The Little Journal that Could
Here we are, at last—volume 100, no less. And not because we took to printing a few volumes per year. No, sir. No ma’am. No, whomever. It has been just one volume per year. For one hundred years. Yes. One hundred. The Journal’s first one hundred years, as the title of this issue’s lead article proclaims. That article is by my predecessor as AJP Editor, Stewart Candlish. He surveys AJP’s life, as so far lived, with philosophical and historical clarity, sensitivity, rigour, and wit. I am grateful to Stewart for having written this, and I commend it to you.
It is familiar fare, when a person reaches their 100th birthday, for onlookers to seek the ‘secret’ to that person’s longevity. Answers abound. ‘A whisky each day.’ ‘No alcohol.’ ‘Lamb kidneys each day.’ ‘No red meat.’ And so on. What has been AJP’s secret? There is none. We try. We are fallible. But we do try. And mostly we succeed. Respectfulness. Friendliness. Acuity. A sincerely maintained shared belief in being part of something larger and good. (And luck. That is always welcome.)
Some readers will need me to explain a detail from this editorial’s title. In a game of cricket, whenever a batter has scored one hundred runs within a single innings without being ‘out’ (that is, without having been dismissed, which would end that innings), he or she is described as having scored 100*—‘one hundred not out’. Step forward, AJP.
An Editorial Farewell
This is my final issue as AJP Editor (or Editor-in-Chief, to use the official title). I began as Editor in December 2013; I am stepping down now, in March 2022. Eight-plus years, therefore. Having stepped into the role as a middle-aged person, I leave as a middle-much-more-aged one.
Have those eight+ years flown past? Define ‘flown’. An Andean condor or a southern royal albatross, distantly gracing us with an occasional twitching of a wing or two? A rainbow lorikeet, the prettiest missile imaginable, hurtling past our startled eyes? Or a hummingbird hovering, wings faster than fast can see—an illusion of mid-air immobility? Yes, maybe the hummingbird.
From the next issue onwards, Antony Eagle will be the new hummingbird. (Can an eagle be a hummingbird? Apparently, yes. That’s metaphysics, folks. It’s also serendipity: I wrote this editorial—apart from this parenthetical interlude—before having any idea that Antony was to be the new Editor.) I wish him the very best of everything relevant for his period as AJP Editor, just as Stewart Candlish wished for me in late 2013. AJP’s atmosphere of support and endeavour is worth bottling.
Thank You
AJP is not merely a journal. It links a philosophical community with a larger one—indeed, with the largest of all. The Journal functions so well because of its ‘inner’ community. Our associate editors and book reviews editors, our editorial board, and the Australasian Association of Philosophy executive: they have been great. But I want to highlight one person’s role. Editorial assistants rarely receive the public recognition that they deserve. So I am thanking ours—Lindsay Yeates, who has also been with the Journal for these eight-plus years. He began at AJP when I did (inviting him was one of my best decisions). Lindsay is a memorable person with a rich personal history, an expert on the history of hypnotism, especially James Braid, and, recently, on The Royal Commission on Animal Magnetism (to name just some of his research topics). He has been singularly dedicated and hard-working. I could not have performed my editorial role adequately without Lindsay’s ceaseless and genuinely caring assistance.
Thanks also to the journal’s ‘extended’ community—the vast number of philosophers who selflessly serve as referees. I always appreciate it, as should all of us who value good quality refereeing for our journal submissions.
Parting Words
When I was a teenager, I attended, seemingly on every birthday, a screening somewhere in Sydney of a Marx Brothers film. They were my favourites. (May I also mention my favourite author? P.G. Wodehouse—the twentieth-century’s greatest English-language humourist author. Please do read him, if you haven’t done so. I recommend this from an editorial perspective, too. Immersing oneself in inspired writing that is not just reflecting one’s country’s current vernacular, and not a result merely of reading a swathe of professional academic writing, can enrich one even as a writer of academic philosophy. And why—it has to be asked—is the Nobel Prize in Literature never awarded to a ‘mere’ humourist? The prize is officially for a writer leading us ‘in an idealistic direction’. Didn’t P.G. do that?) Anyway, I mentioned the Marx Brothers in order to quote one of their memorable lyrics. It is sung—not well, I admit—by Groucho Marx in 1930’s Animal Crackers, upon arriving at a glamorous party. (All assembled: ‘Captain Jeffrey Spaulding. Oh dear, he is coming. At last he’s here.’ And then Groucho sings, both arriving and trying to leave with almost the same breath.)
Hello, I must be going. / I cannot stay, I came to say I must be going. / I’m glad I came, but just the same I must be going.
Disclosure Statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.