What does egalitarianism mean, in the context of three different types of capital?

In Pierre Bourdieu’s “The Forms of Capital,” he presents a clear extrapolation of the idea of capital, as originally presented by Marx and Engels. Rather than merely mentioning capital as a sort of single entity, which is the product of labor, reaped by the bourgeois capitalists, instead of the wage laborers, Bourdieu sees capital as much more multi-faceted. Indeed, the existence of economic capital—more or less identical to Marx and Engels’ ideations—is coupled with that of social capital and cultural capital, the latter of which may be divided into that which is embodied, objectified, and institutionalized. While this segregation of capital is in some ways liberating and enlightening, it is also grave and damning. When solely economic capital is considered, classism and inequality can be rather easily ameliorated with a reasonable strategy of regulation. Taxes and wealth (re)distribution can often greatly assist those clamoring for a more egalitarian society. However, because cultural and social capital hold inherent good, separate from any extraneous monetary benefit, and because they are often connotated with virtue, the task of forming an egalitarian society becomes much more challenging.

The missing ingredient in Roland Barthes’ “The Death of the Author”

In “The Death of the Author,” Roland Barthes attempts to shift the responsibility for the construction of meaning within literary works from the author to the reader herself. This should be rather clear from the title of the piece, and it’s justified by his elegant contention, “The true locus of writing is reading” (5). This is because of the reader’s need to synthesize the various cultural spaces and contexts in which the given texts are based, as well as the prerogative of the reader to unify the “multiplicity” of the given texts (6). Such an argument makes clear that the meaning of a piece comes from those who soak it in. It’s not just inherent in the piece itself, as something toward which every reader may strive; it’s in the actual reading itself.

Adherence to virtue within the bourgeoisie of “The Christmas Tree and a Wedding”

In The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx makes clear a particular argument regarding the status of the bourgeoisie: “The modern bourgeois society” has further stratified social classes in the contemporary world (34), and it must continue to modernize “the instruments of production,” so as to maintain control over the rest of the world—namely, the proletariat, the working people (38). This contention places at its core the reality of modern production, and advancements in industry. However, even at its core, the relationship between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat is rather simple. Whereas the proletariat creates capital, in the process of production, it is composed of wage-labourers, whom the bourgeoisie, their bosses, pay the bare minimum to survive and remain at their job (54-5). Thus, the bourgeoisie class maintains its power from the capital produced by those subservient to them (55).

On Language as a closed system and its relevance in “The Bascombe Valley Mystery”

Given my native proficiency in English, the language in which Arthur Conan Doyle originally scribed his short story, “The Boscombe Valley Mystery,” it would appear that this supposed mastery of English would lend to me, as Saussure may have argued, an automatic and irrevocable access to the closed system of English. Thus, many of the sound-images—or, images-acoustiques—would be immediately transmitted, without hesitancy, from the paper to my own thinking. And yet, that same hybris ultimately betrays a reading of the story, lending false cues toward nonexistent images and turning away from ones that may, from another perspective, seem obvious. It is clear here that—much to Saussure’s dismay, in his own focus on words with single definitions—lingual ambiguity plays such a critical role.

Pizza, Priorities, and Aretaic Ethics

On a sunset stroll along the Ocean City boardwalk in the heat of summer, the same scene unfolds as always: Teenage boys and girls ride their bikes and their skateboards in packs, yelling over the crowds. Young parents scramble to keep track of their young children, who jostle one another, sprinting through small groups of friends and family in the miles-long crowd. Among the jewelry stores, mini golf courses, and tee shirt shops, Manco & Manco stands alone in its old-timey, carnivalian glare.

To locals and tourists alike, this 60-year-old pizzeria is forever legendary for serving the best slice on the South Shore. Just take a look inside the restaurant, and you’ll see an ever-present variety of patrons that surpasses generational bounds. Many gaze at the pizza as it enters and exits the oven, from dough to delicacy, before it is speedily sliced and shuttled to patrons lounging at the tables, sitting at the bar, and standing in line for take-out.

At Manco & Manco, pizza is an art.