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In this freewheeling, unorthodox study of human origins and behavior, science writer Libaw argues that while females abandoned estrus (periodic itch for sexual activity) as they evolved from upright apes to human beings, males genetically retained animal rut and expanded it into year-round endless lusting for sexually receptive females. In this scenario, males invented courtship and foreplay to interest and hold estrus-free females; meanwhile, hominid Lucy learned that her sexuality was valuable to males, a convertible bargaining chip, and patriarchal culture, combined with genetic inheritance, made men more promiscuous than women. Libaw wages a running irreverent critique of the ideas of Stephen Jay Gould, Marvin Harris, Richard Dawkins, Steven Pinker, Daniel Dennett, Roger Penrose, Jeffrey Masson and others as he tosses off heretic theories. Full-fledged spoken language, he believes, came first from the brains and mouths of a small community of young children and only later took root among adults, supplanting the proto-language adults used to perform cooperative tasks. Tweaking his nose at establishment science, Libaw contends that apes think about power and sex, and that the communicative gestures of chimps and some birds imply that animals experience some form of conscious mentation. But he rejects the idea (popularized by Masson) that lower animals and apes have reflective consciousness. Among the other hypotheses and proposals in this sometimes provocative grab bag: magic and religion were very close cousins millennia ago, then diverged; childhood is about getting love, not giving it; the out-of-Africa theory of human origins may be fatally flawed. Libaw attempts, audaciously and unconventionally, if highly speculatively, to pierce the subjective mental realm extending from animals to early humans to us. (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
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Chapter One CONSCIOUSNESS THE GREAT RIDDLE-MYSTERY-ENIGMA In a radio broadcast on October 1, 1939, Winston Churchill described Russia as "a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma." Steven Pinker uses the same expression for consciousness as a single problem. Here, I will separate the consciousness problems we have into three distinct parts: a riddle, a mystery, and an enigma. A riddle may be profound or simple, but even the profound ones usually have answers. The riddle of consciousness is: What's it good for? If you believe, as I do, that we are entirely natural creatures with biological evolutionary origins for our basic capabilities, then we might agree that there ought to be an answer to that riddle. Consciousness should be useful. We should have more than mere hope that there is potentially demonstrable Darwinian adaptiveness for it. Donald Griffin's 1981 book, The Question of Animal Awareness , was one of the first attempts by a life scientist to depart from the numbing assumption that science should not look behind animal behavior to help understand animals. Unfortunately, at that time he was not able to present anything like a theory of adaptive value that might sustain itself against the fact that computers can be programmed to perform virtually any algorithmic procedure that can be suggested as the basis of the adaptive value of consciousness. If consciousness is a natural phenomenon that some creatures have and find valuable, then it should somehow help them make a living for themselves so they can make a life for their potential progeny. We do have a bit of negative evidence for that. One of the few things we know about basic consciousness for us is that, when we're quite ill or very tired, it just disappears. We "lose" it. This suggests that, like every other human activity, it requires energy, energy that we can't afford when we're way below par. Perhaps large, complex, and "rich" species like us can sometimes afford a luxury, but that's not likely to have been the case for the small, simple, and "poor" species in which it first came to life. If it was a luxury when it first appeared, the overloaded creatures carrying it would have dropped out of the race for survival. Yet few have looked for and none have found such a function for consciousness. Joseph Mortenson, in Whale Songs and Wasp Maps: The Mystery of Animal Thinking , has a lot to say about the activities of a wide variety of animals. He does not even mention, let alone examine, the possible Darwinian survival value of consciousness for those creatures. Marian Dawkins, in Through Our Eyes Only? The Search for Animal Consciousness , is negative about what consciousness is good for: "Every single, so-called `function' of consciousness that has been proposed so far could just as well be carried out--so it would seem--by an unconscious organism or even by a machine programmed to behave in complex ways." She also writes, "Consciousness remains an intractable and even embarrassing problem for biologists.... They sometimes deny it is a scientific problem" (p. 7). So no use or adaptive value for consciousness (or awareness, which I will use as its synonym) has as yet been found. It is often more a risk to be avoided than a riddle to be solved. Given the absence of past success, perhaps trepidation should make me stutter my bold claim. I will offer an answer to the Darwinian riddle of consciousness. Here is a clue to that answer: For complex creatures, it may be too difficult at this time to tease out the thread of its adaptive value. So even though consciousness is the core of our human life, I will not seek to learn its survival value for us sapiens. For the small-brained creatures that first had it, however, the basic ability to experience life may have been valuable, in itself , in a way unavailable to any computer we have today. So we will look at some presumed ancient conscious pea-brains for its adaptiveness. I think such creatures responded better to unexpected adversity than any programmed computer or robot can. I call the second problem of consciousness a mystery. Mysteries are sometimes as deep as or deeper than riddles. Also, they may or may not have solutions. The mystery of consciousness is: What creatures, other than sapiens, live a life that is conscious? This mystery is occasionally addressed by life scientists, but none are so incautious as to suggest which creatures are conscious and which are not. I will offer no more than a half-answer to the mystery of awareness by drawing a rather arbitrary line, and saying: Above this line creatures are conscious, below it the uncertainty remains. With some misgivings, I will also suggest a means of exploring the murky depths below my facile line. The uneasiness arises because the only weapon I can conceive of that might separate the grain of conscious animals from the chaff of nonconscious zombielike creatures is, of all things, the whip of pain. The two groups will separate themselves by the kind of behavior they engage in. But how many would fancy the role of scientist as sadist? An enigma may be even tougher than a riddle or a mystery, for it may well be inexplicable, a riddle with no answer, a mystery with no solution. The enigma of consciousness is how mere matter, whatever the natural laws that guide such indifferent stuff, stuff without evidence of the least whiff of feeling, sensation, or conscious thought, can give rise to something as unlike itself as creatures experiencing parts of their lives. There have not been many attacks by scientists on the enigma of consciousness. Here's a glance at one that connects it with another enigma--one regarding fundamental physical particles--but solves neither. In Evolving the Mind , A.G. Cairns-Smith describes a number of quantum "theories" of consciousness. All such attempts to relate consciousness to quantum physics suggest that two great scientific enigmas--consciousness, and the seeming collapse of a fundamental particle's condition from pseudoexisting as mere probabilities of being at various places, collapse to actually existing at such-and-such a place--are related. Since none of these notions provide evidence of a relationship between the two, I see no value in confronting both problems at one time. Many philosophers relish the meaty problems associated with enigmas. They chew them endlessly, their descriptions of them are often smoother and occasionally more seasoned than mashed potatoes, but they are not given to supplying answers for enigmas. John Searle's article, "The Mystery of Consciousness," provides a smooth and tangy review of recent scientific and philosophical books about consciousness, none of which considers solutions to the riddle and the mystery of consciousness, let alone its enigma. As for me, I'll say it flat out: I don't do enigmas. CONSCIOUSNESS: THE NATURAL BASIS FOR BOTH MIND AND SPIRIT Prior to addressing the riddle, mystery, and enigma of consciousness, a little needs saying about the meaning of consciousness. That is not easy with this strange subject. Think for a moment of the difficulties we'd have explaining the concept to intelligent, naturally evolved nonconscious androids that came to earth from elsewhere and somehow learned enough of human language to allow discourse, but had no understanding of the words "consciousness" and "awareness." Decades ago, when the religion-rooted film The Song of Bernadette was made, large billboards announcing it proclaimed, "For those who understand, no explanation is necessary. For those who don't, none is possible." In this respect, consciousness is far more difficult to explain than religion. The explanations that follow are intended for conscious humans, rather than for nonconscious androids from elsewhere or for homegrown not-really-human zombies. Donald Griffin offers two definitions that are really for human consciousness: first, "the recognition by the thinking subject of its own acts or affections," and second, "the state or faculty of being mentally conscious or aware of anything." More elementary than either of these two definitions is the basic consciousness lower animals share with us: that which provides experience of parts of the external world (such as noise) and of only some internal things (such as pain). Griffin's first kind, our awareness of our own doing, thinking, and feeling, I will call "reflective consciousness." I will also call on Mithen, so that I may disagree with his suggestion in The Prehistory of the Mind that those engaged in crafts may not be aware of the skills and technical knowledge they use. "They often have difficulty explaining what they do unless they can provide a demonstration.... This emphasizes the importance of verbal teaching of technical skills.... When knowledge is acquired by verbal instruction it ... becomes available for [reflective] consciousness." However, people with technical or artistic skills normally can and do have reflective experience of their skills, but that experience is without words. Reflective consciousness refers to mental processes about mental processes. That is something we humans can do, but animals cannot do. Our human brains are evidently of suitable structure and size to entertain some neural activity that generates experience as reflective consciousness, that is, thinking about our experiences. This conscious thinking about some aspect of our conscious selves is certainly an expansion from what simpler creatures can do. It is an expansion of the things and processes of which we can be conscious. There is no reason to believe it includes or requires any change in the nature of basic consciousness itself. Likewise, consciousness in the social sense of understanding the mentation of others need be considered no more than an expansion of reflective consciousness about ourselves. Griffin's second kind of consciousness, which includes both the basic and the reflective kind, I will call "overall consciousness." It enables the process of experiencing anything, feeling or consciously thinking, knowingly deciding or doing anything. This covers the spectrum from, say, sensing the blueness of the sky, through responding to the bright blue sky by putting on sunglasses, to cogitating about the ability to experience blue sky. We sometimes casually use consciousness as merely another broad word for mind. To do so seriously is to make the word too fuzzy. Although we shouldn't muddy mental waters by conceiving consciousness as identical with mind, it is the basis for mind. Mind is everything that is or was mental for humans, all our present experiences and our use of past experiences. Mental processes, although they are presumed to be always accompanied by neural processes, are to be distinguished from those neural processes, which are not, as such, experienced. It is the development of mentation and mind in this sense that is an overall theme of this book. As elsewhere with this vexing subject, there are those who disagree with me about mind being based on consciousness. In Brain Size and the Evolution of Mind , Harry Jerison says, "My definition of mind as `knowing' reality might suggest that consciousness is necessary for mind. This is not true. There is excellent evidence of knowledge without awareness, which can be understood only in terms of unconscious processes." It is certainly true that we often use the word "knowledge" with no precision. We say things like, "There's plenty of untapped knowledge in this old brain." I find those usages, and his, to be too figurative and fuzzy for serious discourse. I find more useful a sharp divide around the subjective world, with no "knowledge," "mind," or "mentation" without consciousness. Consciousness is also the basis for a decidedly peculiar aspect of the experience of human life, by which I mean the "spirit" within each of us. Pioneer anthropologist E. B. Tylor held a similar belief a century ago. Ancient thinkers inferred "that every man had two things belonging to him, ... a life and a phantom [a mental representation] as being its image, ... both separable from the body." Tylor believed that primitive people then regarded the "spirit" as the combination of the "life" and the "phantom" conceptual image of life. Many times in the early days of our long past, a reflective human mind may have noted the seemingly total difference between itself and the physical structure within which it is embodied, or the difference between a remembered friend and that friend's dead body. That perceived difference may have gradually come to suggest not only a "thing" called life, but a thing called a spirit within. When we first began to take heed of ourselves as subjective mental entities, perhaps one or two hundred thousand years ago, this wondering about the seemingly nonphysical nature of the wonderer and others may have been a puzzle. That initial hard puzzle, making sense of feeling "my body is not me but rather a place or thing that I inhabit," may have subsequently been softened over the millennia by conceiving these inner selves--that reflective consciousness shows us--to be unearthly spirits living within our earthbound abodes of flesh. After another long while, regarding ourselves as spirits that were not made of the stuff of this earth might have suggested that we, as such subjective spirits, could survive the death and destruction of our bodies. I don't know about you, but for me, the concept of a future life after death is--to say the absolute least--a wonderful idea. I just can't find any reason to accept it. There is indirect evidence that some early humans, tens of thousands of years ago, believed that their subjective selves survived death: the presence of fossilized valuables near buried bones suggests as much. Despite an overabundance of opinion, there is no evidence regarding the truth of the proposition that the spirit survives bodily death. What is evident is that the idea of unearthly spirit, once we get past the jolly-good notion of surviving death, just bristles with prickly problems. If these spirits, and the minds that they are a part of, are not "refleshed" after death, how could they sense, feel, think, or move with no replacement for the dead bodies with their fleshly senses, brains, and muscles? After all, our before-death spirits and minds don't function without bodies, do they? If spirits and minds are refleshed--reincarnated, that is--is the new body young or old? Does it age and die, is it reinvested with the information and patterns that once filled the old brain? Another solution to the beyond-death body and spirit problem is noted by philosopher Paul Kurtz: "For some believing Christians the only sense that can be given to immortality is to say with St. Paul that at some point in the future, the body, including the soul, will be physically resurrected. This stand at least avoids the issue of whether the soul is separate from the body, and the believer merely needs to say that some divine being will in the future ensure the survival of the whole human being." Even with this, there is a problem. One who lives with both that belief and with an enfeebled body or mind still has a conceptual problem. Will her beyond-death body-and-soul be the somewhat disabled one of the time of her demise, or will it be an earlier more vigorous one that lacks her recent experiences? There are some who believe that the spirits of the newly dead are not refleshed at all. Rather they are rejoined with an all-encompassing sea of spirit that invisibly surrounds the living. For me, this is thickening muddy waters with transfiguring topsoil, thereby reducing them to a soothing (but opaque) mud bath. Believers in supernaturally powerful agents or other seemingly miraculous means of surviving death might say our minds are too feeble to fully understand such matters. I won't quarrel with someone choosing such an answer, but that kind of response allows anything we can conceive of, and more, to exist. So it does rather limit reasonable discourse on the subject of life after death. As for the contrasting idea (to which I cannot do other than subscribe) that spirit, as an aspect of consciousness of self, is part of our earthly nature, such an idea suggests that nothing spiritual (or mental) survives death. I must note that a rigorously objective writer, such as David Hufford, in The Terror That Comes in the Night , shows us that it is possible to make scientific studies of what seem supernatural experiences, such as the near-death experience, without taking any position regarding the reality of a supernatural realm. No one has ever developed a satisfying explanation for the enigma of consciousness itself, other than the vague idea that awareness not only interacts with neural activity, but somehow emerges from it--like a pseudospectral butterfly from a still-living caterpillar. Despite this, some scientists make claims that their studies suggest there is some progress in understanding consciousness to be near, if not upon us. For example, Gerald Edelman developed a theory of "re-entrant signaling." Interesting though this theory is, it does not live up to his book's subtitle ( A Biological Theory of Consciousness ). It describes only the activity of the "caterpillar" neural networks, and not at all that of the "pseudospectral butterfly" of consciousness that emerges from and interacts with those networks. My reading of such works suggests an increased understanding of brain function, but not of consciousness. Furthermore, it's far from clear that we'll ever make sense of being conscious of things and activities. As Antonio Damasio says, "Perhaps the complexity of the human mind is such that the solution to the problem [the reach of science as concerns the mind] can never be known because of our inherent limitations. But much as I have sympathy for those who cannot imagine how we might unravel the mystery (they have been dubbed `mysterians') ... I do believe, more often than not, that we will come to know." Like Damasio, I am of two minds on this subject; unlike him, it is seldom that I think we will solve the problem. (Although I am mostly a "mysterian," I don't care for that designation, as it retains an aura of magic. The only alternative I can think of is to coin the word "enigmatician," even though it, in turn, has a scientistic ring to it.) Will we someday have evidence that my hue of "red" is perceived by me just as yours is by you? Will we find an understanding of how my experience of "redness" rises from the arrival on my retina of certain high-frequency light waves? How to make machines that are like us--that is the even tougher problem addressed by Marvin Minsky, in The Society of Mind . First he acknowledges that "we are still far from being able to create machines that do all the things people do." Then he goes on to say, "But this only means that we need better theories about how thinking works." Note how the word "only" suggests better theories might be just around the corner. What I think is that we should give ourselves a brake and slow down our burgeoning belief that the great god science can solve everything. The enigma of consciousness may be beyond my ken and every other human's ken. After all, there's little reason to think that human minds, which may have evolved to improve the search for--or, rather, the searcher's share of--meat and potatoes, will be capable of making sense of such an arcane enigma. For all that, there are things that can be useful in approaching the riddle and the mystery of being conscious. Let's look at some of them. For humans, to be conscious of something is to be engaged in one of certain activities. We engage in activities such as feeling gut pain from too much lunch today, seeing the grim grayness of the sky from which no dessert pie descends, recalling what breakfast was yesterday, dreaming tonight of a divine dinner tomorrow, or--may the thought perish--being aware of oneself as too much a mere ingestor of food. There is little reason to think that consciousness is a thing or a place in the brain where certain kinds of knowledge can be temporarily stored, as in "I searched my consciousness for that memory." Rather than a thing or a place, it is more likely a process, one that can sometimes accompany certain types of brain activity. When a person is doing several things at once, the most important of the several doings is accompanied by consciousness. Thus, when driving a familiar carefree and car-free road with the radio on, awareness may be of the music and not of the road; the driving is often done nonconsciously. But when the road gets cluttered with heavy traffic, the driver changes his treatment of his mind's activities, becomes aware of the road, and loses his awareness of the music. As both the sound of the music and the sight of the road are activating the driver's brain, it is awkward to think of consciousness as a place occupied first by music and then by road conditions. It's more straightforward to think that certain kinds of brain activities, like driving and hearing music, can be either conscious or nonconscious, and that the activity that is most important at the moment is the one that becomes conscious. This suggests an intimate connection between awareness and attention. Perhaps the two are virtually identical for conscious animals, but more likely they are not, as even some almost microscopic creatures, which I suspect are nonconscious, seem to pay attention to their activities, in the sense of responding to their environment. For us, both consciousness and attention seem necessary when we are learning something, such as how to ride a bicycle or play a piano. However, once learned, such an activity is best performed by supplying neither attention nor awareness to the details of the doing, as any performer can tell us. Few would dispute that being conscious of things is central to the lives of each of us. Indeed, we have no adequate word to describe just how central it is, for without consciousness each of our bodies would be quite empty, like a tree-stump or like a stone, devoid of inhabiting mind and spirit. IT'S UNLIKELY THAT CONSCIOUSNESS IS AN EPIPHENOMENON: IF IT WERE, WE'D BE VOYEURS WITH ONE-WAY WINDOWS TO OUR ZOMBIE BODIES There is one last task--a fun one, with which we can pleasure ourselves--before looking at the riddle of just how it is that consciousness is adaptive: To address what seem like the bizarre beliefs of some that it may not be of any such value. Their beliefs suggest that consciousness may be an epiphenomenon--a mere side effect that has no influence, none at all, on our bodies (which include our brains), or on our activities in the big world outside. Do you doubt that some people believe such a thing? Listen again to Pinker's discussion in How the Mind Works . Starting with that title, he sometimes uses the words "mind" and "brain" almost interchangeably. In some ways that is more than fair; much of the mind's work is dependent on the brain's work. Yet he says, "The mind is what the brain does ... processes information." But if it is the brain that does the information-processing, what does the mind itself do? Listen again to Pinker's mind struggling with, not how the mind works but with whether the mind does any work. First he tells us the mind "makes us see, think, feel, choose, act...." Although it sounds like all these kinds of experiences have some effect on the doing brain, that may not be what Pinker means. His later words suggest something totally different: "Consciousness and choice [are] somehow pasted onto neural events without meshing with their causal machinery." Got that? The mind just sits there, doubtless experiencing some of the brain's work, but not at all influencing the brain's activity. Here, Pinker regards consciousness as a useless icing on the layered cake of the doing brain. This seven-syllabled concept--epiphenomenalism--is (as Johnny Carson used to say about many things) really weird. It makes us into two distinct beings. One is subjective mind and spirit that has all and only the experience of living, with no part in activity. The other is an objective body (including brain) that has all--and only--the activity of living, with none of the experiencing. If epiphenomenalism is correct, then conscious subjective life can be said to suggest a voyeur within each of us that looks through a one-way window. The voyeur, through the eyes of a nonconscious objective creature on the other side of that window, sees the objective outside world. For humans (and more narrowly for animals), it experiences some of the activities of the nonconscious creature. This voyeur's experiences are more than merely visual; they include everything subsumed under the concept of overall consciousness. The nonconscious physical creature on the other side of the one-way window includes a brain--but not a mind or spirit. It is nothing more than a zombie that has no experience whatsoever of its life. The voyeur may get kicks and jollies; it feels the unexperienced activities that only seem to be the pains and passions of the objective zombie that houses the voyeur. The window is only one-way, so that physical zombie body, its brain included, can neither experience anything nor be influenced by the observing voyeur's mental and spiritual experiences. The voyeur has all the experiences, but that's all it has; it lacks in particular any way to influence the zombie, let alone the world. The zombie does all the interacting with itself and with the world, but does it nonconsciously, like a tree or a Venus's-flytrap, and nothing comes to it through the other-way window from the voyeur. Can it be proved that we are each not that combination of a voyeur and a zombie? I won't even think of trying to do such a negative task. Nonetheless, I'll raise one question. It's a large question, one that seems like a language problem, but it's also a concept problem, and therein lies the rub. How could a zombie--even one with passive voyeur looking over its shoulder--living in an objective world populated only with other zombies, how could it possibly have the word "conciousness" in its vocabulary? Clearly, it would have that word in its objective world--look, if you think you are a subjective voyeur looking through objective zombie eyes, you've just seen it printed on objective paper in the preceding sentence! Let us grant (but only for the moment) that a zombie might employ language in its zombie-world. (The meaning and import behind language and gesture require consciousness.) But consciousness is neither part of nor explainable in its robotic world. That word is indeed estranged from its empty-of-awareness realm. So why on earth or anywhere else would a zombie employ that strange word? It makes no sense--no sense unless the window is not really one-way--unless what is wrongly thought to be a zombie has been penetrated by what is wrongly thought to be a voyeur. As military doctors in sex lectures to new male recruits say, "Any penetration, no matter how slight, can have major consequences." The consequence in this case is that--whatever peculiar creatures we animals and humans may indeed be--we are not the forced marriages of voyeurs and zombies. We are bodies and minds, with spirits that are parts of those minds. Before we move on to other matters, let me acknowledge someone who dislikes the separation of minds from bodies in discourse. In The Roots of Thinking , Maxine Sheets-Johnstone tries to restore each of us humans to an essential unity rather than the frequent falling asunder into separate mind and body. To support that unity, she writes, "Thoughts and feelings are indeed manifestly present in bodily comportments and behaviors. `The mental' is not hidden but is palpably observable in the flesh." This is a view with which I cannot agree. The mental is only indirectly (and with difficulty and uncertainty) observable, by means of gesture and symbol. Furthermore, we must also deal with behaviors that may be those of nonconscious creatures such as digger wasps and other forms of low life. So our interest in asserting the unity of individual living animals and humans should not overwhelm our interest in consciousness, its nature, and its bearers. (Continues...) Copyright © 2000 William H. Libaw. All rights reserved.目录
Preface | p. 9 |
Acknowledgments | p. 13 |
Introduction: Minds, Like Everything Else, Were Made in Slow Steps | p. 15 |
Part 1 Animals Lower Than Apes and Monkeys | p. 27 |
Introduction | p. 29 |
1. Consciousness, the Great Riddle-Mystery-Enigma | p. 37 |
2. Fish, Four-Limbed Beasts, and Birds | p. 63 |
3. Cats and Dogs, an Odd Couple of Domesticated Creatures | p. 91 |
Part 2 Living Apes, Somewhat Like Our Ape Forbears | p. 101 |
Introduction | p. 103 |
4. Family Life Without Father: Growing Up Chimpish | p. 107 |
5. Chimps Are No Chumps: Mentality with Room for New Concepts | p. 125 |
6. Ape Love-Life: Near the Borders of Sexual Eden | p. 137 |
7. Ape Gesture and Utterance: Steps on the Information Highway | p. 151 |
Part 3 Our Upright Predecessors, the Early Hominids | p. 167 |
Introduction | p. 169 |
8. The Upright Apes, or Australopithecines | p. 175 |
9. Our Predecessor Species, Homo Erectus | p. 193 |
Part 4 Earlier Creatures of Our Own Kind | p. 215 |
Introduction | p. 217 |
10. The Transition from Erectines to Sapiens | p. 223 |
11. Early Language, Magic, and Religion: In and Out of This World | p. 237 |
12. The Last Big Biological Step: Complete Language | p. 259 |
13. Sapiens Societies Develop the Quest for More | p. 275 |
Part 5 Miracles for Modern Humans: Children, Love, Death | p. 287 |
Introduction | p. 289 |
14. Parents and Children | p. 291 |
15. Bush League Sexuality and, at Times, Major League Love | p. 303 |
16. Living, Lifeless, Dead: Always Trying Concepts | p. 335 |
Bibliography | p. 361 |
Index | p. 371 |