THIS THING OF DARKNESS
Shadows
E perché l’andamento e le usanze e gli avvenimenti e i luoghi di questa mia vita sono ancora infantili, io tengo afferrati con ambe le mani questi ultimi avanzi e queste ombre di quel benedetto e beato tempo, dov’io sperava e sognava la felicità, e sperando e sognando la godeva.
GIACOMO LEOPARDI
We hit a bump, I jump and wake up. After the gutter, the FIAT Uno crosses a gate and gets swallowed by darkness. My father is driving, my sister is next to me on the back seat. I try to understand where…
“… are we…”
“Yes” Mom says, smiling.
Papa turns the car. The gravel sings under the tires. A mastodon appears among the chestnuts, whose eyes irradiate a bunch of cars and two ambulances sleeping in the parking lot.
Dad pulls the car over, mom gets out. Her smile is surrounded by a fluorescent halo: the first letter of the sign on the building.
“Goodnight, kids”, she says.
Mom starts the shift: she does the night, as we say. It doesn’t mean much, except that tomorrow her smile will be a little less bright and her voice will be weak. We will be at school and Dad at work, meanwhile she will be resting; but when we return, in time for lunch, she will have taken care of everything. For Sara and me the night is a quiet interlude between noise and colors, a space of rest where you can be anything and anything can happen. The night is a dream. For her, instead, night means people moaning under bright lights.
“Good luck, Mom!”
Her friend Jo is waiting under the portico wearing a white uniform and Fly Float slippers, like all the nurses of the world. She smokes, as always, and weaves to us with her big hands, much more than Mom’s. The energy, however, is the same—used to lifting exhausted bodies, fragile bodies, derelict bodies. They’re not city hands; yet, they cuddle and bring relief to the heart.
Kindness is synonymous with hospital for me. I am growing in their intimacy loitering back and forth like a wave in the sea, almost daily. The Avigliana Civic Hospital, this hospital, is my mother’s workplace, a town in the town halfway between school and my grandparents’ home. There’s always someone to greet here.
This is why, whereas for others hospitals are causes of distress, rites of passage, for me they are the equivalent of the bakery or the cinema. And they will remain so, always giving me the feeling of being welcomed despite accidents, medical treatments, hospitalizations and finally, today, right now, the pandemic.
Here I am. Another car, the same sleeping colossus, this time surrounded by thicker and deeper shadows. Most of the windows are shut. My father’s long gone; my mother’s hands are now wrinkled, their strength committed to keeping her grandson safe and sound. My nephew is the emanation of a little girl who, back then, asked to go to the church before coming home, to say some prayers. I remember my father’s voice, almost pleading.
“Now, honey?”
“There’s a church inside. We can go there. Can we go, Daddy?”
“It’s very late.”
“Churches aren’t open at night,” I point out, yawning.
“That one is”, she insists. “For sick people. Sick people want to stay with Jeje.”
Dad kicks into gear. “Next time, babe.”
That flame goes out momentarily. Sara draws on the misted windows.
I tease her: “Churches open only on Christmas Eve.”
“Not in the hospital. Not where they need the company of Jesee.”
My father holds a smile.
“You mean he’s there?” I ask, goggling at her.
Sara nods with satisfaction.
I think about it for a moment, then ask.
“Papa…”
He looks at me in the rear-view mirror.
“Angels have white suites, do they?”
My sister meant the Company, also Society of Jesus. Who knows where she heard about that.
Before the Civil Hospital, in fact, the building was known as Villa Sant’Agostino, an Augustinian convent inherited by the Jesuits who used it as a noviciate house. Between 1946 and 1948, Villa Sant’Agostino hosted also the House of the Jewish Youth, which welcomed homeless younglings and orphans who had escaped deportation or survived concentration camps. There they received a community-based education, studied, practice agriculture and rural crafts and learn self-defence to prepare for the kibbutz life in Eretz Israel. Among them was Yehoshua Kremer, who wrote a diary.
I look around. How beautiful it is, here. I see the mountains covered in snow. Up there, I see the ancient castle that we visited last spring. The ruins, the mountain with a cross on the top. I remember the lake. It seems we came here just yesterday! How beautiful the lake was in spring and how beautiful it is even in this season. How many wonderful hours have we spent on the shore? How many times have we rowed, or swung on the swing? How many walks and how many places on those mountains. […] Shalom to you, Avigliana! It’s all true. We had a good time here. But it is not our place. Over there, far away, our homeland awaits and we are ready to build and defend it.
In the 1960s, Villa Sant’Agostino became disproportionate to the needs of the Society of Jesus, who sold it to the municipality when new changes and challenges appeared on the horizon. At that time, land speculation and the lack of protection for architectural and artistic heritage led to the demolition of centenary facilities and the oblivion not only of works of art (including a sixteenth-century choir), but also of local memory.
Today only a few pictures remain of the convent: interior views of the monks’ cells, of the decorations and the porticos. Shadows of a lost treasure. A waste indeed, since even the hospital, year after year, reform after reform, has been deprived of its functions, which have been transferred to major facilities. The new “healthcare model” crafted by state funding cuts and disinvestments has revealed its fragility with the pandemic.
Amidst this chaos, I observe the silent body. It is a solitary inspection before returning tomorrow for an attentive study of Saint Augustine’s Church, formerly known as “Chiesa della Misericordia”, the last sparkle of religious presence saved from destruction by the intervention of the then parish priest. The church was swallowed up by the hospital only to be abandoned. The pronaos are now mutilated, the windows harnessed by frames and other metal tubing structures. Dismissed, mistreated, and forgotten like so many artistic jewels of this Nation.
At the twilight of this annus horribilis, the church has been nominated amongst “I Luoghi del Cuore” (Places of the Heart), a national census conducted by the Italian Environmental Fund (FAI) in order to promote and preserve the Italian beauties for future generations. I see this as an opportunity to stop and reflect about Saint Augustine. For me, it is the reification of Timothy Morton’s hyperobject, an ontological and epistemological encrustation of the space-time-material fluid. According to Morton, this web of intra-actions we walk on is a readable anthology of stories.
I start the engine of my car. Liquefied dinosaur bones burst into flame. […] Oil is the result of some dark, secret collusion between rocks and algae and plankton millions and millions of years in the past. When you look at oil you’re looking at the past. Hyperobjects are time-stretched to such a vast extent that they become almost impossible to hold in mind. (2013, 58)
Hyperobjects transcend their current manifestation, they rewrite the concept of a concrete and coherent space-time and reveal history through their presence. They force us to think ecologically, thus in terms of relationships. Like vectors, they converge from other times and places to gather around a form, this form: Saint Augustine.
Atlas of caregiving
Tout est bien, tout va bien, tout va pour le mieux qu’il soit possible.
VOLTAIRE, Candide
The inauguration of the Italian national health service (Servizio Sanitario Nazionale – SSN) on December 23, 1978 was preceded by a long cultural and political debate. The goal was to provide universal healthcare, government-funded, inspired by the British National Health Service (NHS).
The former system of health insurance funds had constituted a great achievement during the fascist era, as well as an important factor of social cohesion and consensus. The mutual aid organizations (Inam, Enpam etc. .) had provided large portions of the population with the opportunity to access health services through an insurance system promoted and managed by the State. After the Second World War, however, the mutual aid institutions were bound by pettifogging bureaucracy and publicly shamed.
A full-scale modernisation programme was launched, which covered all necessary treatments for both citizens and non citizens. The USLs (Unità Sanitarie Locali) became responsible for the management of all health services in their area, plus private providers could operate within the SSN. It was therefore estabilished a perfect monopoly that could only be judged through local elections, during which mayors and district councillors, as well as the president and councillors of the regions, are democratically elected.
Those very institutions ultimately responsible for the administration of health care were soon plagued by judicial scandals and widespread corruption. In the early 1990s, the reputation of the SSN was no better than that of the mutual aid system it had replaced.
A huge leak in the Italian health welfare model was the fact of being essentially centralist, whereas the political system and the Constitution assign large elements of autonomy to the Regions. Until the early 1990s this led to mere organizational differences, but later it generated an authentic competition. Furthermore, the presence of private actors so necessary to feed the growing demand of outpatient activities and hospital activities exacerbated the inequalities. More than 14% of available bed remained within private structures, a number which increased steadily up to exceeding 20% in 1997.
The first version of the Italian SSN came to an end in 1992 and was revised by three legislative measures, represented by decrees 502/92 and 517/93, which are known as the “second healthcare reform”, and by decree 299/99 or “third healthcare reform”. With them, the regionalization of the SSN and the conversion of the public service into a company was (at least nominally) set: the USLs became ASLs (Aziende Sanitarie Locali), and the public hospitals become AOs, Aziende Ospedaliere. General Managers picked up by the Regional government replaced the former Management Committees always allotted to political parties. Co-pay fees, called “ticket”, were applied to some emergency room visits, specialist consultations, diagnostic procedures and lab analyses. The amount was different from region to region—a measure aimed at introducing efficiency and competition in the public oligopoly.
Art. 9 of the 1992 legislative decree about “Differentiated forms of assistance” established the possibility of alternative healthcare models essentially based on insurance, i.e. an emancipation from the SSN that could strip the pillar of universal healthcare funded through general taxation. Legislative decree n. 517 of December 1993 corrected this eventuality by eliminating art. 9 with the regulation of supplementary health services, which could integrate but not replace those guaranteed by the NHS.
The combination of regionalization and corporatization sanctioned with the 1992-1993 reform was redefined in 1999 with decree 229 or “Riforma Bindi”, named after the then Minister of Health Rosy Bindi. It guaranteed the Italian Regions multi-level governance of regional healthcare services (SSR) with significant autonomy. SSN could thus be adapted to the specific characteristics of territories: regional dimensions, relationship between urban and rural areas, transport and mobility system.
Lombardy took a different path of progressive correction of the national model, more inspired by the approach of market development, hence orientated to competition between public and private hospitals and the principle of consumers’ freedom of choice. Today, that model has shown its inherent weakness.
Looking up
Every ceiling, when reached, becomes a floor, upon which one walks as a matter of course and prescriptive right.
ALDOUS HUXLEY
We cast our gaze beyond the present moment when we look for hope or enter a church. Mircea Eliade wrote about an immutable force symbolized by the heavens.
“We did a great job cleaning up” Silvio says opening the door, like a perfect host. It sounds like an apology.
With us there are a photographer, a journalists and a representative of the municipal authorities. Silvio Amprino is the president of the Associazione Amici di Avigliana, one of those ubiquitous voluntary organization that strive to preserve and promote collective memory. That is an activity often entrusted to people no longer in their prime, and thus even more precious. Silvio is thin, almost fragile. He is calm and welcoming, a bit shy, a man of manners: the typical Piedmontese man so familiar to me. He has a mind crowded with numbers, dates and names that he gladly shares when finds I am not discharging my duty but, rather, feeding my curiosity.
No need to butter things up, here. Saint Augustine is not a feast for the eyes. It doesn’t make our jaws drop. It reminds us that awkward moment when you receive the same present twice. The church is, in fact, merely vernacular architecture: a single nave re-chewed and stripped of the baroque eloquences impressed by the Augustinian monks. A yellowish light radiates through the square windows on the right—beyond them, I can see the metal tentacles I saw yesterday night. What strikes me are, instead, its scuffs, cracks and sores. Particularly a door, next to the altar, barred from the inside with wooden boards. The sacred space is thus isolated from the hospital.
The sacred is the sense of another world without earthly waste, Maria Kuncewiczowa wrote (1942, 98). It follows that the profane is a world where every trace of otherness, every possibility of an elsewhere has been eradicated.
“It would be nice to promote the figure of Blessed Cherubino Testa, who died here on December 17, 1479.”
Silvio is talking with the city clerk, a fat guy with the mask pulled down so it only covers his mouth, leaving the nose exposed.
“You mean the patron saint?”
Silvio nods.
“I would avoid miracles, saints, blessed and venerable ones. I mean, considering the spirit of the initiative, all that pertains to religion should be left out, if you want my opinion.”
“It is a church we are talking about”, the journalist says.
“Yeah, but I’d go with something more neutral. Something to enhance the historical and artistic stuff, you know, the common good. That would intrigue a wider audience.”
“Let me just…” Silvio says, eyes closed. “The story of Blessed Cherubino is part of the history of the community. Without mentioning his presence, the history of Saint Augustine is incomplete.”
A silent smile rises behind my mask.
I observe the church, its before and its now, the fresco that decorates the dome dedicated to Blessed Cherubino Testa. He was a priest of the Order of Saint Augustine and is the patron saint of Avigliana. I find out that everything is transformed according to the use we made of it. The flow of things cannot be stopped, and yet we can keep what is precious close to the heart, rather than rowing and poling against the current.
Times change, and places change with them. One more change, and change once more.
Business as Usual
So Eden sank to grief
ROBERT FROST
The fate of the Italian SSN followed the challenges faced by public finance with the financial crisis of 2007–2008. The government set return plans with the aim of reducing health expenditure that in 1990 was about 6.2% of GDP and in 2009 had risen to 7.5% (Leonardi 2016, 27). This accounting operation were substantive receivership that resulted, in fact, in a contraction of the benefits provided to the citizens.
The solutions adopted by the Piedmontese SSR before 2000 had been consistent with national regulation. Small and medium hospitals had been built alongside the major health centres. The regional decree 348 for the whole 2003-2005 authorized the testing of new forms of healthcare management, like the establishment of companies with public and private capital contribution. It was been the first attempt to emancipate the SSR from the national model, copycatting the “Lombard way”. After the 2010 regional elections, a renewed center-right majority headed by Roberto Cota (Lega Nord) implemented the reform agenda.
The return plan was signed on July 29. During the summer of 2011, with the onset of the financial crisis, began the revision and contraction of expenditure. Six new large-area entities, the “Federazioni sovrazonali” were set up. Between 2014 and 2015 several regional decrees initiated the restructuring of the hospital network. There was a redistribution of resources; new general managers were appointed for the 16 regional ASL; the relations with private structures were renegotiated. Paolo Monferino, Chief Executive Officer at Iveco, took over as manager of the Piedmontese healthcare system. In a 2016 interview with La Stampa he spoke about the differences between the management of public affairs and the private sector, emphasizing the attempt made by FCA to streamline its system by cutting administrative expenses and blocking turnovers, thus “recovering efficiency and reducing costs”. Pressed by the interviewer about the closure of rural hospitals far from urban centers, he declared:
The performing of a small number of surgical operations means that that facility is unsafe for patients. This is why we closed the emergency room in Avigliana: 7.000 patients a year, 5.500 “Code White”. For the 200 “Code Red” it was much safer to drive seven kilometers more and go to Rivoli hospital. (Griseri 2016)
This singluar notion of security was apparently the keystone of the Piedmontese healthcare reform, an organic intervention that redistributed clinical disciplines and generated the drastic reduction of structures, causing a decrease in the availability of hospital beds (from 18.000 to 16.300). On the territory of the ASL TO3, which includes the Susa Valley, it led to the substantial lockout of two on three local hospitals. The Saint Augustine Hospital lost the general medicine/long-term care ward—that means 20 beds—; plus, day surgery was closed. In exchange, Avigliana obtained the new CAP (Primary Care Center) and outpatient activities were strenghtened.
Into the Storm
I would hurry to my place of shelter,
far from the tempest and storm.
PSALM 55:8
On Sunday morning, about ten o’clock, the French entered the city, and took the arsenal, then different corps paraded, and took the city gates. The king was stripped of his authority, and left last night.[1]
Il Repubblicano piemontese announced the fall of the Savoy monarchy on December 10, 1798: the French Directory had forced King Carlo Emanuele IV to abdicate. The new Piedmontese Provisional Government was determined to restore the disastrous legacy of the war through a series of economic measures. The decree issued on Pluviôse 23 of the 7th Republican year (February 11, 1799) included Secularization, i.e. the confiscation of church land or property by the state. On the 16th of the 20th year (March 7, 1801), the Executive Commission of Piedmont “suppressed the Convent of the Augustinians of the Congregation of Lombardy existing in the Municipality of Avigliana”.[2]
The former convent of S. Agostino was used as accommodation for the troops a month later, on Germinal 12 of the 9th year (April 2, 1801). At the same time, the monks decided to translate the body of Blessed Cherubino Testa and thus leave the field open for the “Beast” Napoleon: the Antichrist, as described by Lev Tolstoy in War and Peace.
“Some of the decorations, including the sacred panels, ended up in the church of San Giovanni Battista”, Silvio says. “The walnut choir with the monogram of the Name of Jesus was transferred to the Madonna delle Grazie.”
“In this house of clay and water, my heart lies in ruin without you”, Rumi wrote.
“Precisely. The convent of the Augustinian fathers was put up for auction”, Silvio continues, “and bought by this man, Blandino, a citizen of Avigliana who used it till the end of the XIX century… Oh, and there was the cholera outbreak, too!”
“Jesus Christ, this place is cursed!”, the journalist says.
“114 cases in 1854, and Avigliana had just 3.000 inhabitants. The Public Health Committee vowed to the Madonna delle Grazie for the end of the disease.” (Amprino 2020)
“Bet it didn’t work” the fat guy says, grinning.
“But it did,” Silvio replies.
“What about the convent?” I ask.
“The Marchioness Clementina Carron of Briancon of San Tommaso redeemed it around 1880. She was the last hair of a prominent old family pledged to house Savoy. She bought the convent and donated it to the Society of Jesus, who returned this place its spiritual lymph. The Marchioness’ donations allowed—listen to the chronicle—‘the restoration and enlargement works of March 1904. They were so far reaching that took away the rustic appearance that the building still had, and made it comfortable and beautiful’.” (Associazione 2020)[3]
“Comfortable and beautiful indeed!”
“A shelter from the storms of History”, Silvio sings. “Like the one we are experiencing now.”
So true. Sanitized, masked, isolated. All this to keep out of our bodies a microscopic, invisible beast: the virus, the damned virus. We are entrenched in scientific purity and hygienic magic. We echoes Prospero, the character from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. His nemesis is the repellent and indomitable Caliban, halfway between man and devil. Caliban, once master of the island where the story takes place, plots to kill Prospero who has enslaved him. Caliban is wild, dirty: “nature” at its highest degree. In the final confrontation, however, Prospero recognizes Caliban’s anger and hatred as the product of his own actions, as part of himself: “This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine” (Shakespeare 2012, 230).
I raise my hand. “What is that?”
Silvio approaches. His face is covered by the mask, but I know he’s smiling.
“In 1955, the Jesuits built a chapel for the novices with the donations from devotees who had migrated to New York. It was lost with the construction of the hospital, but read there…”
“A.M.D.G”
“Ad maiorem Dei gloriam. For the greater glory of God. The emigrants, who chased the torch of Lady Liberty, wrote that. They carried the Blessed Cherubino in their hearts.”
“LA MERICAAA!” yells the fat guy.
Silvio remains even-tempered. He looks at me.
“It’s a sign of the faith one need to recognize miracles”, he concludes.
A porous unity
You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.
C. S. LEWIS
We leave the hospital, heading downtown. A sign reminds us that nasopharyngeal swabs can be performed in the hospital courtyard: outside, in a tent lying down in puddles.
The Saint Augustine Hospital became “Casa della Salute” in 2016 through regional law. The emergency room no longer exists: neither the medical staff nor the necessary equipment are available to guarantee medical attention. Since 2018, priority has been given to chronic conditions and lifestyles-related diseases, which make up 80% of pathologies. According to the so called “Medicina d’Iniziativa”, these diseases lead to acute distress only in the absence of continuous medical treatments. Therefore, doctors prescribe diagnostic tests and therapeutic education that prevent the conditions from worsening. That’s all.
Thinking about the collapse of Piedmont’s SSR, along with the national sanitary Armageddon caused by SARS-CoV-2, both of them described by the mainstream media using compelling war metaphors, I often come up with other words and concepts, rather unripe for common sense. Difficult words like intra-action, porosity, transcorporeality that I’ve read in Karen Barad, Nancy Tuana, Stacey Alaimo and other feminist theorists’ books and essays.
The existence of anything—any creature, ecosystem, climatological pattern, ocean current—cannot be taken for granted as simply existing out there. […] If the material environment is a realm of often incalculable, interconnected agencies, then we must somehow make political, regulatory, and even personal decisions within an ever-changing landscape of continuous interplay, intra-action, emergence, and risk. (Alaimo 2010, 21)
How to translate this ideas so that they become understandable? Which compass should we use to blaze a trail through our habits, which are steeped in Cartesian dualism?[4] Furthermore, with the pandemic, unity and porosity are not only difficult to understand: they must be avoided at all costs.
Here and now, only art, which provokes and teaches, can help us to merge above and below, inside and outside, theory and practice, matter and meaning.
Lili Reynaud Dewar presented My Epidemic (Small Bad Blood Opera) at the 56th International Art Exhibition of La Biennale di Venezia. With it, she emphasised the link between unprotected sex and personal responsibility. The inspiration came from Guillaume Dustan’s autofictional Dans ma chambre, which unabashedly recounts the HIV positive narrator-protagonist’s drug-fueled navigation of Parisian gay sex culture. The narrator’s seemingly self-destructive tendencies caused a stir; however, the novel offers a wholly life-affirming model of wellness and embodiment based on connectivity. Dewar brought literature inside the exhibition space by literally copying texts on various formats: panels, drawings, curtains covered in blood, plus painted her entire body red and danced in the palaces of Venice. Those marble halls, penetrated by water, poetically reverberated the vulnerability of our bodies.
The golden sun shines on the convent’s most valuable piece. The name Jesus, spelled “ΙΗΣΟΥΣ” in Greek capitals, here has the abbreviations IHS (also lesus Hominum Salvator, Jesus Savior of Men). In the 15th century, Saint Bernardino of Siena popularized the use of the three letters on the background of a blazing sun.
“Nothing is spotless”, I whisper.
“Two hundred years the choir has been at the Madonna delle Grazie”, Silvio says, “waiting to return to Saint Augustine. The IHS monogram with the H surmounted by a cross and surrounded by the Sun is the emblem of the Jesuits, according to tradition introduced by Ignatius of Loyola on the first edition cover of his treatise Spiritual Exercises, dated 1549.”
“So the Society deliberately chose that symbol”, the fat guy says.
“In order to underline the bond with the Christ, yes. The members of the Company share the bread: cum-panis.”
Saint Augustine of Hippo studied humankind to know God and meditated on God to know men. His philosophy bridged transcendence and immanence, intermingling subtle substances with warm dense matter. He described God as the internal-eternal, very remote and very present, very high and very close, present and absent. Maybe the body of Christ is the most eminent symbol of porosity. After all, the phrase “the Body of Christ” is a common New Testament metaphor for the Church, with Jesus Christ as the head, and the community of faith as the members of the body, i.e. a collective, a plurality of entertwined body-minds sharing the bread. A porous unity.
The golden Christogram and the microscope image of SARS-CoV-2 I have seen so many times collide and merge together. It’s just a distant dreaming.
It vanishes. It’s gone.
And yet, I sense a movement toward better sense-making. The animal that has been with us for a year, now: it’s a catalyst, perhaps the only possible one. To recognize it means to recognize ourselves. To observe it is to observe our mistakes. Accepting vulnerability would make us humble, maybe even grateful to this little one, this ferocious one, this thing of darkness. After all, this inner-eternal animal, very remote and very present, very high and very close, present and absent at the same time, is us. We created it, now we feed it. Let’s at least acknowledge that. Let there be light.
[1] “Il mattino della domenica, circa le ore dieci, li Francesi entrarono in città, e presero possesso dell’arsenale, sfilarono quindi in diversi corpi, e s’impadronirono delle varie porte della città. Il re fu dimesso dalla sua autorità, e partì nella notte scorsa”, da Il Repubblicano piemontese, n. 1, 20 frimaio VII (10 dicembre 1798), p. 2 cit. in P. NOTARIO, Il Piemonte nell’età napoleonica in ID., N. NADA, Il Piemonte sabaudo. Dal periodo napoleonico al Risorgimento in G. GALASSO (a cura di), Storia d’Italia, volume VIII, tomo II, Torino 1993, p. 3.
[2] “Soppresso il Convento degl’Agostiniani della Congregazione di Lombardia esistente nel Comune d’Avigliana”, Archivio di Stato di Torino, Sezioni Riunite, Governo Francese, mazzo 283, doc. 53. Appendice documentaria, doc. VI.
[3] “Mettere mano a lavori di restauro e di ampliamento nel marzo del 1904. E furono tali, che tolsero affatto all’edifizio quel carattere di rusticità, che ancora aveva, riducendolo comodo e bello a meraviglia.”
[4] culture / nature
reason / nature
male / female
mind / body
master / slave
reason / matter (physicality)
rationality / animality
reason / emotion
mind (spirit) / nature
freedom / necessity
universal / particular
human / nature (non-human)
civilized / primitive (nature)
production / reproduction (nature)
public / private
subject / object
self / other (Plumwood 1993, 43)
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