I realize that this essay is partly encomium, not a broad critique of Friedman, and I also realize that I am not the equal of Brad DeLong in my understanding of economics. Nevertheless, in the current climate of an often uncritical yet passionate libertarianism, it seems necessary to point out that libertarian freedom fails on many accounts to ensure fairness. While an individual with an aggressive temperament and an astute talent for bargaining can often prevail in a free market, there is no guarantee that same person will make a good citizen or a particularly welcome neighbor.

Friedman may well have had the nimble mind necessary to sidestep the inherent failures of libertarianism in forging a working society, but his work is often used as a bludgeon to dislodge the underpinnings of the commonwealth. He often seemed to be willing to sacrifice real people's interests for a constricted and merciless ideology, and our society is reeling from the blows it has taken in the name of the free trade he advocated.

Was Friedman as strong a humanitartian as he was an interlocutor? Did he love his fellows as much as his ideas? Did he leave the world better and not just more efficient at moving markets? These seem to be the questions that remain in assessing his accomplishments, and I would be very interested in knowing what the answers are.

The sentence "there is no solution" has a friendly postmodernist feel. There is no truth! Process is all! It's the "bazaar" open-source software methodology that resulted in Linux, as opposed to the "cathedral" approach that is trying to pump out Microsoft Vista. It even captures the essence of how this blog works. I don't pretend to believe that there is one integrated answer that resolves all the contradictions and crosscurrents of globalization. I just try to understand a tiny little piece of the puzzle each day, and hope that in the long run it adds up to a compelling narrative.

Yep, that's it. That's why Andrew Leonard's insights continue to justify reading. He seems bent on incremental insights and the occasional punctuated leap. This paragraph, alone, has made my mind spring delightfully among all sorts of notions. A very welcome exercise.

There has been a growing tendency to elevate "consciousness" to some profound analog of "spirit" or "soul." Wallace is just a very articulate advocate of a very ancient human obsession with the glorious miracle of "self." The problem is that once you think about consciousness as a hallowed phenomenon, you have stopped using the word "consciousness" as a term of scientific interest.

Every breathing animal is conscious at least some of the time. So the state of being conscious, which might be called "consciousness," is not so rare a thing that heaven and earth must be joined to explain it. In this very simple framework, it is simply a mental state -- easily tested for and easily confirmed or denied.

What Wallace and others seem to want to imply is that a being's awareness of her own consciousness is somehow more mysterious than mere reflexivity. If I write, "I am writing," is it any more exciting than if I write, "I am writing about writing"? The conflation of self-awareness with something other than mental states that are contingent on physical properties is just ethereal nonsense.

Like all spiritualists, Wallace presumes a mystery that requires a supernatural solution. Take away the presumption, and the need for a supernatural explanation vanishes into the ether.

If I ever have any severe neurological problems -- including a loss of my sense of self-awareness -- I hope that I'll find myself in the care of talented, inspired neuroscientists, not quack spiritualists.

Leather folk or not, we all have some perilous or disturbing desires, and we all have, at least once, acted on them.

According to a poll I read a few years back, the mean number of sexual partners per lifetime for Americans is six. Yep, six. I have had many friends who have done that many in one gathering, though I personally drew the line at five. I am not a multitasker.

So, I'm willing to bet that the line quoted, above, is less true than its author might like to admit. Those of us who have had really adventurous, even somewhat dangerous, sexual experiences can often fail to notice how utterly plain the world around us really is. Perhaps it's appropriate to assess what is "perilous or disturbing" relative to the person experiencing the desire, but that might reduce the meaning of those terms to some fairly ridiculously low thresholds. A hand-job in an open convertible would probably send a lot of folks into near cardiac arrest.

I'm gay, so reading explicit straight sex scenes has about as much effect on me as watching a mime troupe perform Shakespeare. The mental gymnastics of merging myself with the narrator and his passions are exhausting. Nevertheless, I found Ms. Minkowitz's enthusiasm for Elliott's writing very infectious, and I wish him well with his book, his advocacy, and his perilous journey.

Elliott is a bracing, honest writer, unsentimental and fearless, except for all the shattered nerves. Thanks for the glimpse of his talent. I'd be glad to have more.