decision-making was not merely a point of dry academic debate, but driven by a need to provide advice and counsel to those engaged in the business of judgment. The first case study, focusing on the treatment of a group of heretics in Worcester, examines an internal discussion (the Church’s concern regarding which judicial strategy, justice or mercy, was the more prudent choice). The second, drawing on letters surrounding the Becket dispute, moves between the ecclesiastical and the secular realms, highlighting a debate about the way in which the Church should admonish and
Gothic Threats argues that eighteenth-century British critics based their judgments of Gothic fictions on the fictions apparent capacity to help or hurt social order. If, like Matthew Lewiss The Monk, a novel seemed to corrupt the young, erode gender norms, encourage heretical belief in the supernatural, or foment revolution, critics condemned it. If, like Ann Radcliffes The Mysteries of Udolpho, a novel that seemed to fight against such threats, critics gave it the highest praise. This politically-determined pattern of “aesthetic” evaluation helped to establish the Gothics place in the hierarchy of high and low culture.
opposed to the RPF or showed potential for becoming political leaders rather than because they were thought guilty of involvement in the genocide. (p. 16) In contrast to the violence that was part of the genocide, RPF violence was less systematic and, because it was not aimed at a particular ethnic group with the intent of destroying it, does not constitute genocide. At the same time, RPF violence was not simply the action of rogue soldiers but involved both summary judgment of those believed to be implicated by the genocide and attempts to assert control by
’ education. The photographer and author Hélène Tremblay offered examples of the autonomy these educators recommended. She aimed at publishing photographs that left the viewer free to make their own judgment: ‘My personal opinions might stop you from forming your own. Does it really matter how I feel? Your feelings, as you discover those with whom you share the planet, are most important’ ( Tremblay, 1988 ). Composed by Media-Sphere, the activity sheet linked to the second volume of her series on Families of the World invited children to identify elements in the pictures
was impressed by the teams’ engagement and willingness to listen; their work was appreciated and undoubtedly helped change behaviours in terms of testing, as evidenced by the fact that more than 93 per cent of HIV patients knew their status at the time of the 2018 Epicentre survey, compared to 60 per cent six years earlier. Pierre Mendiharat: There are indeed guidelines and trainings that all stress empathy, listening, respect and being non-judgmental. We can reasonably
2020 ). International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) ( 1997 ), Prosecutor v. Duško Tadić a/k/a “Dule” Case No. IT-94-1-T, Sentencing Judgment , 14 July , www.icty.org/x/cases/tadic/tjug/en/tad-sj970714e.pdf (accessed 20 July 2020 ). International Criminal Tribunal for the Former
, kinder world than appeals to rational moral arguments ( Rorty, 1998 : 122–3). Building on Rorty, visual theorist Sharon Sliwinski persuasively outlines that spectators’ ‘passionate responses’ to visual images of suffering and calamity, such as outrage, disgust, sorrow, or frustration, are aesthetic experiences necessary to preceded actions aimed at bettering humanity ( 2011 : 5, 23). For Sliwinski, the camera centralizes the importance of appearance, recognition, and perception through ‘world spectator’s’ faculty of judgment and subsequent engagement in the civil space
This book addresses one of the most acute moral and political dilemmas of the twelfth century: how did a judge determine how to punish an offender, and what was the purpose of such punishment? It examines how English judges weighed a choice which, if made wrongly, could endanger both the political community and their own souls. That choice was between two ideas which twelfth-century intellectual and legal thought understood as irreconcilable opposites: justice and mercy. By examining the moral pressures on English judges, Justice and Mercy provides a new way into medieval legal culture: rather than looking at the laws that judges applied, it reconstructs the moral world of the judges themselves. The book offers a fresh synthesis of the disciplines of intellectual history and legal history, examining theological commentaries, moral treatises, letters, sermons and chronicles in order to put the creation of the English common law into its moral context. This broad vision brings to light the shared language of justice and mercy, an idea which dominated twelfth-century discourse and had the potential to polarise political opinion. Justice and Mercy challenges many of the prevailing narratives surrounding the common law, suggesting that judges in church courts and royal courts looked strikingly similar, and that English judges had more in common with their continental counterparts than is often assumed.
help make sense of situations abroad that could affect US interests. Intelligence officers decide which topics should get their limited collection and analytic resources according to both their own judgments and the concerns of policymakers. Policymakers thus influence which topics intelligence agencies address but not the conclusions that they reach. The intelligence community, meanwhile, limits its
judgments with mercy. Indeed, in many ways, the central argument of this book is that in this, the ‘legal century’, the concept of mercy was just as important (and exalted) as that of justice. This was a culture suffused with the idea of mercy – with images of mercy, exhortations to mercy and models of merciful behaviour – and where mercy was expected to be shown its due. This final and briefest chapter – perhaps the most unlike the others in terms of the materials it draws upon – reflects on how broadly we can make these claims about mercy. It asks