a much weaker claim: one that is far less ambitious but more likely to be correct. This is the point that, after two thousand years of Christianity, we have become primed to see history as having a direction, and some folks may have become over-optimistic (both about what will happen and about their capacity to predict it). Perhaps this is right, but the fact remains that we have a perfectly rational, independent basis to expect further improvements in science and technology and to be able to use them to produce improvements to, say, human health and comfort and the human life span.
Transhumanist thinking is particularly vulnerable to the suggestion that it is something like apocalyptic Christianity - and therefore just as likely to be false. But that argument is just wrong. The most that can be said is that the apocalyptic aspect of the most extreme kinds of transhumanism may have a psychological appeal - for some people - that is out of proportion to the strength of its actual arguments. I don't doubt that there's some truth in that claim, and that it provides a reason to examine transhumanist arguments of an extreme kind (such as those predicting a near-future technological Singularity) with a degree of scepticism. Nonetheless, the arguments ultimately stand or fall on their own merits, not on the merits of Christian doctrine.
It's particularly annoying when Michael Ruse (in The Evolution-Creation Struggle)wants to brand any progressive element in the thinking of modern scientists as postmillennialist. No! No, Professor Ruse, postmillennialism is a doctrine (with a number of variants) taught by some Christians. But you don't need to be a Christian of any sort to believe that science and technology are becoming more powerful, or to plan ways of using them in an attempt to improve the human condition. There are non-religious reasons to be impressed by the advance of science and technology. Accordingly, the postmillennialist/premillennialist contrast that Ruse relies on in examining the clash between evolution and creationism is unnecessary and misleading.
I am actually a sceptic about the supposedly coming technological Singularity, an idea that Ruse doesn't get around to discussing. It looks just as likely to me that we are somewhere on the steeper part of a technological sigmoid curve - but who knows? My point is that you can't shoot down arguments, such as those of transhumanists, by drawing an analogy with a quite different set of ideas that is based on a quite different set of arguments ... arguments that you believe to be bad.
More generally, you can't do the following. You can't take a way of thinking, X, that bears some superficial resemblance to another way of thinking, Y, which is grounded in a quite different set of arguments ... then observe that way of thinking Y is religious (and is grounded in whatever arguments support the religion), and conclude that way of thinking X is religious (implying that it stands or falls with the general plausibility of religion). I see far too much of this kind of fallacious reasoning, and it's starting to get annoying.
Many of us who have encountered evangelical Christianity are more familiar with premillennialism: the idea that Christ's second coming will predate the eventual establishment of the Millennium. In this kind of thought, Christ is typically imagined as appearing during a time of great tribulations (as every historical era, including our own, imagines itself to be) and rapturing the faithful up into heaven - leaving behind the unbelievers. However, there are many variations on the theme: some premillennialists imagine a time of even worse tribulation after the second coming; different thinkers draw on different theological traditions dating back to ancient times; and so on.
There's a huge body of best-selling Christian literature that explains or exploits premillennialist ideas, most famously the novel Left Behind and its sequels. When I was young, Hal Lindsey's The Late, Great Planet Earth was a popular premillennialist text. I was taught in Sunday school that the second coming was likely to be in the 1980s, a "generation" after the recreation of Israel. Pity it didn't work out like that.
Postmillennialists see a duty to reform society along Christian lines to build the utopian age that is, as they understand it, prophesied in the Bible - particularly the Book of Revelation. Since they want to usher in this utopian age by human efforts, theirs is an eschatology of works and progress. It's easy to see that Nazism and Marxism contained concepts of history closely analogous to this - but it is too clever by half to say that these belief systems just are postmillennialist. They are not, because they don't have anything to say about the the second coming of Christ at the end of the millennium. Though they envisage apocalyptic events, posit quasi-religious views of the unfolding of history, and are clearly influenced by Christian thought, they are not themselves Christian sects.
It is even more strained when any system of thought at all that envisages progressive improvement in the human situation is labeled postmillennialist, as if any such ideas make sense only in the context of Christian religious doctrine. Though Christian views of history may have made it easier to imagine a direction to history, we have another very good reason to do so: the observable facts of scientific and technological change, with their implications for society. Whatever else we might think about progress, science really does gain greater insight into the nature of our world and technology really does become more powerful. Somebody who thinks that we can use the increasingly powerful science and technology at our disposal to improve the human condition does not need to be motivated by religion. Nor does the plausibility of her position stand or fall with the plausibility of religion itself.
That's an important point to make, because critics of technological meliorism (in its various guises) often adopt a kind of world-weary cynicism, in which technological meliorism is dismissed as just another kind of religion, and just as likely to be wrong as the supernaturalist doctrines of real religions. That's clearly a mistake.
These people could make a much weaker claim: one that is far less ambitious but more likely to be correct. This is the point that, after two thousand years of Christianity, we have become primed to see history as having a direction, and some folks may have become over-optimistic (both about what will happen and about their capacity to predict it). Perhaps this is right, but the fact remains that we have a perfectly rational, independent basis to expect further improvements in science and technology and to be able to use them to produce improvements to, say, human health and comfort and the human life span.
Transhumanist thinking is particularly vulnerable to the suggestion that it is something like apocalyptic Christianity - and therefore just as likely to be false. But that argument is just wrong. The most that can be said is that the apocalyptic aspect of the most extreme kinds of transhumanism may have a psychological appeal - for some people - that is out of proportion to the strength of its actual arguments. I don't doubt that there's some truth in that claim, and that it provides a reason to examine transhumanist arguments of an extreme kind (such as those predicting a near-future technological Singularity) with a degree of scepticism. Nonetheless, the arguments ultimately stand or fall on their own merits, not on the merits of Christian doctrine.
It's particularly annoying when Michael Ruse (in The Evolution-Creation Struggle)wants to brand any progressive element in the thinking of modern scientists as postmillennialist. No! No, Professor Ruse, postmillennialism is a doctrine (with a number of variants) taught by some Christians. But you don't need to be a Christian of any sort to believe that science and technology are becoming more powerful, or to plan ways of using them in an attempt to improve the human condition. There are non-religious reasons to be impressed by the advance of science and technology. Accordingly, the postmillennialist/premillennialist contrast that Ruse relies on in examining the clash between evolution and creationism is unnecessary and misleading.
I am actually a sceptic about the supposedly coming technological Singularity, an idea that Ruse doesn't get around to discussing. It looks just as likely to me that we are somewhere on the steeper part of a technological sigmoid curve - but who knows? My point is that you can't shoot down arguments, such as those of transhumanists, by drawing an analogy with a quite different set of ideas that is based on a quite different set of arguments ... arguments that you believe to be bad.
More generally, you can't do the following. You can't take a way of thinking, X, that bears some superficial resemblance to another way of thinking, Y, which is grounded in a quite different set of arguments ... then observe that way of thinking Y is religious (and is grounded in whatever arguments support the religion), and conclude that way of thinking X is religious (implying that it stands or falls with the general plausibility of religion). I see far too much of this kind of fallacious reasoning, and it's starting to get annoying.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Ruse gets it wrong
I'm something of a fan of the philosopher Michael Ruse, whose work over the years in defending reputable science against creationist pseudo-science has been immensely valuable. I've also been impressed by Ruse's analysis of ethical theory in the context of what we know about the natural world, and I admire the clear way in which he explains complex philosophical ideas. Ruse is one of the good guys.
But I'm just finishing his 2005 book The Creation-Evolution Struggle. More on this tomorrow, perhaps, but what I find bizarre is the author's insistence on structuring the debate as one between two "religious" viewpoints, one based in biblical literalism and often a premillennialist apocalyptic vision, the other based in a kind of postmillennialist progressivism. We have, he says, "no simple clash between science and religion but rather between two religions."
The arguments for this are very unconvincing, even though Ruse offers quite a lot of detail about the historical context in which Darwinian evolutionary theory arose and the twists and turns in how it was received. While that's all interesting, he wants to define "religion" as if it means no more than a worldview that involves moral ideas or has social implications. His understanding of the nature of religion is so broad that it makes no distinction between (on the one hand) philosophical systems and (on the other) traditional bodies of belief that are associated with certain cultures and handed down from one generation to the next. According to this, Epicureanism, for example, was also a religion. It's difficult to know what worked-out philosophical system would not be religious. But the whole point of these systems is that they are alternatives to religion as it is normally understood; they are attempts to understand the world on the basis of rational inquiry rather than traditional teachings, faith, or mystical experience.
Yet Ruse makes no distinction between a coherent worldview based on reason and one based on faith in the truth of a holy book or the wisdom of a tradition of teaching such as that of the Catholic Church. Nor does he distinguish between a worldview based on empirical investigation of the world that presents itself to us - and which posits no supernatural beings, entities, or forces - and one that is based on belief in (or visions of) gods, ghosts, and demons.
It is, of course, sometimes difficult to distinguish exactly what is and is not a religion. Is Scientology a genuine religion? How was Nazism, with its apocalyptic vision of a thousand-year Reich, its mysticism, its commitment to irrational ideas of blood and race, its rituals and symbolism, its infallible leader (with a kind of holy book in Mein Kampf), and its comprehensive understanding of the world and attempt to control people's lives not a religion?
What about Marxism and its historical variants (think of Mao or Pol Pot)? These look very much as if they are at least analogous to religion, with their visions of an inevitable path for history, their eschatology of future struggles and triumphs leading to the dictatorship of the proletariat, and eventually to the withering away of the state, and so on. They even had their holy books - Das Kapital and others.
Again, are the many currents of Hinduism really the same kind of thing as Christianity? Was the pagan syncretism of ancient Rome, a tolerant set of state practices and popular superstitions with no official theology, at all analogous to Abrahamic monotheism?
It's not clear that we have a good, clear concept of what we really mean by religion.
But I can be confident of one thing. The worldview of someone like Richard Dawkins is not a religion by any plausible measure. There are no supernatural forces or beings here. Nor is there a comprehensive account of the world, or an account of how we should all live our lives. There are moral implications but nothing like the elaborate Jewish law or the Hindu notion of dharma. There is no socially-binding body of organised beliefs and rituals and symbols, no priestly hierarchy, no holy text that is believed true for all time. The works of Darwin are admired for their insights and historical importance, but are not imagined to be cutting-edge knowledge of the world. There is really no point in talking about such a worldview as a "religious" one.
If we start to do so, then we are committed to calling any recognisable worldview at all "a religion", and we still need some new distinction between (1) those "religions" that involve the supernatural, faith in traditional teachings and holy books, priesthoods, comprehensive moral codes, restricted prescriptions for life that are binding on believers, etc., and (2) those "religions" that don't have these things. But Ruse is insistent on seeing the views of Dawkins as religious, in their way, apparently because Dawkins draws certain moral and social implications from his understanding of the natural world, and because of an element of awe at the universe that he often expresses. That's a very thin understanding of what religion is like.
At times, particularly towards the end, Ruse's book almost reads as if it were written primarily with the aim of annoying Dawkins, who is not only seen as promoting a kind of religion but is also portrayed in a way that makes him sound far more extreme and far less reasonable than he actually is. Anything snarky that Dawkins has since said about Ruse pales in comparison to this 2005 book.
My verdict: clearly written, with some good information, but overall quite a disappointment. Michael Ruse can do a lot better than this.
But I'm just finishing his 2005 book The Creation-Evolution Struggle. More on this tomorrow, perhaps, but what I find bizarre is the author's insistence on structuring the debate as one between two "religious" viewpoints, one based in biblical literalism and often a premillennialist apocalyptic vision, the other based in a kind of postmillennialist progressivism. We have, he says, "no simple clash between science and religion but rather between two religions."
The arguments for this are very unconvincing, even though Ruse offers quite a lot of detail about the historical context in which Darwinian evolutionary theory arose and the twists and turns in how it was received. While that's all interesting, he wants to define "religion" as if it means no more than a worldview that involves moral ideas or has social implications. His understanding of the nature of religion is so broad that it makes no distinction between (on the one hand) philosophical systems and (on the other) traditional bodies of belief that are associated with certain cultures and handed down from one generation to the next. According to this, Epicureanism, for example, was also a religion. It's difficult to know what worked-out philosophical system would not be religious. But the whole point of these systems is that they are alternatives to religion as it is normally understood; they are attempts to understand the world on the basis of rational inquiry rather than traditional teachings, faith, or mystical experience.
Yet Ruse makes no distinction between a coherent worldview based on reason and one based on faith in the truth of a holy book or the wisdom of a tradition of teaching such as that of the Catholic Church. Nor does he distinguish between a worldview based on empirical investigation of the world that presents itself to us - and which posits no supernatural beings, entities, or forces - and one that is based on belief in (or visions of) gods, ghosts, and demons.
It is, of course, sometimes difficult to distinguish exactly what is and is not a religion. Is Scientology a genuine religion? How was Nazism, with its apocalyptic vision of a thousand-year Reich, its mysticism, its commitment to irrational ideas of blood and race, its rituals and symbolism, its infallible leader (with a kind of holy book in Mein Kampf), and its comprehensive understanding of the world and attempt to control people's lives not a religion?
What about Marxism and its historical variants (think of Mao or Pol Pot)? These look very much as if they are at least analogous to religion, with their visions of an inevitable path for history, their eschatology of future struggles and triumphs leading to the dictatorship of the proletariat, and eventually to the withering away of the state, and so on. They even had their holy books - Das Kapital and others.
Again, are the many currents of Hinduism really the same kind of thing as Christianity? Was the pagan syncretism of ancient Rome, a tolerant set of state practices and popular superstitions with no official theology, at all analogous to Abrahamic monotheism?
It's not clear that we have a good, clear concept of what we really mean by religion.
But I can be confident of one thing. The worldview of someone like Richard Dawkins is not a religion by any plausible measure. There are no supernatural forces or beings here. Nor is there a comprehensive account of the world, or an account of how we should all live our lives. There are moral implications but nothing like the elaborate Jewish law or the Hindu notion of dharma. There is no socially-binding body of organised beliefs and rituals and symbols, no priestly hierarchy, no holy text that is believed true for all time. The works of Darwin are admired for their insights and historical importance, but are not imagined to be cutting-edge knowledge of the world. There is really no point in talking about such a worldview as a "religious" one.
If we start to do so, then we are committed to calling any recognisable worldview at all "a religion", and we still need some new distinction between (1) those "religions" that involve the supernatural, faith in traditional teachings and holy books, priesthoods, comprehensive moral codes, restricted prescriptions for life that are binding on believers, etc., and (2) those "religions" that don't have these things. But Ruse is insistent on seeing the views of Dawkins as religious, in their way, apparently because Dawkins draws certain moral and social implications from his understanding of the natural world, and because of an element of awe at the universe that he often expresses. That's a very thin understanding of what religion is like.
At times, particularly towards the end, Ruse's book almost reads as if it were written primarily with the aim of annoying Dawkins, who is not only seen as promoting a kind of religion but is also portrayed in a way that makes him sound far more extreme and far less reasonable than he actually is. Anything snarky that Dawkins has since said about Ruse pales in comparison to this 2005 book.
My verdict: clearly written, with some good information, but overall quite a disappointment. Michael Ruse can do a lot better than this.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Rights and freedoms in Australia
There's still a lot of time for you to make a submission to the National Human Rights Consultation Committee about rights and freedoms in Australia. The last date for submissions is not until 29 May 2009. All the same, I plan to submit my submission far earlier than that.
I now have a pretty good first draft - still a bit messy on the screen, but basically there. This version weighs in at 47,000 words. I want to do a bit more research around the edges, which will maybe take me a couple of weeks, but it probably won't lead to huge changes, so I'm guessing the final version will be 50,000 words long.
How much notice will be taken of my views? Who knows? I'm not all that optimistic, but am using the exercise partly as a way to straighten out a lot of my thinking on these issues, and to get it all in one place ... irrespective of what effect it will have on the Committee's deliberations. Still, if I were on such a body I would be taking notice of any detailed submission that is thoroughly backed up with case citations, bibliography, etc., as well as addressing many controversial issues, from the treatment of David Hicks to the treatment of Bill Henson. I also have some positive recommendations to make, although (let's face it) these obviously won't carry the same sort of weight as recommendations from, say, the Attorney-General's Department or from major lobby groups.
Still, this is a chance for all of us to have our say on what rights and freedoms matter to us, and on how they might be protected. As I see it, no thinking Australian should pass up the opportunity to say at least something about these important issues - whether or not you happen to agree with my (arguably eccentric) views.
If you are sufficiently interested, and if I know you well enough, I can send you a copy of my developing draft. That would give you something to work with, even if you totally disagree with me on every issue! I am arguing throughout for a Millian liberal position, as you might expect; I think that the state should expand our area of freedom essentially by getting out of a lot of areas where it enacts penal legislation. However, there's a lot more than that to what I want to say.
Much of my argument is about the real dangers of populist politics: why governments find it all too tempting to demonise individuals or groups who are out of the mainstream, whether we're talking about asylum seekers or individuals such as Henson who are privileged in many ways but easy to denounce as "pseuds" (or worse). Democratic elections provide some check on the draconian use of government power, but not so much if the government is pandering to mainstream fears and prejudices.
In those circumstances, there's often bipartisan support for illiberal policies and dangerous laws. Differences among the major parties are then likely to be matters of detail and emphasis. But the question is, "What can be done about it?"
I now have a pretty good first draft - still a bit messy on the screen, but basically there. This version weighs in at 47,000 words. I want to do a bit more research around the edges, which will maybe take me a couple of weeks, but it probably won't lead to huge changes, so I'm guessing the final version will be 50,000 words long.
How much notice will be taken of my views? Who knows? I'm not all that optimistic, but am using the exercise partly as a way to straighten out a lot of my thinking on these issues, and to get it all in one place ... irrespective of what effect it will have on the Committee's deliberations. Still, if I were on such a body I would be taking notice of any detailed submission that is thoroughly backed up with case citations, bibliography, etc., as well as addressing many controversial issues, from the treatment of David Hicks to the treatment of Bill Henson. I also have some positive recommendations to make, although (let's face it) these obviously won't carry the same sort of weight as recommendations from, say, the Attorney-General's Department or from major lobby groups.
Still, this is a chance for all of us to have our say on what rights and freedoms matter to us, and on how they might be protected. As I see it, no thinking Australian should pass up the opportunity to say at least something about these important issues - whether or not you happen to agree with my (arguably eccentric) views.
If you are sufficiently interested, and if I know you well enough, I can send you a copy of my developing draft. That would give you something to work with, even if you totally disagree with me on every issue! I am arguing throughout for a Millian liberal position, as you might expect; I think that the state should expand our area of freedom essentially by getting out of a lot of areas where it enacts penal legislation. However, there's a lot more than that to what I want to say.
Much of my argument is about the real dangers of populist politics: why governments find it all too tempting to demonise individuals or groups who are out of the mainstream, whether we're talking about asylum seekers or individuals such as Henson who are privileged in many ways but easy to denounce as "pseuds" (or worse). Democratic elections provide some check on the draconian use of government power, but not so much if the government is pandering to mainstream fears and prejudices.
In those circumstances, there's often bipartisan support for illiberal policies and dangerous laws. Differences among the major parties are then likely to be matters of detail and emphasis. But the question is, "What can be done about it?"
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Bad anniversary
It's now one year to the day since my mother died - a bad anniversary. I'll be taking things very easy today.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
I see nothing wrong with the Adelphi Charter
Can anyone tell me what's so bad about the Adelphi Charter? To me it looks unexceptionable. It seeks a balance between the policy underlying intellectual property, on one hand, and other important rights, freedoms, and policy considerations on the other. In the hands of giant media corporations, which are placated by governments, intellectual property is often taken far beyond its original justification (creating property interests in certain resources that are not scarce, in order to encourage innovation) and is treated as an end in itself. Thus, we often see abuses of intellectual property rights. They need to be balanced by a robust doctrine of fair use and they should not be allowed to extend unreasonably.
I ask my question because a number of parties in Australia objected to the appointment of Ms Louise Sylvan to take part in the Productivity Commission's review of restrictions on parallel importation - partly on the basis that she was a signatory to the Adelphi Charter. In my view, this objection was misconceived.
Ms Sylvan has no legal conflict of interest even for the other reason given - i.e., that in her one-time role as CEO of the Consumers' Association she once gave her public support to the Association's policy of ending the restrictions. People such as judges and individuals conducting public reviews are required all the time to deal with issues on which they have previously expressed views. In this case, the views don't even seem to have been expressed as Ms Sylvan's private ones but as views that she was required to advocate in her official capacity. Anyone who has been involved in the process of lobbying or in the process of courtroom advocacy (or both) knows that public support given to certain views in your official capacity need have nothing to do with what you think privately. During my career I was called upon many times to advocate many positions about which I had private reservations. It's the nature of such jobs.
When it comes to being appointed to conduct a government review, the issue is not whether you once expressed a view on the topic - either a private view or a view that you were obliged to advocate in your official capacity. The question is whether there is any basis to believe that you are incapable of taking a disinterested approach to the issue. E.g., do you or your loved ones stand to benefit financially from one outcome or the other?
But even if there were something in this complaint, the complaint about the Adelphi Charter astounds me. The Adelphi Charter is entirely innocuous as far as I can see. What am I missing?
I ask my question because a number of parties in Australia objected to the appointment of Ms Louise Sylvan to take part in the Productivity Commission's review of restrictions on parallel importation - partly on the basis that she was a signatory to the Adelphi Charter. In my view, this objection was misconceived.
Ms Sylvan has no legal conflict of interest even for the other reason given - i.e., that in her one-time role as CEO of the Consumers' Association she once gave her public support to the Association's policy of ending the restrictions. People such as judges and individuals conducting public reviews are required all the time to deal with issues on which they have previously expressed views. In this case, the views don't even seem to have been expressed as Ms Sylvan's private ones but as views that she was required to advocate in her official capacity. Anyone who has been involved in the process of lobbying or in the process of courtroom advocacy (or both) knows that public support given to certain views in your official capacity need have nothing to do with what you think privately. During my career I was called upon many times to advocate many positions about which I had private reservations. It's the nature of such jobs.
When it comes to being appointed to conduct a government review, the issue is not whether you once expressed a view on the topic - either a private view or a view that you were obliged to advocate in your official capacity. The question is whether there is any basis to believe that you are incapable of taking a disinterested approach to the issue. E.g., do you or your loved ones stand to benefit financially from one outcome or the other?
But even if there were something in this complaint, the complaint about the Adelphi Charter astounds me. The Adelphi Charter is entirely innocuous as far as I can see. What am I missing?
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
If you read Australian books, read this
I'm a fiscal conservative, free trader, blah, blah, but I also care about the health of the Australian publishing industry and the vibrancy of the local literary community.
Accordingly, I've made a submission to the Productivity Commission's current study relating to restrictions on parallel importation of books. I'll try to remember to provide a link to my submission once it's published on the Productivity Commission's site.
Meanwhile, have a read of the issues paper. It may contain material that infuriates you if you're an Australian professional writer - on the other hand, I've been a public servant, and I know something about the policy making process and the exigencies of working within it. I think this is actually a very good paper that covers the pros and cons clearly and with good balance.
If you feel strongly about the issue, exercise your democratic right to make your own submission - but hurry, because submissions are due in the next couple of weeks.
Accordingly, I've made a submission to the Productivity Commission's current study relating to restrictions on parallel importation of books. I'll try to remember to provide a link to my submission once it's published on the Productivity Commission's site.
Meanwhile, have a read of the issues paper. It may contain material that infuriates you if you're an Australian professional writer - on the other hand, I've been a public servant, and I know something about the policy making process and the exigencies of working within it. I think this is actually a very good paper that covers the pros and cons clearly and with good balance.
If you feel strongly about the issue, exercise your democratic right to make your own submission - but hurry, because submissions are due in the next couple of weeks.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
What about the children?
Would-be censors often justify themselves by claiming that certain kinds of material are harmful to children, and so must be kept out of public sight. It's worth thinking about this before we simply accept it at face value.
Such would-be censors tend not to provide evidence as to what kinds of material are actually most likely to produce harm if children see them. I accept that the state has an interest in paternalistic protection of children from propaganda for dangerous commercial products such as cigarettes, but what other kinds of harm might be relevant to public policy?
Before banning speech and expression on the basis of ... well, "What about the children?" ... a legislature would presumably need to be armed with studies of what kinds of material produce feelings of distress, shock, nausea, and so on, or even psychological trauma of the kind that could be evidenced by, for example, phobias, withdrawal, or nightmares, if children see it. There is no evidence that merely "indecent" material has such effects (as if young children are not already fascinated by "poo jokes" and the like — without seeming to suffer any ill effects as a result).
While more needs to be known, I suggest the following as a first approximation. The kinds of speech and expression that are likely to produce distress, or even psychological trauma, if shown to young children might include depictions of cruelty to animals, depictions of sympathetic human or animal characters being killed, and supernatural threats (such as threats of hellfire or divine vengeance). Obviously, it would difficult to frame legislation that is directed at protecting children from exposure to this sort of material, though classification codes that offer advice to parents, rather than attempting to ban speech and expression outright, may be of some value in this respect. Furthermore, it's not obvious that using an age such as 18 would be appropriate if the idea is to protect young children from distress or psychological trauma: i.e., it's not at all clear that any particular material is likely to have such an impact on, say, teenagers, any more than on adults.
Of course, what counts as "harm" to children outside the area of distress or psychological trauma might depend on the values of the person alleging the harm. A conventional moralist driven by Augustinian ideas that the body and its functions are shameful might find something "harmful" in any exposure of children to nudity — so think of all the "harm" suffered by children whose parents belong to nudist colonies or frequent Bondi Beach! But such contestable ideas should receive no official support in a liberal society.
By contrast, somebody with very different views may consider it more harmful to expose young children to traditional religious ideas. This argument actually seems more powerful. It may be that ideas of gods, devils, spirits, and so on possess a psychological attraction for human beings that is disproportional to the actual evidence that any such things exist (perhaps because we have evolved with a tendency to over-attribute agency to the phenomena around us). Children may be especially prone to absorbing such ideas — even though they are neither well-evidenced nor actually true — especially if they appear to be supported by the authority of parents or other adult authority figures. As a result, many children may grow to adulthood with false and possibly overly-restrictive worldviews that they then cannot easily shed: the ideas in these worldviews may lie close to the foundations of a particular individual's belief system. Such an individual might never shed these ideas, including, perhaps, overly restrictive moral ideas that go with them. Or she might succeed only after a period of great mental torment. So why not ban images or discussions of gods, devils, and so on, if children might be exposed to them?
Such a question merits the answer that no liberal society can be expected to adopt a policy of officially deeming the exposure of young children to religious ideas to be harmful. Any attempt to adopt this as a policy would fly in the face of traditional ideas of freedom of religion, which have included the freedom of parents to bring up their children in their own faith. Yet the argument that this actually is harmful appears to be far more cogent than the argument that children are harmed merely from exposure to, say, images of naked human beings, or to much of the wide range of material that can be described as "indecent". I suggest that, if the state seriously wished to protect children from harm that results merely from being exposed to certain kinds of communications, rather responding to ill-informed moral panics, it would need to conduct extensive psychological and sociological research. Even then, it would have a great deal of difficulty determining an objective standard of "harm" — and if it somehow succeeded, the product of its investigations might well be surprising.
In all the circumstances that I've referred to, concerns about harms to children merely from exposure to certain images or ideas justify only a relatively minor role for the state. It may have a significant paternalistic role in protecting children from advertising for dangerous products such as cigarettes. Beyond that, it can establish systems that give assistance to parents in making decisions about what material they should allow their young children to watch, read, or access on television and the Internet, but it is questionable how much genuine good the government can really do where the Internet is concerned. There is no substitute for parental supervision, and concerns about Internet nasties should not be used as an excuse for censorship of communications between adults.
Cool consideration of these issues strengthens, rather than weakens, the case for freedom of speech, and, indeed, for its constitutional protection.
Such would-be censors tend not to provide evidence as to what kinds of material are actually most likely to produce harm if children see them. I accept that the state has an interest in paternalistic protection of children from propaganda for dangerous commercial products such as cigarettes, but what other kinds of harm might be relevant to public policy?
Before banning speech and expression on the basis of ... well, "What about the children?" ... a legislature would presumably need to be armed with studies of what kinds of material produce feelings of distress, shock, nausea, and so on, or even psychological trauma of the kind that could be evidenced by, for example, phobias, withdrawal, or nightmares, if children see it. There is no evidence that merely "indecent" material has such effects (as if young children are not already fascinated by "poo jokes" and the like — without seeming to suffer any ill effects as a result).
While more needs to be known, I suggest the following as a first approximation. The kinds of speech and expression that are likely to produce distress, or even psychological trauma, if shown to young children might include depictions of cruelty to animals, depictions of sympathetic human or animal characters being killed, and supernatural threats (such as threats of hellfire or divine vengeance). Obviously, it would difficult to frame legislation that is directed at protecting children from exposure to this sort of material, though classification codes that offer advice to parents, rather than attempting to ban speech and expression outright, may be of some value in this respect. Furthermore, it's not obvious that using an age such as 18 would be appropriate if the idea is to protect young children from distress or psychological trauma: i.e., it's not at all clear that any particular material is likely to have such an impact on, say, teenagers, any more than on adults.
Of course, what counts as "harm" to children outside the area of distress or psychological trauma might depend on the values of the person alleging the harm. A conventional moralist driven by Augustinian ideas that the body and its functions are shameful might find something "harmful" in any exposure of children to nudity — so think of all the "harm" suffered by children whose parents belong to nudist colonies or frequent Bondi Beach! But such contestable ideas should receive no official support in a liberal society.
By contrast, somebody with very different views may consider it more harmful to expose young children to traditional religious ideas. This argument actually seems more powerful. It may be that ideas of gods, devils, spirits, and so on possess a psychological attraction for human beings that is disproportional to the actual evidence that any such things exist (perhaps because we have evolved with a tendency to over-attribute agency to the phenomena around us). Children may be especially prone to absorbing such ideas — even though they are neither well-evidenced nor actually true — especially if they appear to be supported by the authority of parents or other adult authority figures. As a result, many children may grow to adulthood with false and possibly overly-restrictive worldviews that they then cannot easily shed: the ideas in these worldviews may lie close to the foundations of a particular individual's belief system. Such an individual might never shed these ideas, including, perhaps, overly restrictive moral ideas that go with them. Or she might succeed only after a period of great mental torment. So why not ban images or discussions of gods, devils, and so on, if children might be exposed to them?
Such a question merits the answer that no liberal society can be expected to adopt a policy of officially deeming the exposure of young children to religious ideas to be harmful. Any attempt to adopt this as a policy would fly in the face of traditional ideas of freedom of religion, which have included the freedom of parents to bring up their children in their own faith. Yet the argument that this actually is harmful appears to be far more cogent than the argument that children are harmed merely from exposure to, say, images of naked human beings, or to much of the wide range of material that can be described as "indecent". I suggest that, if the state seriously wished to protect children from harm that results merely from being exposed to certain kinds of communications, rather responding to ill-informed moral panics, it would need to conduct extensive psychological and sociological research. Even then, it would have a great deal of difficulty determining an objective standard of "harm" — and if it somehow succeeded, the product of its investigations might well be surprising.
In all the circumstances that I've referred to, concerns about harms to children merely from exposure to certain images or ideas justify only a relatively minor role for the state. It may have a significant paternalistic role in protecting children from advertising for dangerous products such as cigarettes. Beyond that, it can establish systems that give assistance to parents in making decisions about what material they should allow their young children to watch, read, or access on television and the Internet, but it is questionable how much genuine good the government can really do where the Internet is concerned. There is no substitute for parental supervision, and concerns about Internet nasties should not be used as an excuse for censorship of communications between adults.
Cool consideration of these issues strengthens, rather than weakens, the case for freedom of speech, and, indeed, for its constitutional protection.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Hadley Rille's page for The Priestess and the Slave
Check out the page, on the Hadley Rille site for Jenny's forthcoming book, The Priestess and the Slave. Looks pretty, eh? The final cover art is going to be wonderful.
The publication of the new book - Jenny's first one by herself, but I'm sure it won't be her last - is something to look forward to a bit later this year.
The publication of the new book - Jenny's first one by herself, but I'm sure it won't be her last - is something to look forward to a bit later this year.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
So ends a huge year in my life
Here we are at the end of 2008, which turned out to be a huge year in my life. I'd have to go back a long way to find a more eventful one.
Sadly, it began with the loss of my mother in hospital early in January - ironically enough with just me and a nurse present, as my father and sister who'd been keeping long vigils were both getting some much-needed and overdue rest. Given what Mum had been through during the previous year, it was almost a blessing when the end came, but of course that kind of cliched talk is little consolation to those of us left behind, especially my dad, who lost his life partner after a marriage that lasted well over 60 years. Since then, I've spent a lot of time with my family, travelling frequently to Newcastle ... where Jenny and I will very likely return permanently at the end of next year.
I've been further afield twice, with short trips overseas to New Zealand early in the year, for a long-overdue holiday with Jenny, and to the UK late in the year, funded by the Foundation for Art and Creative Technology in Liverpool.
This has been a big working year. I had light teaching loads in both semesters, which is just as well when you add up the rest of what had to be done. I'd written a first draft of my PhD thesis in 2007, but this had major structural problems and was far too ambitious. In 2008, I produced a second version that was completely different, considerably shorter, much more tightly focused, essentially a new work. This means I have tens of thousands of unused material lying around from the first version, waiting for me to get back to it some time, to see what I can do with all the metaethical argument and fundamental normative theory that never made it into the new version of the thesis.
After various ups and downs, I finally submitted the thesis in late August. My examiners were very quick, and I found out in November that both had given it the thumbs-up with no revisions required. Save for the formal graduation, I now have the long-awaited second PhD, and now have to work out if I can find a publisher for it.
At the same time, I've been working on the Voices of Disbelief project with Udo Schuklenk. This went surprisingly smoothly but still had its own ups and downs. Editing an original anthology like this is a job comparable in size to writing a book of similar length, though in some ways it's more like managing a small business. For a start, intense effort went into finding high-profile people who were prepared to contribute to such a book. While we've ended up with 50 contributors in addition to ourselves, we actually wrote to a vastly greater number. Some of our emails were probably never received. Some people ignored us. One or two were dismissive. Many were gracious, but apologised because they were too busy. In retrospect, it's perhaps surprising that so many took us as seriously as they did, since quite a few of the people who ended up on board would never have heard of either of us.
In March, if I recall correctly, Blackwell came on board as publisher. We settled a list of about 60 people, but as the year went on the line-up changed slightly. Some folks had to drop out with illness or for other personal or professional reasons. In one case, one of my dearest friends had to drop out because of very serious illness. If she reads this, I send her my love. Udo and I ended up taking some essays a fair bit longer than we originally planned. After some to-ing and fro-ing we only added one name to our original list to balance those who had to leave the project, but with those longer pieces the manuscript we've ended up with is over 120,000 words.
The actual editing was a great privilege but also a challenge. Some essays, of course, scarcely needed editing at all - the authors sensed exactly what we had in mind. Others took quite a bit of work, though always the aim was to make the voice of the author as clear as possible, rather than to impose the views of the editors. Bear in mind that we had a great diversity of authors, some far more experienced as professional writers than others, some of them writing in English even though it is not their first language, some of them with impressive careers as professional novelists, some as academic philosophers, some as journalists, some as activists in the world of sceptics, humanists, and secularists. They all produced excellent essays, but sometimes the essays needed some tweaking or even rethinking. Then blending all this into the best book we could all make it was not always straightforward. Once Udo and I decided to accept essays of well over 3000 words (sensing that we were likely to end up with more like 50 than 60 authors), we were constantly worried that we'd end up with something too long overall and be forced to go back and ask some authors for cuts.
But I must add immediately that the authors were wonderfully responsive whenever we made suggestions or raised issues for them to consider, and the whole exercise was an amazing learning experience. The final mix of essays ranging from about 500 words to about 6000 words is more interesting than what we originally had in mind (with everything between 1500 and 3000). Best of all from my viewpoint, I've made some friendships out of the exercise. I certainly hope to work again with all these fantastic people.
We were able to submit the manuscript only one day after our 1 December deadline, and we now await proofs from Blackwell. We'll need to do a final layer of proofing and then, alas, put together an index (a task that some people enjoy, but I can't say that it's my cup of tea). Based on our best information, the book will actually be published in about July or August. Thanks to all the authors, once again.
Meanwhile, I took over in January as editor-in-chief of The Journal of Evolution and Technology. During the year we published three substantial issues and have started on a fourth. Almost all of the material we've published so far had been accepted before I came on board, so it'll be some time before I really make my mark on the journal. However, it all required editing, or further editing, and in this case quite a lot of what we'd accepted was from authors whose first language is not English. We needed to work closely with them to help them express themselves as clearly as possible for an English-speaking audience. My aim as an editor is always to help the authors express themselves with the maximum accuracy and clarity, not to impose my own beliefs, and I like to think that the partnership with the JET contributors has been pretty successful so far.
Another challenge with editing JET is that it's an interdisciplinary journal. Whatever claims of polymathy I might have, I can't possibly be expert across the vast range of displines that have something important to contribute. That means I need help, and I'm still at a relatively early stage in building up the network that I need to rely upon. Submissions are not getting reviewed as quickly as I'd like, and I must take some of the blame for this, as I haven't always found it easy getting the right reviewers quickly. Hopefully, that will improve. We're certainly working on it. Meanwhile, we've pretty much cleared the backlog that had been building up, and are well placed to continue the journal's flagship role.
Thanks especially to Marcelo Rinesi, whose work as managing editor has been invaluable.
While working on those projects, I've spent far too many hours at the computer wasting my time playing games (often in the form of Facebook apps), engaging in unproductive net surfing, and generally sitting here in my office getting unfit and fat. I must do something about that next year.
Jenny has had a breakthrough year, with the publication of her highest-profile story to date - "Trolls' Night Out" in Jack Dann's Dreaming Again anthology (which also contain my story "Manannan's Children"). She has her first solo book coming out next year, having sold her brillant standalone novella The Priestess and the Slave. This has been backed up by several other sales. To cap it all, she now has a daunting task ahead as a judge for the World Fantasy Awards - a great honour, but not an easy job.
One thing that I've failed to do in 2008 is get much reading done. I normally read over 100 books each year. This year, the final count was 74. Note to self: Must do better. I also haven't done much getting out to see movies. My workout schedule faded away completely, but that's partly because I've been carrying a minor shoulder injury all year and having a lot of trouble getting it 100 per cent better despite hydrodilatation and lots of time at the physiotherapist. No sooner have I got it back to about 95 per cent than I've somehow hurt my right hand.
Ah for the days when I used to get some minor injuries if I worked out too hard, but could actually recover from them. In that sense, middle age sucks. All in all, I've spent too much time in 2008 locked away in front of the computer.
But I've also managed to spend quite a lot of time enjoying the company of friends and family. What with losing one of my parents, I've had much reason to think about what I really want to achieve during this limited life. Obviously, I'm ambitious in many ways, if you haven't noticed, and I'm constantly looking out for partners in worthwhile projects ... since I (like to think that) I work well in a team, whether I'm contributing as a writer or as an editor. I have certain talents and skills, modest as they be, and I like to use them. But I've realised over the past 18 months that the most important thing of all is that the small group of people I love never doubt that I love them. I hope you don't, those of you who happen to read this, and I'll do my best to make sure you don't.
On that note, Happy New Year everybody! May 2009 be a better year for those who found 2008 tough going. May it be a good year for us all.
Sadly, it began with the loss of my mother in hospital early in January - ironically enough with just me and a nurse present, as my father and sister who'd been keeping long vigils were both getting some much-needed and overdue rest. Given what Mum had been through during the previous year, it was almost a blessing when the end came, but of course that kind of cliched talk is little consolation to those of us left behind, especially my dad, who lost his life partner after a marriage that lasted well over 60 years. Since then, I've spent a lot of time with my family, travelling frequently to Newcastle ... where Jenny and I will very likely return permanently at the end of next year.
I've been further afield twice, with short trips overseas to New Zealand early in the year, for a long-overdue holiday with Jenny, and to the UK late in the year, funded by the Foundation for Art and Creative Technology in Liverpool.
This has been a big working year. I had light teaching loads in both semesters, which is just as well when you add up the rest of what had to be done. I'd written a first draft of my PhD thesis in 2007, but this had major structural problems and was far too ambitious. In 2008, I produced a second version that was completely different, considerably shorter, much more tightly focused, essentially a new work. This means I have tens of thousands of unused material lying around from the first version, waiting for me to get back to it some time, to see what I can do with all the metaethical argument and fundamental normative theory that never made it into the new version of the thesis.
After various ups and downs, I finally submitted the thesis in late August. My examiners were very quick, and I found out in November that both had given it the thumbs-up with no revisions required. Save for the formal graduation, I now have the long-awaited second PhD, and now have to work out if I can find a publisher for it.
At the same time, I've been working on the Voices of Disbelief project with Udo Schuklenk. This went surprisingly smoothly but still had its own ups and downs. Editing an original anthology like this is a job comparable in size to writing a book of similar length, though in some ways it's more like managing a small business. For a start, intense effort went into finding high-profile people who were prepared to contribute to such a book. While we've ended up with 50 contributors in addition to ourselves, we actually wrote to a vastly greater number. Some of our emails were probably never received. Some people ignored us. One or two were dismissive. Many were gracious, but apologised because they were too busy. In retrospect, it's perhaps surprising that so many took us as seriously as they did, since quite a few of the people who ended up on board would never have heard of either of us.
In March, if I recall correctly, Blackwell came on board as publisher. We settled a list of about 60 people, but as the year went on the line-up changed slightly. Some folks had to drop out with illness or for other personal or professional reasons. In one case, one of my dearest friends had to drop out because of very serious illness. If she reads this, I send her my love. Udo and I ended up taking some essays a fair bit longer than we originally planned. After some to-ing and fro-ing we only added one name to our original list to balance those who had to leave the project, but with those longer pieces the manuscript we've ended up with is over 120,000 words.
The actual editing was a great privilege but also a challenge. Some essays, of course, scarcely needed editing at all - the authors sensed exactly what we had in mind. Others took quite a bit of work, though always the aim was to make the voice of the author as clear as possible, rather than to impose the views of the editors. Bear in mind that we had a great diversity of authors, some far more experienced as professional writers than others, some of them writing in English even though it is not their first language, some of them with impressive careers as professional novelists, some as academic philosophers, some as journalists, some as activists in the world of sceptics, humanists, and secularists. They all produced excellent essays, but sometimes the essays needed some tweaking or even rethinking. Then blending all this into the best book we could all make it was not always straightforward. Once Udo and I decided to accept essays of well over 3000 words (sensing that we were likely to end up with more like 50 than 60 authors), we were constantly worried that we'd end up with something too long overall and be forced to go back and ask some authors for cuts.
But I must add immediately that the authors were wonderfully responsive whenever we made suggestions or raised issues for them to consider, and the whole exercise was an amazing learning experience. The final mix of essays ranging from about 500 words to about 6000 words is more interesting than what we originally had in mind (with everything between 1500 and 3000). Best of all from my viewpoint, I've made some friendships out of the exercise. I certainly hope to work again with all these fantastic people.
We were able to submit the manuscript only one day after our 1 December deadline, and we now await proofs from Blackwell. We'll need to do a final layer of proofing and then, alas, put together an index (a task that some people enjoy, but I can't say that it's my cup of tea). Based on our best information, the book will actually be published in about July or August. Thanks to all the authors, once again.
Meanwhile, I took over in January as editor-in-chief of The Journal of Evolution and Technology. During the year we published three substantial issues and have started on a fourth. Almost all of the material we've published so far had been accepted before I came on board, so it'll be some time before I really make my mark on the journal. However, it all required editing, or further editing, and in this case quite a lot of what we'd accepted was from authors whose first language is not English. We needed to work closely with them to help them express themselves as clearly as possible for an English-speaking audience. My aim as an editor is always to help the authors express themselves with the maximum accuracy and clarity, not to impose my own beliefs, and I like to think that the partnership with the JET contributors has been pretty successful so far.
Another challenge with editing JET is that it's an interdisciplinary journal. Whatever claims of polymathy I might have, I can't possibly be expert across the vast range of displines that have something important to contribute. That means I need help, and I'm still at a relatively early stage in building up the network that I need to rely upon. Submissions are not getting reviewed as quickly as I'd like, and I must take some of the blame for this, as I haven't always found it easy getting the right reviewers quickly. Hopefully, that will improve. We're certainly working on it. Meanwhile, we've pretty much cleared the backlog that had been building up, and are well placed to continue the journal's flagship role.
Thanks especially to Marcelo Rinesi, whose work as managing editor has been invaluable.
While working on those projects, I've spent far too many hours at the computer wasting my time playing games (often in the form of Facebook apps), engaging in unproductive net surfing, and generally sitting here in my office getting unfit and fat. I must do something about that next year.
Jenny has had a breakthrough year, with the publication of her highest-profile story to date - "Trolls' Night Out" in Jack Dann's Dreaming Again anthology (which also contain my story "Manannan's Children"). She has her first solo book coming out next year, having sold her brillant standalone novella The Priestess and the Slave. This has been backed up by several other sales. To cap it all, she now has a daunting task ahead as a judge for the World Fantasy Awards - a great honour, but not an easy job.
One thing that I've failed to do in 2008 is get much reading done. I normally read over 100 books each year. This year, the final count was 74. Note to self: Must do better. I also haven't done much getting out to see movies. My workout schedule faded away completely, but that's partly because I've been carrying a minor shoulder injury all year and having a lot of trouble getting it 100 per cent better despite hydrodilatation and lots of time at the physiotherapist. No sooner have I got it back to about 95 per cent than I've somehow hurt my right hand.
Ah for the days when I used to get some minor injuries if I worked out too hard, but could actually recover from them. In that sense, middle age sucks. All in all, I've spent too much time in 2008 locked away in front of the computer.
But I've also managed to spend quite a lot of time enjoying the company of friends and family. What with losing one of my parents, I've had much reason to think about what I really want to achieve during this limited life. Obviously, I'm ambitious in many ways, if you haven't noticed, and I'm constantly looking out for partners in worthwhile projects ... since I (like to think that) I work well in a team, whether I'm contributing as a writer or as an editor. I have certain talents and skills, modest as they be, and I like to use them. But I've realised over the past 18 months that the most important thing of all is that the small group of people I love never doubt that I love them. I hope you don't, those of you who happen to read this, and I'll do my best to make sure you don't.
On that note, Happy New Year everybody! May 2009 be a better year for those who found 2008 tough going. May it be a good year for us all.
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