Touching the Letters

Making a weekly habit of writing about what I’m reading (this seems meta to me; does it seem meta to you?) is apropos; I tend to read a number of books concurrently, and my interests shift rapidly and intensely all over the literary spectrum. I intend, too, on posting my book reviews and recommendations. Lately, my focus has been on introductory philosophy. As I’m obsessed with chronologies, I’ve been working from an overview of the early Ionic/Pre-Socratic philosophers (Hesiod, Thales, Anaxamander, &c), with the ambition of moving then on to Plato and Aristotle. With the generous assistance of friends, I’ve assembled a ‘dream sheet’ of some twenty works (varying in their relationship to a most pure definition of ‘philosophy’) to absorb and digest over the next few months.

Currently, I’m working through a selection of four books:

1. Philosophy Before Socrates by R. McKirahan
2. Early Greek Philosophy edited by J. Barnes
3. The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton
4. Insomnia by S. King

The last book needs only the briefest of mention: I’ve read a Stephen King novel every finals week for eight years (finals week being the only time to read King, of course). I’m not that particular breed of of the intellectual snobbery to turn my nose up at King. Rather, I think he’s actually a superb writer, marvelous storyteller, and an indelible part of the contemporary American literary canon. His books are the sort that one can just fall into, and – upon the stresses of final examinations, papers, presentations, etc. – he is a welcome relief.

The Man Who Was Thursday came well-recommended to me a few years back. I’d bought a copy about a year ago and false-started it a few times: I’d get through the introduction, begin the novel, and – for one reason or another – be lured away by the literary wiles of another book. It finally seems that I may finish, though: I’m some 90 pps. in, and have only another 90 pps. to go.  Overall, it’s a worthwhile venture: Chesterton is a lot like C.S. Lewis insofar as he is (a) a Christian apologist, and (b) allows his individual philsophies pertinent to religion to seep into his writing. Thematically, Chesterton addresses moral relativism, using an anarchist group in London as his vessel. The protagonist, Syme, is the upright symbol of idyllic Christiandom: he represents moral fortitude and benevolence.

For me, the true merit of The Man Who Was Thursday lies in its time of publication: 1907, when anarchist movements were extant, and World War I had not yet entered into the intellectual consciousness. Any writing from this time period (up until the cusp of the Great War, and – for many – including and the immediate aftermath) is always captivating; it was a time of such grandiosity, Romanticism and culture, with tempestuous rage seething below the surface of humanity. Certainly, Civilization and its Discontents (S. Freud) is a necessary accessory to any 1905 – 1920 literary venture.

Finally, first two are being read concurrently. I’d purchased Early Greek Philosophy with the intention of supplementing Philosophy Before Socrates with extant fragments and secondary sources pertinent to the philosophers being discussed. However – much to my chagrin (and a testament to my essential ignorance of the subject matter) – there is really so little remaining of the pre-Socratics that having Early Greek Philosophy is redundant:  all of the fragments are also contained in Introduction … .

My strategy, then, has been to read a chapter in Philosophy Before Socrates and then the corresponding in Early Greek Philosophy. Though it’s  mostly just re-reading (though Barnes does offer some slightly different translations, and re-enforces the historic and social context of the related work), the repetition is useful for solidifying an understanding of the material covered. Plus, I’m able to remember the main points of each philosopher, and link them together in some semblance of a cogent manner. The biggest drawback, really, is the embarrassing lack of knowledge about pronunciation: I’ve never taken a philosophy course, I’ve never been lectured to, or told about, any of the individuals contained in these two volumes. Therefore, I have only the most scant of abilities in pronouncing any of these fellow’s names (Xenophanes, anyone?). Truly, a pity. I’m about halfway through these works, as well.

For the more briefly-interested amongst us, here are the books referenced in this entry:

1. Insomnia – S. King
2. The Man Who Was Thursday – G.K. Chesterton
3. Civilization and its Discontents - S. Freud
4. Philosophy Before Socrates – R. McKirahan
5. Early Greek Philosophy – J. Barnes

Pumps, Pages, and Pigs: A Once-Over of Public Health in the Globalized Age

As with all eleventh-grade students of New York, I had the distinct pleasure of sitting for the Regents examination in Global History. Without giving myself airs, I’ve had the happy fortune of cultivating a perpetual curiosity about the world, and – even without much guided academic study – was capable of answering most any question simply based on my background knowledge gleaned from years of independent study (at a later date, I’ll discuss my thoughts on my education). The format of the exam, for those of you unfamiliar, is a series of multiple-choice questions, and two essay prompts. One of my essays asked me to discuss a time in history in which mankind exerted influence (for its own benefit) over his environment. I actually struggled with this question, as I could think of many of examples (Roman aqueducts, for instance), but couldn’t provide any sort of intellectual exploration for any of them that would span more than a few paragraphs.

John Snow Memorial and Pump (Soho, London)

And then, eureka! The Cholera outbreak in London (1853-4) and the Broad Street Pump in Soho sprang to my mind. I’d read about it many times when I was significantly younger, and could easily regurgitate the necessary facts: Dr John Snow, the ‘father of epidemiology,’ tracked – on a now-famous map – the cases of cholera around Soho, in London. By physically representing the cases (with pins), he was able to visualize from whence the disease originated. In a fit of mighty altruism, he broke the handle of the pump and effectively stopped the outbreak. Of course, the cholera bacterium hadn’t yet been physically identified, but its vessel of transmission (water) worked well enough: preventing the consumption of contaminated water by the population was effective in derailing the epidemic.

(For those of you keeping track, my mid-examination brain eruption had a rather happy outcome: I received a 98%, and was told by the grader that he’d never heard of the event, didn’t quite believe what I was writing, and therefore resorted to his own independent research).

Suffice to say, it was the esteemed Dr. J. Snow I recalled, then, when I first began following the Swine Flu Outbreak of 2009: the same underlying forces were at work (figuring out the origination and mechanism by which an illness was spreading), though the flu has a more striking, sudden relevancy. Globalization, obviously a virtually non-existent issue during Snow’s tenure, has created a paradigm shift in the management, prevention, understanding, and study of community health issues. Though it’s an admittedly sensationalistic piece, H. Markel (author of the book When Germs Travel) evaluates the undeniably dangerous aspect of globalization and its effect on public health: since symptoms for illness usually take a few days to manifest, one need only board a plane (making available some 200-odd individuals, breathing re-circulated air for (on an international flight) hours), enter an airport (a busy terminal thronged with others, who are usually also boarding a plane), stumble through a metropolis (presuming the airport is in or around a city), and – finally – arrive back at one’s humble abode. In every stage of the process, pathological transmission rates can easily and rapidly spread; global illness movement, a process that formerly would take weeks, months, or years, is accomplished in hours.

Understandably, then, it’s all a rather frightening turn of events. Even if this H1N1 Swine flu subtype isn’t, in and of itself,  particularly threatening, it is a gentle reminder of the fragility, and inherent consequences, of modern society. Evolution favors viral diseases that have a reasonably lengthy incubation period (thus allowing transmission to many people); modernity facilitates the transmission of pathogens around the globe far better than any other mechanism in history. The fundamental connectedness experienced the world-over is a treacherous situation. What’s left in the wake of any outbreak currently, then,  is a mad scramble to pinpoint, track, and understand the progress of an illness: for each and every potential pandemic is the moral imperative to treat the sickness as as a most-deadly, most-transmissable strain. By the time the true nature of the malady is understood, it could (painfully easily) be ‘too late.’ Public health coordinators are left vying for public attention without dousing the world community’s fire with gasoline: the severity and seriousness of the issue has to be impressed upon a [frequently un]willing populace, while still avoiding the triggering of panic.

A Cholera Notice

It’s like a germy, agar-soaked version of Peter and the Wolf, one could suppose. Perhaps when a devastating outbreak occurs, we (as a collective whole) will have been so jaded by all of the other ‘not-quites’ ‘nearlys’ and ‘almosts’ that we will continue to not wash our hands, sneeze on doorknobs, lick urinals, and engage in whatever other strange and bizarre human rituals members of society deems [un]acceptable. The hubris of modern man is astounding and limitless, and it wouldn’t come as any surprise (at least to myself) if such a characteristic is the fundamental root of our demise: complacency can, obviously, breed terrible things. And in the case of public health, the complacency of one can have reverberating implications for the global community.

Public health, within a sociological framework, has long held my fascination. There were a couple of years when (during my oft-shifting educational and professional desires) I was seriously considering medical school; this interest slid into a desire to study, more or less, public health. And finally, after taking a number of courses in the sociology of medicine and medical anthropology, I was all but certain that I would pursue a medicine and society doctorate. What initiated this interest was, as with most of my interests, a book: The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by A. Fadiman (I really cannot recommend this book strongly enough; it is a fantastically compassionate and human study of cultural conflict and the consolidation of divergent medical practices. An aside: I had the undue pleasure of meeting the author, who so graciously signed my copy of her book).  The integration of Western medical tradition into non-Western societies and cultures remained a pervasively interesting subject for me, as did the methodology of different groups of people (historically and contemporarily) for managing illness. A prime example of this is the Guinea Worm outbreaks in developing nations (the Times ran an outstanding article a couple years back, available for your perusal, entitled ‘A Dose of Tenacity Wears Down a Horrific Disease’) and international attempts to eradicate infection and transmission.

Over the years, I’ve winnowed my way through the [sub]genre of medical sociology, and read an increasing number of books on what it means to be a doctor, the medical mindset, medical history, and theories and sociological underpinnings of community health. As an abstraction, though not as an actual applicable profession, I was enraptured.

As one final aside, I cannot recommend strongly enough that one explore Wikipedia’s take on CDC Pandemic Severity

CDC Pandemic Severity Index Scheme

Index Scheme. It’s a well-reasoned chart until the ‘Level 7,’ at which point one may as well lose all faith in humanity. I’ve reproduced it here, for posterity’s sake. ‘CFR’ is an acronym for ‘Case Fatality Ratio’ (who, among those infected, will die from the illness). I’m loathe to publicly proclaim my suspicion that this Swine Flu outbreak is not the eschaton (though, I hold out hope that I may be fortunate enough to hear the four horsemen thundering through the streets!).

Humbly-Recommended Reading List and [If Applicable] Accompanying Commentary:

I. Complications: A Surgeons Notes on an Imperfect Science – A. Gawande
II. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down – A. Fadiman
III. When Germs Travel: Six Major Epidemics that Have Invaded America and the Fears They Have Unleased – H. Markel
IV. Kill as Few Patients as Possible: And Fifty-Six Other Essays on How to Be the World’s Best Doctor – O. London (A truly fantastic collection of essays exploring the role, mindset, motivation, and achievements of medical practice)
V. The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History – J. Barry
IV. Man and Microbes: Disease and Plagues in History and Modern Times – A. Karlen