The Philosopher

“Not to worry! Not to worry!” The Philosopher hurried in, equipped with all of the tools necessary to abstract one from a painful existence. After combining some of the skin cells collected from the bodies of the diseased with some disinfectant, he added a drop of the solution to a tub of paint. A few minutes passed and he could begin to see the once-chocolate-coloured hue dissipate into the milky white liquid, so he took a brush, dipped, and painted liberally over a white canvas. It took a little more time for the paint to dry, but as soon as it did he cut out the letters to the word. “Ah, yes!” He exclaimed, laying out the pieces before him like a puzzle. “D-I-S-C-R-I-M-I-N-A-T-I-O-N in name only… Perfect!” His assistant looked over his shoulder, nodding in approval. They were ready to begin.
Wrote this while trying to understand how some philosophers could write so coldly about discrimination, as if it had no visceral impact on the lives of those afflicted. My initial thoughts were developed when reflecting on John Rawls’ ideas in The Law of the Peoples and Charles Beitz’s section on international women’s rights in The Idea of Human Rights.

T. M. G.