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The price of affluence

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By Amy Novotney
American Psychological Association, 2009
Vol. 40, No. 1, Page 50

New research shows that privileged teens may be more self-centered—and depressed—than ever before.

Many of today's most unhappy teens probably made the honor roll last semester and plan to attend prestigious universities, according to research by psychologist Suniya Luthar, PhD, of Columbia University's Teachers College. In a series of studies, Luthar found that adolescents reared in suburban homes with an average family income of $120,000 report higher rates of depression, anxiety and substance abuse than any other socioeconomic group of young Americans today.

"Families living in poverty face enormous challenges," says Luthar, who has also studied mental health among low-income children. "But we can't assume that things are serene at the other end."

Privileged teens often have their own obstacles to overcome. Some say these problems may be due to an increasingly narcissistic society—as is evidenced by fame-hungry reality TV stars and solipsistic Web sites. Plus, says Harvard University's Dan Kindlon, PhD, families have shrunk and kids are now seen as more precious.

"It was kind of hard to think that the world revolved around you when you had eight brothers and sisters," says Kindlon, author of "Too Much of a Good Thing: Raising Children in an Indulgent Age" (Hyperion, 2001).

Others say the trouble may stem from parents who put too much emphasis on grades and performance, as opposed to a child's personal character.

"My experience with upper-middle-class moms is that they are worried sick about their kids," says San Francisco clinical psychologist Madeline Levine, PhD, author of "The Price of Privilege: How Parental Pressure and Material Advantage are Creating a Generation of Disconnected and Unhappy Kids" (HarperCollins, 2006).

While such parents are certainly well-meaning, it may take a toll on their children.

Generation all about me

When Levine first began lecturing to parents about child rearing, she titled her talk "Parenting the Average Child" and had a hard time attracting a crowd, she recalls. "Nobody believed they had an average child," she says.

But parents aren't the only ones insisting their children are special—their kids believe it as well, according to research by San Diego State University psychology professor Jean M. Twenge, PhD. She analyzed the Narcissistic Personality Inventory (NPI) scores of 16,475 American college students between 1979 and 2006 and found that one out of four students in recent generations show elevated rates of narcissism. In 1985, that number was only one in seven.

Some narcissistic traits—such as authority and self-sufficiency—can be healthy, says Robert Horton, PhD, a psychology professor at Wabash College in Crawfordsville, Ind. But too much self-absorption can often lead to interpersonal strife, he adds. Research shows that narcissists tend to be defensive, do not forgive easily and have trouble committing to romantic relationships and holding on to friendships. In other words, their egos can get in the way of true happiness, says Twenge.

"Narcissism is correlated with so many negative outcomes," says Twenge, whose research appeared in August's Journal of Personality (Vol. 76, No. 4). "Yet it seems to be something that is now relatively accepted in our culture."

Our culture's cult of celebrity may fuel the fire. In 2006, Drew Pinsky, MD—a radio host and psychiatry professor at the University of Southern California—teamed with USC psychologist Mark Young, PhD, to measure celebrities' narcissism levels. Two hundred well-known actors, musicians and comedians completed the NPI. The researchers found that celebrities were significantly more narcissistic than the average person. The study, published in the Journal of Research in Personality (Vol. 40, No. 5), also showed that reality television stars were among the most narcissistic of all celebrities.

"These shows are a showcase for narcissism, and they're portrayed as reality," Twenge says.

Psychologist Susan E. Linn, EdD, fears that today's fascination with wealthy celebrities and reality shows such as MTV's "My Super Sweet 16"—where a teen plans a million-dollar birthday party—contribute to normalizing this type of behavior. Kids immersed in this kind of media glitz feel unfulfilled or even like failures because they are not fabulously rich or famous, she notes.

"The combination of ubiquitous and sophisticated media and technology and unfettered commercialism is just a disaster for kids," says Linn, associate director of the Media Center at the Judge Baker Children's Center at Harvard University. "A constant barrage of images of wealth and narcissism promote unhealthy values and false expectations of what life should be like."



Harvard or bust

Psychologist Kali Trzesniewski, PhD, however, isn't convinced that narcissism is really on the rise. Her research, based on a data set of high school seniors from across the country as well as college students at the University of California, finds that students answer the NPI the same as their counterparts 30 years ago. She says what may seem like self-absorption is probably just more awareness of the numerous choices now available to them when it comes to what they want to do with their lives.

"Graduates entering the job market today have a lot of opportunities and a lot more jobs to choose from, so they have the freedom to be more selective," says Trzesniewski, a psychology professor at the University of Western Ontario, whose study appeared in February's Psychological Science (Vol. 19, No. 2). "That doesn't necessarily change their core beliefs."

Levine believes that what's actually driving upper-middle-class teens' mental health troubles is a fear of failure. Parents, she says, worry that their children won't make it in an increasingly competitive world, leading to an obsession over standardized test scores and getting their kids into the right schools.

"Parents are worried that if their children don't get into Harvard, they're going to be standing with a tin cup on the corner somewhere," Levine says.


On top of perfectionism, teens often can't deal with situations that don't go their way, perhaps because their parents protected them from disappointments earlier in life, Levine says. In fact, teens who indicated that their parents overemphasized their accomplishments were most likely to be depressed or anxious and use drugs, according to a 2005 study led by Luthar in Current Directions in Psychological Science (Vol. 14, No. 1).

What can parents do? Levine and Kindlon recommend that they give their children clear responsibilities to help out around the house and that families take part in community service activities together. Turning off the TV at least one night a week and monitoring Internet use are also important, says Linn. Such actions teach children the values that can lead to greater life satisfaction, says Levine, who also urges parents to stop obsessing about perfect grades and focus more on helping their children enjoy learning for its own sake.

And parents and psychologists alike should recognize that teens who seem to have it all may, in fact, lack the resources they need to find personal happiness.

"We've been a little remiss in assuming, without much examination, that children of privilege are immune to emotional distress and victimization," says Luthar. "Pain transcends demographics and family income."

Further reading

  • Kindlon, D. (2001). Too Much of a Good Thing: Raising Children in an Indulgent Age. New York, N.Y.: Hyperion.
  • Levine, M. (2006). The Price of Privilege: How Parental Pressure and Material Advantage Are Creating a Generation of Disconnected and Unhappy Kids. New York, N.Y.: HarperCollins.
  • Twenge, J.M. (2006). Generation Me: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled—and More Miserable Than Ever Before. New York, N.Y.: Free Press.



Rosalind Hursthouse's "On Virtue Ethics"

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Rosalind Hursthouse's On Virtue Ethics Reviewed by Gilbert Harman, Department of Philosophy, Princeton University

(Read Chapter 6 of Hursthouse's book here. Also see this.)

 Virtue ethics is a type of ethical theory in which the notion of virtue or good character plays a central role. This splendid new book describes a “program” for the development of a particular (“Aristotelian”) form of virtue ethics. The book is intended to be used as a textbook, but should be read by anyone interested in moral philosophy. Hursthouse has been a major contributor to the development of virtue ethics and the program she describes, while making use of the many contributions of others, is very much her program, with numerous new ideas and insights.

The book has three parts. The first dispels common misunderstandings and explains how virtue ethics applies to complex moral issues. The second discusses moral motivation, especially the motivation involved in doing something because it is right. The third explains how questions about the objectivity of ethics are to be approached within virtue ethics.

Structure

Hursthouse’s virtue ethics takes as central the conception of a human being who possesses all ethical virtues of character and no vices or defects of character—”human being” rather than “person” because the relevant character traits are “natural” to the species.

To a first approximation, virtue ethics says that a right action is an action among those available that a perfectly virtuous human being would characteristically do under the circumstances. This is only a first approximation because of complications required in order accurately to describe certain moral dilemmas.

It is possible to be faced with a dilemma through having acted wrongly. In one of Hursthouse’s examples, a man, promising marriage, gets two women pregnant. Given that there is no way to fulfill all of his promises, what is the right thing for him to do? Distinguish two senses in which a course of action might be right—an action-guiding sense and an action-assessment sense. Something will be wrong with whatever the promiser does, so there is no way for him to do what is all right, or right in the action-assessment sense. But there may be a best or right choice for him to make in the circumstances, a choice that would be right in the action-guiding sense.

What is right in the action-guiding sense cannot always be identified as the choice that a perfectly virtuous human being would make in the circumstances, because sometimes a completely virtuous human being could never be in the relevant circumstances. Hursthouse believes that virtue ethics is still applicable, because she thinks that virtue ethics provides rules that can apply to such a case. However, although I see how virtue ethics can provide rules, it remains unclear to me how the rules provided could handle this particular situation. She says that every virtue of character yields a positive rule of action and every vice or defect of character yields a negative rule; so, virtue ethics allows for such rules as that one ought to tell the truth, one ought to keep ones promises, one ought to be kind to others and one should not act meanly, lie, or break promises. Where these simple rules conflict, Hursthouse proposes to “fine tune” them by considering what a virtuous human being would do in various circumstances. Perhaps this yields the right rules for circumstances no virtuous human being could be in, but I do not understand how.

She also notes that the promiser might use something that sounds like the terminology of virtue and vice in reasoning what to do. “Perhaps it would be callous to abandon A, but not to abandon B. Perhaps it would be more irresponsible to abandon A than to abandon B. . . . Then marrying A would be the morally right decision.” But in this instance the vices of callousness and irresponsibility are characteristics of possible actions rather than character traits of the agent. (No matter what the agent does, the agent will continue to have a bad character.) So, it remains unclear how these remarks fit together with the overall theory. In any event, Hursthouse also observes that a completely virtuous human being might find herself in a dilemma in which nothing that she does is right in the action-assessment sense. An example might be the situation in Sophie’s Choice in which a mother must chose which of her children is to be killed immediately and which possibly saved; if she fails to chose, they are both to be killed immediately. In such a case, there might be a decision that is right in the action-guiding sense—a decision that a fully virtuous agent would make in that situation—but the act cannot be a right act in the action-assessment sense, since it will not be all right.

The first part of On Virtue Ethics is concerned with the basic structure of this sort of virtue ethics, with considerable discussion of moral dilemmas or one or another sort. Inevitably, Hursthouse is unable to discuss every aspect of this structure. She explicitly sets aside issues of justice, for example.

I would have liked to see discussion of the worry that the virtue ethical characterization of right action is trivial because a fully virtuous human being must have perfect practical rationality. (Virtue is not just a matter of having the right ends, as in St. Paul’s or John Lennon’s idea that “All you need is love,” or Plato’s idea that all you need is a properly ordered soul. Practical rationality is needed also.) The worry is that there is no good way to characterize perfect practical rationality so as to guarantee that the fully virtuous human being will do the right thing, on the one hand, while not, on the other hand, reducing the basic principle of virtue ethics to the trivial claim that what is right is what would be done by someone who characteristically does what is right. Again, it may be that virtue ethics is able to avoid this trivialization of principle, but I do not see how.

Motivation

What is involved in doing something because it is right? Hursthouse answers that it is to act in the way a fully virtuous human being acts for the reasons that the fully virtuous human being acts on. She shows in marvelous detail that this answer agrees with common sense in a variety of cases.

Her answer also makes sense theoretically. A fully virtuous agent characteristically acts in a certain way precisely because the agent’s character leads the agent to act in that way. But for the act to be right just is for the agent’s character to be such as lead the agent to do that act. So, it follows from virtue ethics that the fully virtuous agent does the act because it is right.

It is not that the fully virtuous agent does the act because he or she thinks it is right. The agent may think, for example, “She needs my help.” On the other hand, if someone else does a similar act motivated by the thought that this is what the virtuous agent would do, the other human being does it because she thinks the act is right and does not in the same way do the act directly because it is right. Doing something directly because it is the right thing to do is not the same as doing it because one thinks it is the right thing to do.

Hursthouse says that moral motivation of this sort is a matter of degree. Children with little or no moral character gradually become adults with full moral character and capable of full moral motivation. Someone may be partly virtuous and partly not, in some ways virtuous and in some ways not. To the extent that an agent’s act results from a character that is relevantly similar to that of a fully virtuous human being, we can allow that the agent does something because it is right. Huck Finn may act from more or less virtuous character traits and so hide Jim from Jim’s slave owner because it is right to hide Jim, even though Huck thinks that it is wrong. On the other hand, Hursthouse says that a confirmed Nazi who does the right act on a particular occasion does not do it because it is right, given the great distance between the Nazi’s character and the character of a virtuous human being.

Objectivity

The third, most difficult and richest part of the book discusses whether virtue ethics has resources to determine objectively what the human virtues are. Doubts arise about this in part because different human beings in different cultures belonging to different traditions disagree about the virtues and about the relative importance of those virtues they agree about. For example, there are differences between Europeans and East Asians concerning the relative importance of prudential virtues of individual development as compared with social virtues of community. There are also disagreements about the virtues within a given society. Can we reasonably suppose that these are disagreements about objective matters of fact?

Many believe that such disagreements are not objective. Some think it is a matter of local convention what the right virtues are. Others think that one can choose what virtues to aspire to, where different human beings can be equally justified in choosing different virtues. But Hursthouse thinks it may be possible to find an objective basis for a single set of human virtues of character within a generally Aristotelian approach.

In this approach, judgments of good and defective character are to be assessed in terms of the biological, social, and rational nature of human beings. She begins her discussion of this issue by considering simple cases—judgments one might make about plants and animals. One might judge that a certain tree has good roots, that a particular tiger has a defective heart, that another tiger is a fine specimen, or that there is something wrong with a wolf that does not participate in the hunt with the other wolves. Hursthouse says such judgments are objective in that they are the sorts of judgments biologists might make in the course of describing various plants and animals.

She further says that the relevant features of plants and lower animals are to be assessed in relation to the contribution the features can be expected in general to make to the continued existence of individual plants or animals and to the preservation of the relevant species. For animals capable of feeling enjoyment and pain, features can also be assessed in relation to their tendency to make lives better in that respect. For social animals, features can be assessed in relation to their expected contribution to the functioning of the group.
The big question in this approach is whether such evaluation can be extended to human beings, who have rationality and act on reasons. Are there character traits that are in some sense “natural” to human beings that function well according the same four criteria?

Suppose that there is a unique set of character traits which are natural to human beings and such that, if everyone has them, it is generally true that an individual’s having them promises to contribute to that individual’s preservation, the preservation of the human species, the function of social groups to which the individual belongs, and the flourishing of that individual and others. Then that set of character traits is the set of human virtues in this approach.

One way for this to fail would be that a satisfactory outcome for people would require some human beings to have one set of character traits while others had a different set, as in Nietzsche’s master and slave moralities, and somewhat as there are worker bees and queen bees. While Hursthouse thinks that this is a view within virtue ethics worth that needs to be taken seriously, she also thinks that we have not yet been given sufficient reason to give up on the existence of a single set of human virtues.

Another way in which the favored approach can fail is for it to turn out that no distribution of character traits will promote the flourishing of all human beings. Hursthouse argues that we do not have to accept the conclusion that human beings are in this sense just a “mess,” because, “When we look, in detail at why so many human beings are leading, and have led, such dreadful lives, we see that occasionally this is sheer bad luck, but characteristically, it is because either they, and/or their fellow and adjacent human beings, are defective in their possession and exercise of the virtues on the standard list.” She adds in a footnote, “I suppose that one of the reasons we find it so hard to come to terms with the Holocaust is that pre-Nazi German society looks so like our own at the same period, and we are forced to the unpalatable conclusion that if it happened there because of lack of virtue in its members, we must have been similarly lacking and might have gone the same way”(264).

On the other hand, it seems to me that thinking about this and related examples (Bosnia, Somalia), and about research in social psychology about the relative explanatory importance of individual character versus the situation in which a human being is placed, suggests that the very natural human tendency to think in terms of character traits may lead us in the wrong direction. It would seem that, to the extent that we are interested in improving the lot of mankind it might be better to put less emphasis on moral education and on building character and more emphasis on trying to arrange social institutions so that human beings are not placed in situations in which they will act badly.


I doubt that Hursthouse would dispute this conclusion. I am sure she agrees with the need to set up the right social institutions. So, perhaps the best way to think of her program in this respect is to claim that there are attainable institutions which would, if in place, encourage in participants the development of the relevant character traits, where these traits would tend to sustain and be sustained by the institutions. Alas, I have been able only to skim the surface of the many interesting issues discussed in this excellent book.(*)

(*) I am indebted to John Doris for helpful comments.

The Paradoxes of Human Rights

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Costas Douzinas, Birkbeck Institute for the Humanities, University of London                     Constellations, An International Journal of Critical and Democratic Theory, Volume 20, Issue 1, pages 51-67, March 2013                                       

A new ideal has triumphed on the world stage: human rights. It unites traditional enemies, left and right, the pulpit and the state, the minister and the rebel, the developing world and the liberals of the West. The new world order, we are told, is genuinely liberal democratic. Ideological controversies of the past have given way to general agreement about the universality of western values and have placed human rights at the core of international law. After the collapse of communism, human rights have become the ideology after the end of ideologies, at the end of history, the morality of international relations, a way of conducting politics according to ethical norms.

And yet many doubts persist. The record of human rights violations since their ringing declarations at the end of the eighteenth century, after WWII and again since 1989 is quite appalling. If the twentieth century is the epoch of human rights, their triumph is, to say the least, something of a paradox. Our era has witnessed more violations of their principles than any previous, less “enlightened” one. Ours is the epoch of massacre, genocide, and ethnic cleansing. At no point in human history has there been a greater gap between the north and the south, between the poor and the rich in the developed world, or between the seduced and the excluded globally. Life expectancy at birth is around 45 years in sub-Saharan Africa but over 80 years in Northern Europe. No belief of progress allows us to ignore that never before in ‘peacetime’ and in absolute figures, have so many men, women, and children been subjugated, starved, or exterminated.

There is a second paradox: if the world has accepted a common humanitarian vision, have conflicts of ideology, religion, and ethnicity ceased? Obviously not. This means that human rights have no common meaning or that the term describes radically different phenomena. There is something more: human rights are perhaps the most important liberal legal institution. Liberal jurisprudence and political philosophy, however, have failed rather badly in their understanding of rights. Two hundred years of social theory and the three major ‘continents’ of thought, according to Louis Althusser, do not enter the annals of jurisprudence: Hegel, Marx, the post-Marxists, and the dialectic of struggle; Nietzsche, Foucault, and the analytics of power; Freud, the post-Freudians, psychoanalysis and subjectivity. As a result, jurisprudence and political philosophy return to the 18th century and update the social contract with ‘original positions’ and ‘veils of ignorance,’ the categorical imperative with ‘ideal speech’ situations and fundamental discourse principles all referring to individuals fully in control of themselves.

The mainstreaming of human rights and the rise of cosmopolitanism coincided with the emergence of what sociologists have called “globalization,” economists “neo-liberalism,” and political philosophers “post-democratic governance.” Is there a link between recent moralistic ideology, greedy capitalism and bio-political governmentality? My answer is a clear yes. Nationally, the bio-political form of power has increased the surveillance, disciplining, and control of life. Morality (and rights as morality's main building block in late capitalism) was always part of the dominant order, in close contact with each epoch's forms of power. Recently, however, rights have mutated from a relative defense against power to a modality of its operations. If rights express, promote and legalize individual desire, they have been contaminated by desire's nihilism. Internationally, the modernist edifice is undermined at the point when the completion of the decolonization process and the relative rise of the developing world create the prospect of a successful defense of its interests. The imposition of ‘cosmopolitan’ economic, cultural, legal, and military policies is an attempt to reassert western hegemony.

The wars of the new world order as well as the 2008 economic crisis and its political culmination in 2011 give us a unique opportunity to examine the post-1989 settlement. The best time to demystify ideology is when it enters into crisis. At this point, the taken for granted, “natural”, invisible premises of ideology come to the surface, become objectified, and can be understood for the first time as constructs. The ‘humanitarian’ interpretation of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars highlighted the absurdity of killing humans to ‘save’ humanity. The absence of human rights demands in Madrid, Athens, or Occupy Wall Street indicated their limited relevance for the most important movement of our times. In the wake of this world wave of protest, several major themes of political philosophy need to be re-visited.

This essay briefly presents an alternative approach to human rights built over a long period of campaigning and scholarship in a trilogy of books.1 It follows the insight that the term human rights, with its immense symbolic capital, has been co-opted to a large number of relatively independent discourses, practices, institutions and campaigns. As a result no global ‘theory’ of rights exists or can be created. Different theoretical perspectives and disciplinary approaches are therefore necessary. This article starts a short history of the idea of humanity and moves to the political, legal, philosophical, and psychological aspects of rights. To indicate this multi-layered approach, it puts forward an axiom and seven theses that re-write the standard liberal approach to rights.

The Human Rights Axiom

The end of human rights is to resist public and private domination and oppression. They lose that end when they become the political ideology or idolatry of neo-liberal capitalism or the contemporary version of the civilizing mission.

Thesis 1

The idea of ‘humanity’ has no fixed meaning and cannot act as the source of moral or legal rules. Historically, the idea has been used to classify people into the fully human, the lesser human, and the inhuman.

If ‘humanity’ is the normative source of moral and legal rules, do we know what ‘humanity’ is? Important philosophical and ontological questions are involved here. Let me have a brief look at its history.

Pre-modern societies did not develop a comprehensive idea of the human species. Free men were Athenians or Spartans, Romans or Carthaginians, but not members of humanity; they were Greeks or barbarians, but not humans. According to classical philosophy, a teleologically determined human nature distributes people across social hierarchies and roles and endows them with differentiated characteristics. The word humanitas appeared for the first time in the Roman Republic as a translation of the Greek word paideia. It was defined as eruditio et institutio in bonas artes (the closest modern equivalent is the German Bildung). The Romans inherited the concept from Stoicism and used it to distinguish between the homo humanus, the educated Roman who was conversant with Greek culture and philosophy and was subjected to the jus civile, and the homines barbari, who included the majority of the uneducated non-Roman inhabitants of the Empire. Humanity enters the western lexicon as an attribute and predicate of homo, as a term of separation and distinction. For Cicero as well as the younger Scipio, humanitas implies generosity, politeness, civilization, and culture and is opposed to barbarism and animality.2 “Only those who conform to certain standards are really men in the full sense, and fully merit the adjective ‘human’ or the attribute ‘humanity.’”3 Hannah Arendt puts it sarcastically: ‘a human being or homo in the original meaning of the word indicates someone outside the range of law and the body politic of the citizens, as for instance a slave – but certainly a politically irrelevant being.’4

If we now turn to the political and legal uses of humanitas, a similar history emerges. The concept ‘humanity’ has been consistently used to separate, distribute, and classify people into rulers, ruled, and excluded. ‘Humanity’ acts as a normative source for politics and law against a background of variable inhumanity. This strategy of political separation curiously entered the historical stage at the precise point when the first proper universalist conception of humanitas emerged in Christian theology, captured in the St Paul's statement, that there is no Greek or Jew, man or woman, free man or slave (Epistle to the Galatians 3:28). All people are equally part of humanity because they can be saved in God's plan of salvation and, secondly, because they share the attributes of humanity now sharply differentiated from a transcended divinity and a subhuman animality. For classical humanism, reason determines the human: man is a zoon logon echon or animale rationale. For Christian metaphysics, on the other hand, the immortal soul, both carried and imprisoned by the body, is the mark of humanity. The new idea of universal equality, unknown to the Greeks, entered the western world as a combination of classical and Christian metaphysics.

The divisive action of ‘humanity’ survived the invention of its spiritual equality. Pope, Emperor, Prince, and King, these representatives and disciples of God on earth were absolute rulers. Their subjects, the sub-jecti or sub-diti, take the law and their commands from their political superiors. More importantly, people will be saved in Christ only if they accept the faith, since non-Christians have no place in the providential plan. This radical divide and exclusion founded the ecumenical mission and proselytizing drive of Church and Empire. Christ's spiritual law of love turned into a battle cry: let us bring the pagans to the grace of God, let us make the singular event of Christ universal, let us impose the message of truth and love upon the whole world. The classical separation between Greek (or human) and barbarian was based on clearly demarcated territorial and linguistic frontiers. In the Christian empire, the frontier was internalized and split the known globe diagonally between the faithful and the heathen. The barbarians were no longer beyond the city as the city expanded to include the known world. They became ‘enemies within’ to be appropriately corrected or eliminated if they stubbornly refused spiritual or secular salvation.

The meaning of humanity after the conquest of the ‘New World’ was vigorously contested in one of the most important public debates in history. In April 1550, Charles V of Spain called a council of state in Valladolid to discuss the Spanish attitude towards the vanquished Indians of Mexico. The philosopher Ginés de Sepulveda and the Bishop Bartholomé de las Casas, two major figures of the Spanish Enlightenment, debated on opposite sides. Sepulveda, who had just translated Aristotle's Politics into Spanish, argued that “the Spaniards rule with perfect right over the barbarians who, in prudence, talent, virtue, humanity are as inferior to the Spaniards as children to adults, women to men, the savage and cruel to the mild and gentle, I might say as monkey to men.”5 The Spanish crown should feel no qualms in dealing with Indian evil. The Indians could be enslaved and treated as barbarian and savage slaves in order to be civilized and proselytized.

Las Casas disagreed. The Indians have well-established customs and settled ways of life, he argued, they value prudence and have the ability to govern and organize families and cities. They have the Christian virtues of gentleness, peacefulness, simplicity, humility, generosity, and patience, and are waiting to be converted. They look like our father Adam before the Fall, wrote las Casas in his Apologia, they are ‘unwitting’ Christians. In an early definition of humanism, las Casas argued that “all the people of the world are humans under the only one definition of all humans and of each one, that is that they are rational…Thus all races of humankind are one.”6 His arguments combined Christian theology and political utility. Respecting local customs is good morality but also good politics: the Indians would convert to Christianity (las Casas’ main concern) but also accept the authority of the Crown and replenish its coffers, if they were made to feel that their traditions, laws, and cultures are respected. But las Casas’ Christian universalism was, like all universalisms, exclusive. He repeatedly condemned “Turks and Moors, the veritable barbarian outcasts of the nations” since they cannot be seen as “unwitting” Christians. An “empirical” universalism of superiority and hierarchy (Sepulveda) and a normative one of truth and love (las Casas) end up being not very different. As Tzvetan Todorov pithily remarks, there is “violence in the conviction that one possesses the truth oneself, whereas this is not the case for others, and that one must furthermore impose that truth on those others.”7

The conflicting interpretations of humanity by Sepulveda and las Casas capture the dominant ideologies of Western empires, imperialisms, and colonialisms. At one end, the (racial) other is inhuman or subhuman. This justifies enslavement, atrocities, and even annihilation as strategies of the civilizing mission. At the other end, conquest, occupation, and forceful conversion are strategies of spiritual or material development, of progress and integration of the innocent, naïve, undeveloped others into the main body of humanity.

These two definitions and strategies towards otherness act as supports of western subjectivity. The helplessness, passivity, and inferiority of the “undeveloped” others turns them into our narcissistic mirror-image and potential double. These unfortunates are the infants of humanity. They are victimized and sacrificed by their own radical evildoers; they are rescued by the West who helps them grow, develop and become our likeness. Because the victim is our mirror image, we know what his interest is and impose it “for his own good.” At the other end, the irrational, cruel, victimizing others are projections of the Other of our unconscious. As Slavoj Žižek puts it, “there is a kind of passive exposure to an overwhelming Otherness, which is the very basis of being human…[the inhuman] is marked by a terrifying excess which, although it negates what we understand as ‘humanity’ is inherent to being human.”8 We have called this abysmal other lurking in the psyche and unsettling the ego various names: God or Satan, barbarian or foreigner, in psychoanalysis the death drive or the Real. Today they have become the “axis of evil,” the “rogue state,” the “bogus refugee,” or the “illegal” migrant. They are contemporary heirs to Sepulveda's “monkeys,” epochal representatives of inhumanity.

A comparison of the cognitive strategies associated with the Latinate humanitas and the Greek anthropos is instructive. The humanity of humanism (and of the academic Humanities9) unites knowing subject and known object following the protocols of self-reflection. The anthropos of physical and social anthropology, on the other hand, is the object only of cognition. Physical anthropology examines bodies, senses, and emotions, the material supports of life. Social anthropology studies diverse non-western peoples, societies, and cultures, but not the human species in its essence or totality. These peoples emerged out of and became the object of observation and study through discovery, conquest, and colonization in the new world, Africa, Asia, or in the peripheries of Europe. As Nishitani Osamu puts it, humanity and anthropos signify two asymmetrical regimes of knowledge.10 Humanity is civilization, anthropos is outside or before civilization. In our globalized world, the minor literatures of anthropos are examined by comparative literature, which compares “civilization” with lesser cultures.

The gradual decline of Western dominance is changing these hierarchies. Similarly, the disquiet with a normative universalism, based on a false conception of humanity, indicates the rise of local, concrete, and context-bound normativities.

In conclusion, because ‘humanity’ has no fixed meaning, it cannot act as a source of norms. Its meaning and scope keeps changing according to political and ideological priorities. The continuously changing conceptions of humanity are the best manifestations of the metaphysics of an age. Perhaps the time has come for anthropos to replace the human. Perhaps the rights to come will be anthropic (to coin a term) rather than human, expressing and promoting singularities and differences instead of the sameness and equivalences of hitherto dominant identities.

Thesis 2

Power and morality, empire and cosmopolitanism, sovereignty and rights, law and desire are not fatal enemies. Instead, a historically specific amalgam of power and morality forms the structuring order of each epoch and society.

We will explore the strong internal connection between these superficially antagonistic principles, at the point of their emergence in the late 18th century here and in the post-1989 order in the next part.

The religious grounding of humanity was undermined by the liberal political philosophies of early modernity. The foundation of humanity was transferred from God to (human) nature. Human nature has been interpreted as an empirical fact, a normative value, or both. Science has driven the first approach. The mark of humanity has been variously sought in language, reason or evolution. Man as species existence emerged as a result of legal and political innovations. The idea of humanity is the creation of humanism, with legal humanism at the forefront. Indeed the great 18th century revolutions and declarations paradigmatically manifest and helped construct modern universalism. And yet, at the heart of humanism, humanity remained a strategy of division and classification.

We can follow briefly this contradictory process, which both proclaims the universal and excludes the local in the text of the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen, the manifesto of modernity. Article 1, the progenitor of normative universalism, states that ‘men are born and remain free and equal of right’ a claim repeated in the inaugural article of the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Equality and liberty are declared natural entitlements and independent of governments, epochal, and local factors. And yet the Declaration is categorically clear about the real source of universal rights. Article 2 states that ‘the aim of any political association is to preserve the natural and inalienable rights of man’ and Article 3 proceeds to define this association: ‘The principle of all Sovereignty lies essentially with the nation.’

‘Natural’ and eternal rights are declared on behalf of the universal “man.” However these rights do not pre-exist but were created by the Declaration. A new type of political association, the sovereign nation and its state and a new type of ‘man’, the national citizen, came into existence and became the beneficiary of rights. In a paradoxical fashion, the declaration of universal principle established local sovereignty. From that point, statehood and territory follow a national principle and belong to a dual time. If the declaration inaugurated modernity, it also started nationalism and its consequences: genocide, ethnic and civil war, ethnic cleansing, minorities, refugees, the stateless. The spatial principle is clear: every state and territory should have its unique dominant nation and every nation should have its own state – a catastrophic development for peace as its extreme application since 1989 has shown.

The new temporal principle replaced religious eschatology with a historical teleology, which promised the future suturing of humanity and nation. This teleology has two possible variants: either the nation imposes its rule on humanity or universalism undermines parochial divides and identities. Both variants became apparent when the Romans turned Stoic cosmopolitanism into the imperial legal regulation of jus gentium. In France, the first alternative appeared in the Napoleonic war, which allegedly spread the civilizing influence through conquest and occupation (according to Hegel, Napoleon was the world spirit on horseback); while the second was the beginning of a modern cosmopolitanism, in which slavery was abolished and colonial people were given political rights for a limited time after the Revolution. From the imperial deformation of Stoic cosmopolitanism to the current use of human rights to legitimize Western global hegemony, every normative universalism has decayed into imperial globalism. The split between normative and empirical humanity resists its healing, precisely because universal normativity has been invariably defined by a part of humanity.

The universal humanity of liberal constitutions was the normative ground of division and exclusion. A gap was opened between universal “man,” the ontological principle of modernity, and national citizen, its political instantiation and the real beneficiary of rights. The nation-state came into existence through the exclusion of other people and nations. The modern subject reaches her humanity by acquiring political rights of citizenship, which guarantee her admission to the universal human nature by excluding from that status others. The alien as a non-citizen is the modern barbarian. He does not have rights because he is not part of the state and he is a lesser human being because he is not a citizen. One is a man to greater or lesser degree because one is a citizen to a greater or lesser degree. The alien is the gap between man and citizen.

In our globalised world, not to have citizenship, to be stateless or a refugee, is the worst fate. Strictly speaking, human rights do not exist: if they are given to people on account of their humanity and not of some lower level group membership, then refugees, the sans papiers migrants and prisoners in Guatanamo Bay and similar detention centers, who have little if any legal protection, should be their main beneficiaries. They have few, if any, rights. They are legally abandoned, bare life, the homines sacri of the new world order.

The epochal move to the subject is driven and exemplified by legal personality. As species existence, the “man” of the rights of man appears without gender, color, history, or tradition. He has no needs or desires, he is an empty vessel united with all others through three abstract traits: free will, reason, and the soul (now the mind) — the universal elements of human essence. This minimum of humanity allows “man” to claim autonomy, moral responsibility, and legal subjectivity. At the same time, the empirical man who actually enjoys the ‘rights of man’ is a man all too man: a well-off, heterosexual, white, urban male who condenses in his person the abstract dignity of humanity and the real prerogatives of belonging to the community of the powerful. A second exclusion therefore conditions humanism, humanity and its rights. Mankind excludes improper men, that is, men of no property or propriety, humans without rhyme and reason, women, racial, and ethnic sexual minorities. Rights construct humans against a variable inhumanity or anthropology. Indeed these “inhuman conditions of humanity,” as Pheng Cheah has called them, act as quasi-transcendental preconditions of modern life.11

The contemporary history of human rights can be seen as the ongoing and always failing struggle to close the gap between the abstract man and the concrete citizen; to add flesh, blood and sex to the pale outline of the ‘human’ and extend the dignities and privileges of the powerful (the characteristics of normative humanity) to empirical humanity. This has not happened however and is unlikely to be achieved through the action of rights.

Thesis 3

The post-1989 order combines an economic system that generates huge structural inequalities and oppression with a juridico-political ideology promising dignity and equality. This major instability is contributing to its demise.

Why and how did this combination of neo-liberal capitalism and humanitarianism emerge? Capitalism has always moralized the economy and applied a gloss of righteousness to profit-making and unregulated competition precisely because it is so hard to believe. From Adam Smith's ‘hidden hand’ to the assertion that unrestrained egotism promotes the common good or that beneficial effects ‘trickle down’ if the rich get even bigger tax breaks, capitalism has consistently tried to claim the moral high ground.12

Similarly, human rights and their dissemination are not simply the result of the liberal or charitable disposition of the West. The predominantly negative meaning of freedom as the absence of external constraints – a euphemism for keeping state regulation of the economy at a minimum – has dominated the Western conception of human rights and turned them into the perfect companion of neo-liberalism. Global moral and civic rules are the necessary companion of the globalization of economic production and consumption, of the completion of world capitalism that follows neo-liberal dogmas. Over the last 30 years, we have witnessed, without much comment, the creation of global legal rules regulating the world capitalist economy, including rules on investment, trade, aid, and intellectual property. Robert Cooper has called it the voluntary imperialism of the global economy. “It is operated by an international consortium of financial Institutions such as the IMF and the World Bank…These institutions…make demands, which increasingly emphasise good governance. If states wish to benefit, they must open themselves up to the interference of international organisations and foreign states.” Cooper concludes that “what is needed then is a new kind of imperialism, one acceptable to a world of human rights and cosmopolitan values.”13

The (implicit) promise to the developing world is that the violent or voluntary adoption of the market-led, neo-liberal model of good governance and limited rights will inexorably lead to Western economic standards. This is fraudulent. Historically, the Western ability to turn the protection of formal rights into a limited guarantee of material, economic, and social rights was partly based on huge transfers from the colonies to the metropolis. While universal morality militates in favor of reverse flows, Western policies on development aid and Third World debt indicate that this is not politically feasible. Indeed, the successive crises and re-arrangements of neoliberal capitalism lead to dispossession and displacement of family farming by agribusiness, to forced migration and urbanization. These processes expand the number of people without skills, status, or the basics for existence. They become human debris, the waste-life, the bottom billions. This neo-colonial attitude has now been extended from the periphery to the European core. Greece, Portugal, Ireland, and Spain have been subjected to the rigors of the neoliberal “Washington Consensus” of austerity and destruction of the welfare state, despite its failure in the developing world. More than half the young people of Spain and Greece are permanently unemployed and a whole generation is being destroyed. But this gene-cide, to coin a term, has not generated a human rights campaign.

As Immanuel Wallerstein put it, “if all humans have equal rights, and all the peoples have equal rights, then we cannot maintain the kind of inegalitarian system that the capitalist world economy has always been and always will be.”14 When the unbridgeability of the gap between the missionary statements on equality and dignity and the bleak reality of obscene inequality becomes apparent, human rights will lead to new and uncontrollable types of tension and conflict. Spanish soldiers met the advancing Napoleonic armies shouting “Down with freedom!” Today people meet the ‘peacekeepers’ of the new world order with cries of “Down with human rights!”

Social and political systems become hegemonic by turning their ideological priorities into universal principles and values. In the new world order, human rights are the perfect candidate for this role. Their core principles, interpreted negatively and economically, promote neo-liberal capitalist penetration. Under a different construction, their abstract provisions could subject the inequalities and indignities of late capitalism to withering attack. But this cannot happen as long as they are used by the dominant powers to spread the ‘values’ of an ideology based on the nihilism and insatiability of desire.

Despite differences in content, colonialism and the human rights movement form a continuum, episodes in the same drama, which started with the great discoveries of the new world and is now carried out in the streets of Iraq and Afghanistan: bringing civilization to the barbarians. The claim to spread Reason and Christianity gave western empires their sense of superiority and their universalizing impetus. The urge is still there; the ideas have been redefined but the belief in the universality of our world-view remains as strong as that of the colonialists. There is little difference between imposing reason and good governance and proselytizing for Christianity and human rights. They are both part of the cultural package of the West, aggressive and redemptive at the same time.

Thesis 4

Universalism and communitarianism rather than being opponents are two types of humanism dependent on each other. They are confronted by the ontology of singular equality

The debate about the meaning of humanity as the ground normative source is conducted between universalists and communitarians. The universalist claims that cultural values and moral norms should pass a test of universal applicability and logical consistency and often concludes that, if there is one moral truth but many errors, it is incumbent upon its agents to impose it on others.

Communitarians start from the obvious observation that values are context-bound and try to impose them on those who disagree with the oppressiveness of tradition. Both principles, when they become absolute essences and define the meaning and value of humanity without remainder, can find everything that resists them expendable.

Kosovo is a good example. The proud Serbians killed and ‘cleansed’ ethnic Albanians in order to protect the integrity of the ‘cradle’ of their nation (interestingly, like most wild nationalisms, celebrating a historic defeat). NATO bombers killed people in Belgrade and Kosovo from 35,000 feet in order to defend the rights of humanity. Both positions exemplify, perhaps in different ways, the contemporary metaphysical urge: they have made an axiomatic decision as to what constitutes the essence of humanity and follow it with a stubborn disregard for alternatives. They are the contemporary expressions of a humanism that defines the ‘essence’ of humanity all the way to its end, as telos and finish. To paraphrase Emanuel Levinas, to save the human we must defeat this type of humanism.

The individualism of universal principles forgets that every person is a world and comes into existence in common with others, that we are all in community. Every human is a singular being, unique in her existence as an unrepeatable concatenation of past encounters, desires, and dreams with future projections, expectations, and plans. Every single person forms a phenomenological cosmos of meaning and intentionality, in relations of desire conversation and recognition with others. Being in common is an integral part of being self: self is exposed to the other, it is posed in exteriority, the other is part of the intimacy of self. My face is “always exposed to others, always turned toward an other and faced by him or her never facing myself.”15

Indeed being in community with others is the opposite of common being or of belonging to an essential community. Communitarians, on the other hand, define community through the commonality of tradition, history, and culture, the various past crystallizations whose inescapable weight determines present possibilities. The essence of the communitarian community is often to compel or ‘allow’ people to find their ‘essence,’ common ‘humanity’ now defined as the spirit of the nation or of the people or the leader. We have to follow traditional values and exclude what is alien and other. Community as communion accepts human rights only to the extent that they help submerge the I into the We, all the way till death, the point of ‘absolute communion’ with dead tradition.16

Both universal morality and cultural identity express different aspects of human experience. Their comparison in the abstract is futile and their differences are not pronounced. When a state adopts ‘universal’ human rights, it will interpret and apply them, if at all, according to local legal procedures and moral principles, making the universal the handmaiden of the particular. The reverse is also true: even those legal systems that jealously guard traditional rights and cultural practices against the encroachment of the universal are already contaminated by it. All rights and principles, even if parochial in their content, share the universalizing impetus of their form. In this sense, rights carry the seed of the dissolution of community and the only defense is to resist the idea of rights altogether, something impossible in global neo-liberalism. The claims of universality and tradition, rather than standing opposed in mortal combat, have become uneasy allies, whose fragile liaison has been sanctioned by the World Bank.

From our perspective, humanity cannot act as a normative principle.. Humanity is not a property shared. It is discernible in the incessant surprising of the human condition and its exposure to an undecided open future. Its function lies not in a philosophical essence but in its non-essence, in the endless process of re-definition and the necessary but impossible attempt to escape external determination. Humanity has no foundation and no end; it is the definition of groundlessness.

Thesis 5

In advanced capitalist societies, human rights de-politicize politics.

Rights form the terrain on which people are distributed into rulers, ruled, and excluded. Power's mode of operation is revealed, if we observe which people are given or deprived of which rights at which particular place or point in time. In this sense, human rights both conceal and affirm the dominant structure of a period and help combat it. Marx was the first to realize the paradoxical nature of rights. Natural rights emerged as a symbol of universal emancipation, but they were at the same time a powerful weapon in the hands of the rising capitalist class, securing and naturalizing emerging dominant economic and social relations. They were used to take out of political challenge the central institutions of capitalism such as religion, property, contractual relations and the family, thus providing the best protection possible. Ideologies, private interests, and egotistical concerns appear natural, normal, and for the public good when they are glossed over by rights vocabulary. As Marx inimitably put it, “freedom, equality, property and Bentham.”17

Early human rights were historical victories of groups and individuals against state power while at the same time promoting a new type of domination. As Giorgio Agamben argues, they “simultaneously prepared a tacit but increasing inscription of individuals’ lives within the state order, thus offering a new and more dreadful foundation for the very sovereign power from which they wanted to liberate themselves.”18 In late capitalism, with its proliferating bio-political regulation, the endlessly multiplying rights paradoxically increase power's investment on bodies.

If classical natural rights protected property and religion by making them ‘apolitical’, the main effect of rights today is to depoliticize politics itself. Let us introduce a key distinction in recent political philosophy between politics (la politique) and the political (le politique). According to Chantal Mouffe, politics is the terrain of routine political life, the activity of debating, lobbying, and horse-trading that takes places around Westminster and Capitol Hill.19 The ‘political,’ on the other hand, refers to the way in which the social bond is instituted and concerns deep rifts in society. The political is the expression and articulation of the irreducibility of social conflict. Politics organizes the practices and institutions through which order is created, normalizing social co-existence in the context of conflict provided by the political.

This deep antagonism is the result of the tension between the structured social body, where every group has its role, function, and place, and what Jacques Rancière calls “the part of no part.” Groups that have been radically excluded from the social order; they are invisible, outside the established sense of what exists and is acceptable. Politics proper erupts only when an excluded part demands to be included and must change the rules of inclusion to achieve that. When they succeed, a new political subject is constituted, in excess to the hierarchized and visible group of groups and a division is put in the pre-existing common sense.20

What is the role of human rights in this division between politics and the political? Right claims reinforce rather than challenge established arrangements. The claimant accepts the established power and distribution orders and transforms the political claim into a demand for admission to the law. The role of law is to transform social and political tensions into a set of solvable problems regulated by rules and hand them over to rule experts. The rights claimant is the opposite of the revolutionaries of the early declarations, whose task was to change the overall design of the law. To this extent, his actions abandon the original commitment of rights to resist and oppose oppression and domination. The ‘excessive’ subjects, who stand for the universal from a position of exclusion, have been replaced by social and identity groups seeking recognition and limited re-distribution.

In the new world order the right-claims of the excluded are foreclosed by political, legal, and military means. Economic migrants, refugees, prisoners of the war on terror, the sans papiers, inhabitants of African camps, these ‘one use humans’ are the indispensable precondition of human rights but, at the same time, they are the living, or rather dying, proof of their impossibility. Successful human rights struggles have undoubtedly improved the lives of people by marginal re-arrangements of social hierarchies and non-threatening re-distributions of the social product. But their effect is to de-politicize conflict and remove the possibility of radical change.

We can conclude that human rights claims and struggles bring to the surface the exclusion, domination and exploitation, and inescapable strife that permeates social and political life. But, at the same time, they conceal the deep roots of strife and domination by framing struggle and resistance in the terms of legal and individual remedies which, if successful, lead to small individual improvements and a marginal re-arrangement of the social edifice. Can human rights re-activate a politics of resistance? The intrinsic link between early natural rights, (religious) transcendence, and political radicalism opened the possibility. It is still active in parts of the world not fully incorporated in the biopolitical operations of power. But only just. The metaphysics of the age is that of the deconstruction of essence and meaning, the closing of the divide between ideal and real, the subjection of the universal to the dominant particular. Economic globalization and semiotic monolingualism are carrying this task out in practice; its intellectual apologists do it in theory. The political and moral duty of the critic is to keep the rift open and to discover and fight for transcendence in immanence.

Thesis 6

In advanced capitalist societies, human rights become strategies for the publicization and legalization of (insatiable) individual desire.

Liberal theories from Immanuel Kant to John Rawls present the self as a solitary and rational entity endowed with natural characteristics and rights and in full control of himself. Rights to life, liberty, and property are presented as integral to humanity's well-being. The social contract (or its heuristic restatement through the “original position”) creates society and government but preserves these rights and makes them binding on government. Rights and today human rights are pre-social, they belong to humans precisely because they are humans. We use this natural patrimony as tools or instruments to confront the outside world, to defend our interests, and to pursue our life plans

This position is sharply contrasted by Hegelian and Marxist dialectics, hermeneutics and psychoanalysis. The human self is not a stable and isolated entity that, once formed, goes into the world and acts according to pre-arranged motives and intentions. Self is created through constant interactions with others, the subject is always inter-subjective. My identity is constructed in an ongoing dialogue and struggle for recognition, in which others (both people and institutions) acknowledge certain characteristics, attributes, and traits as mine, helping create my own sense of self. Identity emerges out of this conversation and struggle with others which follows the dialectic of desire. Law is a tool and effect of this dialectic; human rights acknowledge the constitutive role of desire.

Hegel's basic idea can be put simply. The self is both separate from and dependent upon the external world. Dependence on the not-I, both the object and the other person, makes the self realize that he is not complete but lacking and that he is constantly driven by desire. Life is a continuous struggle to overcome the foreignness of the other person or object. Survival depends on overcoming this radical split from the not-I, while maintaining the sense of uniqueness of self.21

Identity is therefore dynamic always on the move. I am in ongoing dialogue with others, a conversation that keeps changing others and re-drawing my own self-image. Human rights do not belong to humans and do not follow the dictates of humanity; they construct humans. A human being is someone who can successfully claim human rights and the group of rights we have determines how “human” we are; our identity depends on the bunch of rights we can successfully mobilize in relations with others. If this is the case, rights must be linked with deep-seated psychological functions and needs. From the heights of Hegelian dialectics, we now move to the much darker territory of Freudian psychoanalysis.

Jus vitam institutare, the law constitutes life, states a Roman maxim. For psychoanalysis it remains true. We become independent, speaking subjects by entering the symbolic order of language and law. But this first ‘symbolic castration’ must be supplemented by a second that makes us legal subjects. It introduces us into the social contract leaving behind the family life of protection, love, and care. The symbolic order imposes upon us the demands of social life. God, King, or the Sovereign act as universal fathers, representing an omnipotent and unitary social power, which places us in the social division of labor. If, according to Jacques Lacan, the name of the father makes us speaking subjects, the name of the Sovereign turns us into legal subjects and citizens.

This second entry into the law denies, like symbolic castration, the perceived wholeness of family intimacy and replaces it with partial recognitions and incomplete entitlements. Rights by their nature cannot treat the whole person. In law, a person is never a complete being but a persona, ritual or theatrical mask, that hides his or her face under a combination of partial rights. The legal subject is a combination of overlapping and conflicting rights and duties; they are law's blessing and curse. Rights are manifestations of individual desire as well as tools of societal bonding. Following the standard Lacanian division, rights have symbolic, imaginary, and real aspects. Their symbolic function places us in the social division of labor, hierarchy, and exclusion, the imaginary gives us a (false) sense of wholeness while the real disrupts the pleasures of the symbolic and the falsifications of the imaginary. Psychoanalysis offers the most advanced explanation of the constitutive and contradictory work of rights.

The symbolic function of rights bestows legal personality and introduces people to independence away from the intimacy of family. Law and rights construct a formal structure, which allocates us to a place in a matrix of relations strictly indifferent to the needs or desires of flesh and blood people. Legal rights offer the minimum recognition of abstract humanity, formal equivalence and moral responsibility, irrespective of individual characteristics. At the same time, they place people on a grid of distinct and hierarchical roles and functions, of prohibitions, entitlements and exclusions. Social and economic rights add a layer of difference to abstract similarity; they recognize gender, race, religion, and sexuality, in part moving recognition from the abstract equality of humanity to differentiated qualities, characteristics, and predications. Human rights may promise universal happiness but their empirical existence and enforcement depends on genealogies, hierarchies of power and contingencies that allocate the necessary resources ignoring and dismissing expectations or needs. The legal person that rights and duties construct resembles a caricature of the actual human self. The face has been replaced by an image in the cubist style; the nose comes out of the mouth, eyes protrude on the sides, forehead and chin are reversed. It projects a three-dimensional object onto a flat canvas.

The integrity of self denied by the symbolic order of rights returns in the imaginary. Human rights promise an end to conflict, social peace and well-being (the pursuit of happiness was an early promise in the American Declaration of Independence). A society of rights offers an ideal place, a stage and supplement for the ideal ego. As a man of rights, I see myself as someone with dignity, respect, and self-respect, at peace with the world. A society that guarantees rights is a good place, peaceful and affluent, a social order made for and fitting the individual who stands at its center. A legal system that protects rights is rationally coherent and closed (Ronald Dworkin calls it a “seamless web”), morally good (it has principles and the consequent “right” answers to all “hard” problems), pragmatically efficient.

The imaginary domain of rights creates an immediate, imaged and imagined bond, between the subject, her ideal ego, and the world. Human rights project a fantasy of wholeness, which unites body and soul into an integrated self. It is a beautiful self that fits in a good world, a society made for the subject. The anticipated completeness, the projected future integrity that underpins present identity is non-existent and impossible however and, moreover, differs from person to person and from community to community. Our imaginary identification with a good society accepts too easily that the language, signs and images of human rights are (or can become) our reality. The right to work, people assert, exists since it is written in the Universal Declaration, the international Covenants, the Constitution, the law, the statements of politicians. Billions of people have no food, no employment, no education, or health care – but this brutal fact does not weaken the assertion of the ideal. The necessary replacement of materiality by signs, of needs and desires by words and images makes people believe that the mere existence of legal texts and institutions, with little performance or action, affects and completes bodies.

The imaginary promoted by human rights enthusiasts presents a world made for my sake, in which the law meets (or ought to and will meet) my desires. This happy identification with the social and legal system is based on misrecognition. The world is indifferent to my being, happiness or travails. The law is not coherent or just. Morality is not law's business and peace is always temporary and precarious, never perpetual. The state of eu zein or well-being, the terminal point of human rights, is always deferred, its promise postponed its performance impossible. For the middle classes, to be sure, human rights are birth-right and patrimony. For the unfortunates of the world, on the other hand, they are only vague promises, fake supports for offering obedience, with their delivery permanently frustrated. Like the heaven of Christianity, human rights form a receding horizon that allows people to endure daily humiliations and subjugations.

The imaginary of rights is gradually replacing social justice. The decolonization struggles, the civil rights and counter-cultural movements fought for an ideal society based on justice and equality. In the human rights age, the pursuit of collective material welfare has given way to individual gratification and the avoidance of evil. The rights imaginary goes into overdrive when it turns images into “reality,” when legal clauses and terms replace food and shelter, when weasel words become the garb and grab of power. Rights emphasize the individual, his autonomy, and his place in the world. Like all imaginary identifications, they repress the recognition that the subject is inter-subjective and that the economic and social order is strictly indifferent to the fate of any particular individual. According to Louis Althusser, ideology is not “false consciousness” but is made up of ways of living, practices, and experiences that misrecognize our place in the world. It is “the imaginary relationship of individuals to their real conditions of existence.” In this sense, human rights are ideology at its strongest but one very different from that of Michael Ignatieff.22

Finally, the symbolic and imaginary operation of rights finds its limit in the real. We hover around the vortex of the real: the lack at the core of subjectivity both causes our projects to fail and creates the drive to continue the effort. When we make a demand, we not only ask the other to fulfill a need but also to offer us unreserved love. An infant, who asks for his mother's breast, needs food but also asks for his mother's attention and love. Desire is always the desire of the other and signifies precisely the excess of demand over need. Each time my need for an object enters language and addresses the other, it is the request for recognition and love. But this demand for wholeness and unqualified recognition cannot be met by the big Other (language, law, the state) or the other person. The big Other is the cause and symbol of lack. The other person cannot offer what the subject lacks because he is also lacking. In our appeal to the other, we confront lack, a lack that can neither be filled nor fully symbolized.

Rights allow us to express our needs in language by formulating them as a demand. A human rights claim involves two demands addressed to the other: a specific request in relation to one aspect of the claimant's personality or status (such as to be left alone, not to suffer in one's bodily integrity, and to be treated equally), but, in addition, a much wider demand to have one's whole identity recognized in its specific characteristics. When a person of color claims, for example, that the rejection of a job application amounted to a denial of her human right to non-discrimination, she makes two related but relatively independent claims. The rejection is both to an unfair denial of the applicant's need for a job but also it denigrates her wider identity. Every right therefore links a need of a part of the body or personality with what exceeds need, the desire that the claimant be recognized and loved as a whole and complete person.

The subject of rights tries to find the missing object that will fill lack and turn him into a complete integral being in the desire of the other. But this object does not exist and cannot be possessed. Rights offer the hope that subject and society can become whole: ‘if only my attributes and characteristics were given legal recognition, I would be happy’; ‘if only the demands of human dignity and equality were fully enforced, society would be just.’ But desire cannot be fulfilled. Rights become a fantastic supplement that arouses but never satiates the subject's desire. Rights always agitate for more rights. They lead to new areas of claim and entitlement that again and again prove insufficient.

Today human rights have become the mark of civility. But their success is limited. No right can earn me the full recognition and love of the other. No bill of rights can complete the struggle for a just society. Indeed the more rights we introduce, the greater the pressure is to legislate for more, to enforce them better, to turn the person into an infinite collector of rights, and to turn humanity into an endlessly proliferating mosaic of laws. The law keeps colonizing life and the social world, while the endless spiral of more rights, acquisitions, and possessions fuels the subject's imagination and dominates the symbolic world. Rights become the reward for psychological lack and political impotence. Fully positivized rights and legalized desire extinguish the self-creating potential of human rights. They become the symptom of all-devouring desire – a sign of the Sovereign or the individual – and at the same time its partial cure. In a strange and paradoxical twist, the more rights we have the more insecure we feel.

But there is one right that is closely linked with the real of radical desire: the right to resistance and revolt. This right is close to the death drive, to the repressed call to transcend the distributions of the symbolic order and the genteel pleasures of the imaginary for something closer to our destructive and creative inner kernel. Taking risks and not giving up on your desire is the ethical call of psychoanalysis. Resistance and revolution is their social equivalent. In the same way that the impossible and disavowed real organizes the psyche, the right to resistance forms the void at the heart of the system of law, which protects it from sclerosis and ossification.23

We can conclude that rights are about recognition (symbolic) and distribution (imaginary); except that there is a right to resistance/revolt.

Thesis 7

For a cosmopolitanism to come (or the idea of communism).

Against imperial arrogance and cosmopolitan naivety, we must insist that global neo-liberal capitalism and human-rights-for-export are part of the same project. The two must be uncoupled; human rights can contribute little to the struggle against capitalist exploitation and political domination. Their promotion by western states and humanitarians turns them into a palliative: it is useful for a limited protection of individuals but it can blunt political resistance. Human rights can re-claim their redemptive role in the hands and imagination of those who return them to the tradition of resistance and struggle against the advice of the preachers of moralism, suffering humanity, and humanitarian philanthropy.

Liberal equality as a regulative principle has failed to close the gap between rich and poor. Equality must become an axiomatic presupposition: People are free and equal; equality is not the effect but the premise of action. Whatever denies this simple truth creates a right and duty of resistance. The equality of legal rights has consistently supported inequality; axiomatic equality (each counts as one in all relevant groups) is the impossible boundary of rights culture. It means that healthcare is due to everyone who needs it, irrespective of means; that rights to residence and work belong to all who find themselves in a part of the world irrespective of nationality; that political activities can be freely engaged by all irrespective of citizenship and against the explicit prohibitions of human rights law.

The combination of the right to resistance and axiomatic equality projects a humanity opposed both to universal individualism and communitarian closure. In the age of globalization, of mondialization we suffer from a poverty of world. Each one is a cosmos but we no longer have a world, only a series of disconnected situations. Everyone a world: a knot of past events and stories, people and encounters, desires and dreams. This is also the point of ekstasis, of opening up and moving away, immortals in our mortality, symbolically finite but imaginatively infinite. The cosmopolitan capitalists promise to make us citizens of the world under a global sovereign and a well-defined and terminal humanity. This is the universalization of the lack of world, the imperialism and empiricism to which every cosmopolitanism falls.

But we should not give up the universalizing impetus of the imaginary, the cosmos that uproots every polis, disturbs every filiation, contests all sovereignty and hegemony. Resistance and radical equality map out an imaginary domain of rights which is uncannily close to utopia. According to Ernst Bloch, the present foreshadows a future not yet and, one should add, not ever possible. The future projection of an order in which man is no longer a “degraded, enslaved, abandoned or, despised being” links the best traditions of the past with a powerful “reminiscence of the future.”24 It disturbs the linear concept of time and, like psychoanalysis, it imagines the present in the image of a prefigured beautiful future, which however will never come to be. In this sense, the imaginary domain is necessarily utopian, non-existing. And yet, this non-place or nothingness grounds our sense of identity, in the same way that utopia helps create a sense of social identity. We have re-discovered in Tunisia and Tahrir Square, in Madrid's Puerta del Sol and Athens’ Syntagma Square what goes beyond and against liberal cosmopolitanism, the principle of its excess. This is the promise of the cosmopolitanism to come – or the idea of communism.25

The cosmopolitanism to come is neither the terrain of nations nor an alliance of classes, although it draws from the treasure of solidarity. Dissatisfaction with the nation, state, and the inter-national comes from a bond between singularities, which cannot be turned into essential humanity, nation, or state. The cosmos to come is the world of each unique one, of whoever or anyone; the polis, the infinite encounters of singularities. What binds me to a Palestinian, a sans papiers migrant, or an unemployed youth is not membership of humanity, nation, state, or community but a bond that cannot be contained in the dominant interpretations of humanity and cosmos or of polis and state.

Law, the principle of the polis, prescribes what constitutes a reasonable order by accepting and validating some parts of collective life, while banning, excluding others, making them invisible. Law and rights link language with things or beings; they nominate what exists and condemn the rest to invisibility and marginality. As the formal and dominant decision about existence, law carries huge ontological power. Radical desire, on the other hand is the longing for what has been banned and declared impossible by the law; what confronts past catastrophes and incorporates the promise of the future.

The axiom of equality and the right to resistance prepare militant subjects in the ongoing struggle between justice and injustice. This being together of singularities in resistance is constructed here and now with friends and strangers in acts of hospitality, in cities of resistance, Cairo, Madrid, Athens.

NOTES
1- Costas Douzinas, The End of Human Rights (Oxford: Hart, 2000); Costas Douzinas and Adam Gearey, Critical Jurisprudence (Oxford: Hart, 2005); Costas Douzinas, Human Rights and Empire (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007). This essay summarizes and moves forward this alternative approach to rights. The final part of this work entitled The Radical Philosophy of Right will be published by Routledge in 2014.
2- Hannah Arendt, On Revolution (New York: Viking Press, 1965), 107.
3- B.L. Ullman, “What are the Humanities?” Journal of Higher Education 17/6 (1946), at 302.
4- H.C. Baldry, The Unity of Mankind in Greek Thought, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), 201.
5- Gin'es de Sepulveda, Democrates Segundo of De las Justas Causa de la Guerra contra los Indios (Madrid: Institute Fransisco de Vitoria, 1951), 33 quoted in Tzvetan Todorov, The Conquest of America trans. Richard Howard (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1999), 153.
6- Bartholomé de las Casas, Obras Completas, Vol. 7 (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1922), 536–7.
7- Todorov, The Conquest of America 166, 168.
8- Slavoj Žižek, “Against Human Rights 56,” New Left Review (July-August 2005), 34.
9- Costas Douzinas, “For a Humanities of Resistance,” Critical Legal Thinking, December 7, 2010
10- Nishitani Otamu, “Anthropos and Humanity: Two Western Concepts of ‘Human Being’” in Naoki Sakai and Jon Solomon (eds.), Translation, Biopolitics, Colonial Difference (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2006), 259–274.
11- Pheng Cheah, Inhuman Conditions (Cambridge Mass: Harvard University Press, 2006), Chapter 7.
12- Jean-Claude Michéa, The Realm of Lesser Evil trans. David Fernbach (Cambridge and Malden: Polity Press, 2009), Chapter 3.
13- Robert Cooper, “The New Liberal Imperialism,” The Observer (April 1 2002), 3.
14- Immanuel Wallerstein, “The Insurmountable Contradictions of Liberalism” Southern Atlantic Quarterly (1995), 176–7.
15- Jean-Luc Nancy, The Inoperative Community (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991), xxxviii.
16- Ibid.
17- Karl Marx, Capital, Volume One (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976), 280.
18- Giorgio Agamben, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life (Stanford University Press, 1998), 121.
19- Chantal Mouffe, On the Political (London: Routledge, 2005), 8–9.
20- Jacques Rancière, Disagreement. trans. Julie Rose (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998); “Who is the Subject of the Rights of Man?” in “And Justice for All?” Ian Balfour and Eduardo Cadava, special issue, eds., South Atlantic Quarterly, 103, no. 2–3 (2004), 297.
21- Costas Douzinas, “Identity, Recognition, Rights or What Can Hegel Teach Us About Human Rights?” Journal of Law and Society 29 (2002), 379–405.
22- Michael Ignatieff, Human Rights as Politics and Ideology (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001).
23- Costas Douzinas, “Adikia: On Communism and Rights,” in The Idea of Communism Costas Douzinas and Slavoj Žižek eds (London: Verso, 2010), 81–100.
24- Ernst Bloch, Natural Law and Human History trans. J.D. Schmidt (Cambridge Mass.: MIT Press, 1988), xxviii.
25- Costas Douzinas, Philosophy and Resistance in the Crisis (Cambridge, Polity, 2013), Chapters 9, 10, and 11.

The Paradox of Knowing

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David Dunning, Department of Psychology, Uris Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, New York            
The Psychologist, The British Psychological Society, Volume 26 – Part 6 – Pages:414-417 (June 2013)

Why do we have greater insight into others than ourselves?

People appear to know other people better than they know themselves, at least when it comes to predicting future behaviour and achievement. Why? People display a rather accurate grasp of human nature in general, knowing how social behaviour is shaped by situational and internal constraints. They just exempt themselves from this understanding, thinking instead that their own actions are more a product of their agency, intentions, and free will – a phenomenon we term ‘misguided exceptionalism’. How does this relate to cultural differences in self-insight? And are there areas of human life where people may still know themselves better than they know other people?

To know others is wisdom, to know one’s self is enlightenment.                                                   Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu

For the past twenty-odd years, the main discovery in my lab has been finding out just how unenlightened people are, at least in the terms that Lao Tzu put it. People appear to harbour many and frequent false beliefs about their own competence, character, place in the social world, and future (Dunning, 2005; Dunning et al., 2004). If ‘knowing yourself’ is a task that many philosophers and social commentators – from both Western and Eastern traditions – have exhorted people to accomplish, it appears that very few are taking the advice seriously enough to succeed.

But here is the rub. Although people may not possess much enlightenment, according to Lao Tzu’s criteria, they do instead seem to display a lot of wisdom. At least when it comes to making predictions about the future, people achieve more accuracy forecasting what their peers will do than what they themselves will do. Through their predictions, they seem to possess a rough but valid wisdom about the general dynamics of human nature and how it is reflected in people’s actions. They just fail to display the same sagacity when it comes to understanding their own personal dynamics. As psychologists, they appear to be much better social psychologists than self-psychologists.

The ‘holier-than-thou’ phenomenon

The ‘holier-than-thou’ phenomenon in behavioural prediction perhaps best illustrates this paradox of greater insight into other people than the self. The phenomenon is defined as people predicting they are far more likely to engage in socially desirable acts than their peers. Across several studies, we have asked people to forecast how they will behave in situations that have an ethical, civic or altruistic tone. For example, we ask whether they will donate to charity, or cooperate with another person in an experiment, or vote in an upcoming election. We also ask them the likelihood that their peers will do the same. Consistently, we find that respondents claim that they are much more likely to act in a socially desirable way than their peers are (Balcetis & Dunning, 2008, 2013; Epley & Dunning, 2000, 2006).

But here is the key twist: We then expose an equivalent set of respondents to the actual situation, to see which prediction – self or peer – better anticipates the true rate at which people ‘do the right thing’. Do self-predictions better anticipate the rate that people act in desirable ways, with people, thus, showing undue cynicism about the character of their peers? Or do peer predictions prove more accurate, demonstrating that people believe too much in their better selves? In our studies we find that people’s peer predictions are the more accurate ones. Self-predictions, in contrast, are wildly optimistic. For example, in one study, a full 90 per cent of students in a large-lecture psychology class eligible to vote in an upcoming US presidential election said that they would. They then provided another student with some relevant information about themselves, such as how interested they were in the election and how pleased would they be if their favoured candidate won. Peers given such information predicted that only 67 per cent of respondents would vote. Actual voting rate among those respondents when the election arrived: 61 per cent (Epley & Dunning, 2000, Study 2).

Time and again we have seen such a pattern. For example, 83 per cent of students forecast that they would buy a daffodil for charity in an upcoming drive for the American Cancer Society, but that only 56 per cent of their peers would. When we check back, we found that only 43 per cent had done so (Epley & Dunning, 2000, Study 1). In a Prisoner’s Dilemma game played in the lab, 84 per cent of participants said they would cooperate rather than betray their partner, but that only 64 per cent would do likewise. The actual cooperation rate was 61 per cent (Epley & Dunning, Study 2).

Accuracy as correlation

But wait, a careful reader might say. People might prove overconfident about their own behaviour, but surely they know more about themselves than other people do. This accuracy just reveals itself in a different way. Namely, if we look instead at the correlation between people’s predictions and their actions, we might find a stronger relationship for self-predictions than for peers. More specifically, people may overpredict the chance that they will vote. But those who say they will vote will still be much more likely to vote than those who say they will not. Forecasts from peers will fail to separate voters from nonvoters so successfully.

This assertion is plausible, but it surprisingly fails empirical test. When we look at accuracy from a correlational perspective, we find that peers at least equal overall the accuracy rates of those making self-predictions (see also Spain et al., 2000; Vazire & Mehl, 2008). In one of our voting studies, peers who received just five scant pieces of information about another person’s view of an upcoming election predicted that person just as well (r = .48) as did people predicting their own actions (r = .51) in correlational terms. Other researchers report similar findings: All it takes is a few pieces of information for a peer to achieve accuracy rates that equal the self. The behaviour can be a performance in an upcoming exam (Helzer & Dunning, 2012) or performance on IQ tests (Borkenau & Liebler, 1993).

And, if the action is one that people find significant, and if peers are familiar with the person in question, then peer prediction begins to outdo self-prediction. Roommates and parents, for example, outpredict how long a person’s college romance will last, relative to self-prediction (MacDonald & Ross, 1999). Ratings of supervisors and peers outclass self-ratings in predicting how well surgical residents will do on their final surgical exams (Riscucci et al., 1989). Ratings of peers do better at predicting who will receive a promotion in the Navy early relative to self-impressions (Bass & Yammarino, 1991).

Misguided exceptionalism

Taken together, all this research suggests that people tend to possess useful insight when it comes to understanding human nature. But this research also suggests that people fail to apply this wisdom to the self. In a sense, people exempt themselves from whatever valid psychological understanding they have about their friends and contemporaries. Instead, they tend to think of themselves as special, as responding to a different psychological dynamic. The rules that govern other people’s psychology fail to apply to them. We have come to call this tendency misguided exceptionalism.

What is it about their understanding of other people that respondents exempt themselves from? We contend, with data, that people recognise that others tend to be constrained in what they do. There are forces, both internal and external to the individual, which are out of their control but that influence how they behave. The smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies does break people’s willpower.

The opinions of the crowd place pressures on other people to conform.
But these constraints are for other people. When it comes to our own behaviour, we tend to emphasise instead our own agency, the force of our own character, and what we aspire, intend or plan to do. Relative to others, we believe that our actions are largely a product of our own intentions, aspirations and free will (Buehler et al., 1994; Critcher & Dunning, 2013; Koehler & Poon, 2006; Kruger & Gilovich, 2004; Peetz & Buehler, 2009). We consider ourselves free agents generally immune to the constraints that dictate other people’s actions.

Much recent empirical work reveals this differential emphasis for the self. People think their futures are more wide-open and unpredictable, and that their intentions and desires will be more important authors of their futures than similar intentions and desires will be for other people (Pronin & Kugler, 2010). When predicting their own exam performance, people emphasise (actually, too much, it turns out) their aspiration level, that is, the score they are working to achieve (Helzer & Dunning, 2012), but they emphasise instead a person’s past achievement (appropriately, it turns out) in predictions of others. College students consider their future potential – or, rather, the person they are aiming to be – to be a bigger part of themselves than it is in other people (Williams & Gilovich, 2008; Williams et al., 2012). People predicting who will give to charity consider the prediction to be one about a person’s character and attitudes – that is, until they confront a chance to give themselves, in which case they switch to emphasising situational factors in their accounts of giving (Balcetis & Dunning, 2008).

College students harbour reservations about excessive drinking, but not
recognising that others also feel this same reluctance, they go along
with the crowd


Misunderstanding situations

Ultimately, this misguided exceptionalism and overemphasis on individual agency means that people fail to apply an accurate understanding of human nature to themselves, one that would make their predictions more accurate. People, for example, are surprisingly good at understanding how situational circumstances influence people’s behaviour. In one study, we described a ‘bystander apathy’ study to students. Students were shown an experiment in which a research assistant accidentally spilled a box of jigsaw puzzle pieces. These students were then asked the likelihood that they would help pick the pieces up relative to the percentage of other students who would help. Of key importance, participants were shown two variations of this basic situation – one in which they were alone versus one in which they were sitting in a group of three people.

Those familiar with social psychology will recognise that people are more likely to help when they are alone rather than in a group (Latané & Darley, 1970). In the group, people are seized by the inertia of not knowing immediately whether to help, and thus taking their cue to do nothing based on the fact that everyone else, lost in the same indecision, ends up doing nothing, too. But would our participants show insight into this principle? Not according to their self-predictions. Participants stated that they would be roughly 90 per cent likely to help either alone or in the group. They did, though, concede that other people would be influenced, and that the rate of helping would go down 22 per cent (from 72 per cent to 50 per cent) among other people by introducing the group. Of key import, when we ran the study for real, we found that placing people in a group had a 27 per cent impact (from 50 per cent down to 23 per cent) on actual behaviour. Again, peer predictions largely anticipated this impact. Self-predictions did not (Balcetis & Dunning, 2013).

This belief that self-behaviour ‘floats’ above the impact of situational circumstances and constraints can lead people to forgo decisions that would actually help them. Consider the task of staying within a monthly budget. In one study, participants were offered a service that would provide them with savings tips plus a constant monitoring of their finance. For themselves, participants felt the service would be superfluous. It would have almost zero impact on their ability to achieve their budget goals. What mattered for them instead was the strength of their intentions to save money (Koehler et al., 2011).

But, in reality, a random sample of participants assigned to the service was roughly 11 per cent more likely to reach their budget goals. And, a group of participants asked to judge the impact of the service on other people estimated that the service would matter; that others would be 17 per cent more likely to reach their goals. Again, predictions about others better reflected reality than predictions about the self, in that people could recognise the impact of an important situational aid on others, but felt they themselves were immune to those influences (Koehler et al., 2011).

Cultural influences

This overemphasis on the self’s agency suggests possible cultural differences in the holier-than-thou effect. And, indeed, such cultural differences arise. It is the individualist cultures of Western Europe and North America that emphasise autonomy, agency and the imposition of will onto the environment (Fiske et al., 1998; Markus & Kitayama, 1991). Far Eastern cultures, such as Japan, emphasise instead interdependence, social roles and group harmony – that is, social constraints on the self. Might those cultures, thus, be relatively immune to the ‘holier’ phenomenon?

Across several studies, we have found that people from collectivist cultures display much less self-error than did those from individualist ones. For example, young children attending a summer school on Mallorca were asked how many candies they would donate to other children if they were asked, as well as how many candies other children on average would donate.

A week later, the children were actually asked to donate. Children from more individualist countries (e.g. Britain) donated many fewer candies than they had predicted, but those from more collectivist countries (e.g. Spain) donated on average just as many as they had predicted. Both groups were accurate in their predictions about their peers (Balcetis et al., 2008).



Does the self have any advantage?

Extant psychological research, however, does suggest one area where this general story about self- and social insight will reverse. People may be wiser when it comes to predicting the public and observable actions of others rather than self, but they do appear to have privileged insight into aspects of the self that are not available for other people to view. People know that below the surface of their public appearance is a private individual who feels doubt, anxiety, inhibition and ambivalence that he or she may not let wholly come to the surface (Spain et al., 2000; Vazire, 2010; Vazire & Carlson, 2010, 2011). Of course, this individual does not see this roiling interior life in others.

As a consequence, people may lack awareness that what’s inside themselves is similarly churning and stirring within others. Thus, for example, people often consider themselves more shy, self-critical, and indecisive than other people (Miller & McFarland, 1987). College students harbour reservations about excessive drinking, but not recognising that others also feel this same reluctance, they go along with the crowd to excess on a Saturday night (Prentice & Miller, 1993). In a similar vein, college students harbour much more discomfort about casual sex than they believe their peers do, with each sex overestimating the comfort level of the other sex when it comes to ‘hooking up’ (Lambert et al., 2003).

Concluding remarks

Thus, current psychological research suggests that people may be wise, at least when it comes to understanding and anticipating other people, but they stand in the way of letting this wisdom lead to their own enlightenment. However, if research reveals this problem, it also suggests a potential solution to it. What we presume about other people’s behaviour and futures is likely a valuable indicator of what awaits us in the same situation – and may be much better indicator of our future than any scenario we are spinning directly about ourselves. When predictions matter, we should not spend a great deal of time predicting what we think we will do. Instead, we should ask what other people are likely to do. Or, we should hand the prediction of our own future over to another person who knows a little about us.

Whatever we do, we should note that perhaps we are, indeed, uniquely special individuals, but that it is too easy to overemphasise that fact. In anticipating the future, we should be mindful of the continuity that lies between our self-nature and the nature of others. It is in recognising this continuity that we realise the path that leads to our wisdom may be a pretty good path to our enlightenment, too. At the very least, that thought does remind one of another Chinese proverb that has survived the centuries, perhaps best indicating its worth – that to know what lies for us along the road ahead, we should be sure to ask those coming back.

References
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Balcetis, E. & Dunning, D. (2013). Considering the situation: Why people are better social psychologists than self-psychologists. Self and Identity, 12, 1–15.
Balcetis, E., Dunning, D. & Miller, R.L. (2008). Do collectivists ‘know themselves’ better than individualists? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 95, 1252–1267.
Bass, B.M. & Yammarino, F.J. (1991). Congruence of self and others’ leadership ratings of Naval officers for understanding successful performance. Applied Psychology, 40, 437–454.
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Borkenau, P. & Liebler, A. (1993). Convergence of stranger ratings of personality and intelligence with self-ratings, partner ratings, and measured intelligence. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 65, 546–553.
Critcher, C.R. & Dunning, D. (2013). Predicting persons’ goodness versus a person’s goodness: Forecasts diverge for populations versus individuals. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 104, 28–44.
Dunning, D. (2005). Self-insight: Roadblocks and detours on the path to knowing thyself. New York: Psychology Press.
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Epley, N. & Dunning, D. (2006). The mixed blessings of self-knowledge in behavioral prediction. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 32, 641–655.
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Helzer, E.G. & Dunning, D. (2012). Why and when peer prediction is superior to self-prediction. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 103, 38–53.
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Williams, E., Gilovich, T. & Dunning, D. (2012). Being all that you can be. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 38, 143–154.

The Humanities in an Absolutist World

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Roscoe Pound (1870-1964) Law School, Harvard University
The Classical Journal, Vol. 39, No. 1 (Oct., 1943), pp. 1-14

Man’s significant achievement is civilization, the continual raising of human powers to a higher unfolding, a continually increasing mastery of, or control over, external or physical nature and over internal or human nature. Civilization is an accumulative activity. Both its aspects, control of physical nature and control of human nature, are added to from generation to generation and the whole is an accumulation of ages. In the present, the progress of control  over  physical  nature,  of  harnessing  external  nature  to man's use, has been so rapid and has been carried so far beyond what had been taken to be the limit of human powers, that it has all but blinded us to the other side, the control of internal nature. But in truth the two are interdependent. It is the control over internal or human nature which has made possible the division of labor by which the harnessing of physical nature has been made possible. If men were subject to constant aggression from their fellows, if they could not safely assume that they could go about their daily tasks free from attack, there could not be the experiment and research and investigation which have enabled man to inherit the earth and to maintain and increase that inheritance. The accumulation from generation to generation would be dissipated if it were not for the check upon man's destructive instincts which is achieved through accumulated control of internal nature. But the control over external nature relieves the pressure of the environment in which man lives and enables the accumulated control over internal nature to persist and increase.

In the history of civilization the outstanding period, from the standpoint of control over internal nature, is classical antiquity, the Greek-Hellenistic-Roman civilization, which happily kept no small degree of continuity during the Middle Ages, and was revived at the Renaissance. This period is as marked for one side of civilization as the nineteenth century and the present are likely to be held in the future for the other side. Indeed, the civilization of ancient Greece, carried on in the Hellenistic era and established for the world by the organizing and administrative genius of the Romans, is a decisive element in the civilization of today.

Art, letters, oratory, philosophy, history writing, are an inheritance from the Greeks. Law, administration, politics, are an inheritance from the Romans. The Greeks even worked out the field tactics to which the military science of today has reverted. Greek and Latin are a preponderant element in the languages which derive from Western Europe. Thus they enter decisively into our thinking, writing, and speaking, and thus into our doing. The last of the Caesars fell a generation ago. But the principles of adjusting human relations and ordering human conduct worked out in theory by Greek philosophers and made into law by Roman jurists of the days of the first Caesars govern in the tribunals of today. Latin was the universal language from the establishment of Roman hegemony and of Roman law as the law of the world for at least nineteen hundred years. All modern literature in all languages is full of allusions to the classics; of allusions to persons and events and stories out of the poets and dramatists and historians of Greece and Rome. One who knows nothing of the great authors of antiquity is cut off from the great authors of the modern world as well. To take but one example, a generation which grows up without anyone knowing Horace, has missed something irreplaceable. To cease to teach the classics is to deprive the oncoming generation of opportunity of fruitful contact with a decisive element in the civilization in which it is to live. A generation cut off from its inherited past is no master of its present. What men do is conditioned by the materials with which they must work in doing it. On one side of our civilization these are for the most significant part materials bequeathed to us by the Greeks and the Romans.

But we are told that we are entering upon a new era. The past is to be canceled. We are to begin with a clean slate. Our accumulated control over external nature has gone so far that there remains only the task of making it available for universal human contentment. Then there will be no occasion for control over internal nature. The causes of envy and strife are to go with want and fear. Mankind will settle down to a passive enjoyment of the material goods of existence and will neither require nor desire anything more.

There are abundant signs of a significant change from the ideas and ideals and values which governed in the immediate past. It is not, however, a change to something wholly new. It is largely a reversion to something with which the student of classical antiquity is well acquainted; to modes of thought against which Socrates argued with the sophists, about which Plato and Aristotle wrote in founding a science of politics, about which Stoics debated with Epicureans, which Christianity put down, for a time at least, when it closed the skeptical and Epicurean schools of philosophy.

Whatever the confident self-styled advanced thinkers of today may be looking forward to, the immediate actual result is a cult of force. We seem to be listening again to Thrasymachus, who argued that the shepherd protects the sheep in order to shear them for wool and slaughter them for mutton, and in the same way the political ruler protects the governed in order to be able to despoil them. The sophists are coming into their own in ethics, and Machiavelli is hailed as a prophet in a realism which in law and in politics takes force to be the reality and those who wield the force of politically organized society, as the representatives of force, to be the actualities of the legal order and of the political order. A favorite phrase of the realist is "the brute facts"; a phrase used not in sadness that there should be such facts, but with a certain relish, as if brutality were the test of reality and the discovery of brute facts argued superior intelligence and discernment. In practice this makes force a test of significance. The significant things in the world are force and the satisfaction of material wants. Education must be shaped to the exigencies of these. Nothing else is to be taught or learned. Such a doctrine carried into practice, a regime to that pattern, would indeed give us a new world. But it would be new by reverting to a very old type.

 Biologists tell us that what they call giantism in an organism is a sign of decadence. When the organism has developed to giant proportions, the next step is decline and the ultimate step is fall. In the same way, there are times in the history of civilization when things seem to have become too big for men to manage them. They get out of hand. The social order ceases to function efficiently. There is a gradual breakdown, followed after a time of chaos and anarchy by a gradual rebuilding of a social order, which in tum may develop a bigness beyond human powers of management and so break down. It may be significant that today the air is full of grandiose schemes for world organization.

The Hellenistic world was in such an era. The greater and richer part of the civilized world had been swallowed up in the empire of Alexander. An age of independent city-states was succeeded by one of great military empires ruled autocratically. Later, the Roman hegemony, in which, as it culminated in the Empire, every free man in the civilized world was a Roman citizen, the law of the city of Rome had become the law of the world, and all political authority was centralized in the first citizen of Rome, was another era of the same kind. It is significant that the first citizen of such a state became a military autocrat. The mark of thinking of such times is likely to be disillusionment. Epicureanism arose in the period of the successors of Alexander, and grew increasingly strong in the Hellenistic era. It throve in the corresponding period of Roman history, the Empire from Augustus to Diocletian and Constantine. It was the most firmly intrenched of the Greek schools of philosophy, although it has contributed the least to the general progress of thought. It was so well fitted to a period of bigness and incipient decay that the Epicureans were the last school to give way before the rise of Christianity. When the schools of philosophy were abolished, they were the most widespread and tenacious of the anti-Christian sects.

Today, in another era of unmanageable bigness, we come upon tenacious give-it-up philosophies once more. Epicurus was wholly indifferent to the form of political organization of society. The real point in existence was to lead a happy life. If he lived under a wise ruler, the man seeking a happy life need have no fear of being disturbed. He could pursue a serene, untroubled existence. If the ruler was a tyrant, the wise man, like Br'er Rabbit, would "jes' lie low" and so escape the tyrant's notice and live an undisturbed life of happiness. Today what Epicurus put as happiness, current social philosophies put as security. The ideal is an undisturbed enjoyment of the means of satisfying material wants. Put concretely it seems to be a vested right in a life job with an assured maximum wage, fixed short hours, allowing much time for leisure at stated periods, a prohibiting of anyone from an overactivity which might give him an advantage, and compelling all to a regimented minimum exertion that would obviate the exciting of envy, and a guaranteed pension at the age of sixty, dispensing with the need of providing one's own reserve. This is the ideal existence Epicurus pictured-the condition of a happy life, the condition of perfect mental equilibrium, neither perturbed nor perturbable. In contrast, the last century identified security with liberty. Men sought security from interference with their activities. They sought to be secure against aggression so that they might freely do their part in the division of labor in a competitive economic order. They sought to be secure against governmental action except so far as was necessary to free them from aggressions of others. Now, instead of seeking to be secure against government, men expect to be made secure by government. But they expect to be secure in a new way; not to be secure in their activities but to be secure against necessity of activity, to be secure in satisfaction of their material wants with a minimum of required individual activity.

Very likely the change reflects the exigencies of a bigger and more crowded world. Possibly it is due in part to the development of luxury, leading to disinclination to the free competitive carving out of a place for oneself which the last century took for happiness. At any rate, freedom from worry about what one can achieve, renouncing of ambition to do things, and acceptance of political events as they may happen, go together as an accepted philosophy of wise living, as they did in the social philosophy of Epicurus.

Marxian economic realism has much in common with the Epicurean social philosophy. The static ideal of a happy life is to be attained as we get rid of classes. It is assumed that when property is abolished all competition between human beings  will ease. Everyone will live undisturbed, without ambition, without envy, and so freed from strife. Once the class struggle has been brought to an end, Marx looked forward to the same social ethical result as Epicurus. But there is nothing in the history of civilization or in experience of human relations in a crowded world to warrant such assumptions. We may be sure that after property is abolished men will still want and claim to use things which cannot be used by more than one or by more than one at a time. It is not likely that there will always be enough at all times of every material good of existence to enable everyone at every moment to have or do all that he can wish, so that no contentions can arise as to possession or use and enjoyment . Nor is it likely in any time which we can foresee that there will be no conflicts or overlappings of the desires and demands involved in the individual life. Such ideas, however, seem to go with bigness such as the economic unification of the world has brought about in the present century.

Along with the disillusioned or give-it-up philosophies of such a time there goes a changed attitude toward government. Instead of wanting to do things, men want to have things done for them, and they turn to government to do for them what they require for a happy life. But they have no wish to be active in government. They turn to absolute political ideas. Eras of bigness and autocracy have gone together. Today while we all do lip service to democracy there is a manifest turning to autocracy. The democracy is to be an absolute democracy. Those who wield its authority are not to be hampered by constitutions or laws or law. What they do is to be law because they do it. They are to be free to make us all happy by an absolute power to pass on the goods of existence to us by such measure of values as suits them.

Such ideas of a happy life, and of politically organized society as the means of assuring that happy life, require an omnicompetent government. They require a government with absolute power to carry out the plan of an undisturbed life of serenity, free from all envy, want, or worry, by control of all activity no less than of all material goods. The restless must be held down, the active must be taught to keep quiet in a passive happiness, those inclined to question the economic order must be taught to accept the regime of security in which their material wants are satisfied. Hence such a polity must of necessity take over education. Men are to be educated to fit into the regime of government-provided material happiness. Those things which will tend to achieve and maintain such a regime are to be taught. All else is to be given up. Either it will hinder the bringing about and making permanent of the new regime or it will tend to impair it when established. There is no place for any of it in the ideal regime.

Applied to international relations, the give-it-up philosophies must be wonderfully heartening doctrine for dictators. Applied to internal administration they are proving wonderfully heartening doctrine for bureaucrats. Can we doubt that a sense of helplessness in the Hellenistic era and again in the era of the later Roman Empire led to general acceptance of a philosophy that taught to let the government run itself or the governors run it in their own way? Can we doubt that a sense of helplessness in our time, a feeling of helplessness to make international relations conform to ideals, leads to acquiescence in theories of force; or that difficulty in an overcrowded world to make adjustments of private relations according to law achieve ideal results, leads to a theory of a law as simply a threat of state force and hence of law as whatever officials do in applying that force?

But if we are moved at times to feel helpless and give up to power and force, those who wield the force of politically organized society have no misgivings. They have supreme confidence that the omnicompetence of the state means the omnicompetence of the officials who act in the name and by the authority of the state, and are ready, assuming themselves to be ex-officio experts, to prescribe detailed regulations for every human activity.

We recognize such conditions when we look at them as they are manifest in the older parts of the world. We have not been prepared to see them as they have been developing gradually but steadily in our own polity. As a leader in American legal education has put it, it is simply a question of what we expect government to do. If we expect it to provide for all our wants by a benevolent paternal care and maternal solicitude, we must expect to surrender to it all responsibility and invest it-and that means those persons who carry it on-with all power. Such a regime is fostered by the exigencies of war. But it was growing long before the war and independent of war conditions. The give-it-up philosophies were taught and preached before and apart from the war. They have been urged by a strong group in both English and American institutions of learning and are propagated today by teachers who advocate an unrestrained administrative power over liberty and property.

What is happening, what is to happen, to the humanities in such a time?
In this connection we must note another characteristic of the time, namely, distrust of reason. In this respect also the thought of today is akin to that of Epicurus. We are taught by the psychological realists that consciously or unconsciously men do what they wish to do and then justify what they have done by reasons conjured up by a desire to be reasonable, which nevertheless are not the real determinants of their behavior. Consequently, by not distinguishing reason from reasons, reason comes to be regarded as a mere name for specious justifying to oneself of what one desires to do and does accordingly. Reason is taken to be illusion. The reality is taken to be the wish, achieved by force or by the force of a politically organized society. This is brought out notably in the difference between the biographies of the last century and those of today. The biographies of the last century were taken up with what their subject did and how he did it. They assume that he had reasons for what he did which were consistent with his purposes and professions, and that his mistakes were due to miscalculation, unless the evidence constrains a different conclusion. The biographies of today are taken up with their subject's hidden motives; if not very creditable, so much the better as the biographer sees it. The evidence does not disclose the motives. The assumed motives interpret the evidence. If the biographer can show that George Washington's motives may be made out to have been not always very creditable, it only goes to show that his actions were after all merely phenomena and to remind us that it is unscientific to apply our subjective ideas of praise and blame to phenomena.

At any rate, we can find one powerful antidote to such teachings in the humanities, and it is perhaps for that reason that the advocates of so-called realism would suppress the teaching of them. At the beginning of the present century the German Emperor objected to the education which, he said, trained the youth to be young Greeks and Romans instead of to be modem Germans. But the results of education to be Germans ought to give us pause if we think to make Americans by an education that seeks to make Americans to a pattern of a land given up to satisfaction of material wants provided by a regime of absolute government .

But I hear people say, the aggregate of knowledge has become so vast that teaching must be confined to those things that count in the world of today. There are translations of the classics available in English and those whose interests lead them to explore the writings of antiquity can find what they seek in those translations. It is a waste of the time that must be given to the things of today to study difficult dead languages in order to find what translations have made accessible in modern languages. The time is needed for the natural and physical sciences, which teach us how to harness more of external nature to producing the material goods of human existence, and to the social sciences, which are to teach us how those goods are to be made to satisfy human desires. Here we have three fallacious propositions: (1) that education is only the acquisition of knowledge, (2) that even the best translation is or can be a substitute for the original of a classic, and (3) that the social sciences are so far advanced that we may rely upon them for objective judgments of the social order and of the problems and phenomena of ethics and economics and politics and jurisprudence. We have to learn the formulas of the social scientists as we once learned the formulated dogmas of the natural and physical sciences. Let us look at these propositions.

Knowledge as such is worth little without knowing how to use it. It is likely to be so up-to-date that it is out of date tomorrow .Discrimination, reasoned judgment, and creative thinking must work upon knowledge to make it fruitful. No one can approach a mastery of all the details of knowledge in even the narrowest field. But he can attain the wisdom that will enable him to lay hold upon those details when and where he requires them and to make something of them. Without this, the study of up-to-date subjects as merely so many tracts of knowledge is futile. Very likely the supposed facts will have ceased to be so regarded by scientists as soon as they have been learned. The wise scholar, however, knows how to find them as they stand at the moment and appraise them for his purposes, and he can often do this although he approaches a subject in which he never had a formal course.

Wisdom is not gained by the use of translations. It is not acquired when students write confidently about Aristotle without having read or being able to read a line of him. It is not developed by slovenly use of language such as follows from never having been compelled to compare the same thought expressed in two languages and brought to see how different it may appear unless the translator is sure of the words no less than of the idea. What teacher of today has not seen confused thought bred of loose writing, due to lack of the disciplined use of words which is acquired by learning the languages from which even our scientific terminology is derived? What teacher has not encountered the type of student who wants to write a thesis on poetic usage and expects to use Pope's Iliad to show him the usage of Homer? Who has not met students of church history who cannot read the New Testament in the original, students writing on medieval philosophy and essaying to criticize a great thinker who cannot read a word of Thomas Aquinas in the tongue in which he wrote, students of legal history who cannot read Magna Carta as it was written, students of history who must take the significant historical documents at second or third hand? I have too often witnessed the pathetic struggles of would-be students of our legal history to handle the monuments of our law in the Middle Ages with no adequate grasp of the language in which they were written. I shall not soon forget the graduate student who thought he could read the Code of Justinian by the light of nature and was astonished to find that conventus did not, as he supposed, mean convent but meant agreement. Nor are such things confined to students. Who of us has not had occasion to feel for the earnest teacher who missed the fundamentals of his education in school and college and now is found struggling to gain what too late he perceives he sorely needs? A great injustice had been done to all of these by leading them to think they were acquiring an adequate foundation for what they desired to do, and leaving them to discover their mistake too late.

Even now, when the majority of those who go to our colleges have had some training in Latin, the teacher has learned to expect some almost incredible atrocities due to ignorance abetted by carelessness. In my last twenty years of law teaching I have become used to being told that in a proceeding in rem the rem must be before the court. I have ceased to be shocked when a college graduate tells me that son assaultdemesneis Anglo-Saxon, that inpais is Latin, and that non compos mentis is French. I can even keep a straight face when a law student, a college graduate, reading in the books about the doctrine of the Good Samaritan cases, asks me who the Good "Sarmatian" was. My friends in other lines tell me of the entomologist describing a new insect who thought confluentawas the feminine of conjluens, or the botanist who wished to coin a word for "downward-directed" and with no knowledge of Greek consulted a Greek dictionary and coined barithynetic– I suppose for katithynetic. I have been told of a student of dramatics who spoke of "Andromash," and we have all heard "chaos" pronounced "chouse" and "Chloe" pronounced "Shlowie" by those who held degrees in arts. Those who perpetrate such things lack much more than a knowledge of the classical languages. They have failed to learn what to do with the materials with which they must work. We may be sure that these slovenlinesses will not be the only ones of which they will be guilty. But what will there be when no one who studies history or law or entomology or botany or dramatics knows any better? It won't do to say, for example, that a law dictionary will tell the law student what he needs. One must know something even to use a dictionary. When it comes about that no one is taught in his teachable years the languages and literatures which are at the foundation of what we say and write, our terminology in every branch of learning must become chaotic, and loose writing lead to loose thinking, and a general loss of morale in scholarship, of which we see abundant symptoms already today.

We are told, however, that those things which are not indispensable must in education in a democracy give way to those which are indispensable. As to this one must make three observations. In the first place, it assumes that democracy requires a common training for all, a training in the mechanic arts and the sciences behind them, and in social sciences on the model of the physical sciences. No one is to be allowed an opportunity of development outside of this program of preparation for material production and politics. Secondly, it assumes that education is complete on leaving school, and hence that there need be no preparation for scholarly self-development of an element needed in any other than a stagnant or enslaved population. Third, it assumes that the social sciences are or can be such as the physical and natural sciences are; that ultimate truths as to economics and politics and sociology are impartible by teaching, and that knowledge of these truths is essential to a democratically organized people.

I have no quarrel with the social sciences. I am now in my forty­ fourth year of teaching jurisprudence, and for forty of those years have taught it from the sociological standpoint. I have urged the importance of ethics and economics and politics and sociology in connection with law in forty years of law-school teaching. But I do not deceive myself as to those so-called sciences. So far as they are not descriptive, they are in continual flux. In the nature of things they cannot be sciences in the sense of physics or chemistry or astronomy. They have been organized as philosophies, have been worked out on the lines of geometry, have been remade to theories of history, have had their period of positivism, have turned to social psychology, and are now in an era of neo-Kantian methodology in some hands and of economic determinism or psychological realism or relativist skepticism or phenomenological intuitionism in other hands. They do not impart wisdom; they need to be approached with acquired wisdom. Nothing of what was taught as economics, political science, or sociology when I was an undergraduate is held or taught today. Since I left college, sociology has gone through four, or perhaps even five, phases. Indeed, those who have gone furthest in these sciences in the immediate past were not originally trained in them. They are not foundation subjects. They belong in the superstructure.

Notice how extremes meet in a time of reaction to absolutist political ideas. In an autocracy men are to be trained in the physical and natural sciences so as to promote material production. They are to be trained in the social sciences so as to promote passive obedience. In an absolutist democracy men are to be trained in the physical and natural sciences because those sciences have to do with the means of satisfying material wants. They are to be trained in the social sciences because those sciences have to do with politically organized society as an organization of force whereby satisfaction of material wants is to be attained. As an important personage in our government has told us, the rising generation must be taught what government can do for them. The relegation of the humanities to a back shelf, proposed by the Kaiser at the beginning of the present century, has been taken over to be urged as a program of a democracy. Such ideas go along with the rise of absolute theories of government throughout the world. An omnicompetent government is to tell us what we shall be suffered to teach, and the oncoming generation is to be suffered to learn nothing that does not belong to a regime of satisfying material wants by the force of a political organization of society. It is assumed that there is nothing in life but the satisfaction of material wants and force as a means of securing satisfaction of them.

America was colonized in a similar period of absolutist political ideas-in the era of the Tudor and Stuart monarchy in England, of the old regime of which the rule of Louis XIV was the type in France, of the monarchy set up by Charles V in Spain, of the establishment of the absolute rule of the Hapsburgs in Austria. England of the Puritan Revolution shook these ideas violently and at the Revolution of 1688 definitely cast them off for two centuries. The colonists who came to America settled in the wilderness in order to escape them. When we settled our own polity at the end of the eighteenth century, we established it as a constitutional democracy, carefully guarded against the reposing of unlimited power anywhere. Moreover, these early Americans, because they did not believe in an omnicompetent government or superman rulers, set up institutions for liberal education. Within six years after their arrival in the wilderness in the new world, the founders of Massachusetts set up a college in order that there might continue to be a learned ministry after their ministers who had come from the English universities were laid in the dust. As our country expanded in its westward extension across the continent, state after state in its organic law provided for a state university in order that liberal learning might be the opportunity of every one. It was not till our era of expansion was over and one of industrialization began that state institutions for mechanical education were more and more established. But these for a generation did not greatly disturb the humanities. The movement to displace them is a phenomenon of the era of bigness.

Outward forms of government are no panacea. We can't do better than we try to do. If we are content to lapse into a revived Epicureanism, if we are content to seek nothing more than a general condition of undisturbed passivity under the benevolent care of an omnicompetent government, we can very well leave education to the sciences which have to do with providing the material goods of existence and those which teach us how the government secures or is to secure them for us. If we are not content with being, as Horace put it, pigs of the drove of Epicurus, but seek to live active, human lives, even at some risk of envy and strife and wish for things unattainable, we must stand firm against projects which will cut our people off from the great heritage of the past and deny them the opportunity of contact with the best that men have thought and written in the history of civilization.

I cannot think that, when what is meant by the displacement of the humanities is brought home to them, the intelligent people of America will consent to bow the knee to Baal. I am confident that, as Milton put it, we shall be able to speak words of persuasion to abundance of reasonable men, once we make plain the plausible fallacy behind the idea of teaching only the indispensables, and that the physical and the social sciences are the indispensables . We can have a democracy without having a people devoted solely to production and consumption. Those who are fighting to preserve the humanities are working for a democracy that can endure. One which sinks into materialistic apathy must in the end go the way of the peoples which have succumbed to the perils of mere bigness in the past.

The new liberal imperialism

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Robert Cooper 
Observer.co.uk, Sunday 7 April 2002

Senior British diplomat Robert Cooper has helped to shape British Prime Minister Tony Blair's calls for a new internationalism and a new doctrine of humanitarian intervention which would place limits on state sovereignty. This article contains the full text of Cooper's essay on "the postmodern state". Cooper's call for a new liberal imperialism and admission of the need for double standards in foreign policy have outraged the left but the essay offers a rare and candid unofficial insight into the thinking behind British strategy on Afghanistan, and Iraq.

In 1989 the political systems of three centuries came to an end in Europe: the balance-of-power and the imperial urge. That year marked not just the end of the Cold War, but also, and more significantly, the end of a state system in Europe which dated from the Thirty Years War. September 11 showed us one of the implications of the change.

To understand the present, we must first understand the past, for the past is still with us. International order used to be based either on hegemony or on balance. Hegemony came first. In the ancient world, order meant empire. Those within the empire had order, culture and civilisation. Outside it lay barbarians, chaos and disorder. The image of peace and order through a single hegemonic power centre has remained strong ever since. Empires, however, are ill-designed for promoting change. Holding the empire together - and it is the essence of empires that they are diverse - usually requires an authoritarian political style; innovation, especially in society and politics, would lead to instability. Historically, empires have generally been static.

In Europe, a middle way was found between the stasis of chaos and the stasis of empire, namely the small state. The small state succeeded in establishing sovereignty, but only within a geographically limited jurisdiction. Thus domestic order was purchased at the price of international anarchy. The competition between the small states of Europe was a source of progress, but the system was also constantly threatened by a relapse into chaos on one side and by the hegemony of a single power on the other. The solution to this was the balance-of-power, a system of counter-balancing alliances which became seen as the condition of liberty in Europe. Coalitions were successfully put together to thwart the hegemonic ambitions firstly of Spain, then of France, and finally of Germany.

But the balance-of-power system too had an inherent instability, the ever-present risk of war, and it was this that eventually caused it to collapse. German unification in 1871 created a state too powerful to be balanced by any European alliance; technological changes raised the costs of war to an unbearable level; and the development of mass society and democratic politics, rendered impossible the amoral calculating mindset necessary to make the balance of power system function. Nevertheless, in the absence of any obvious alternative it persisted, and what emerged in 1945 was not so much a new system as the culmination of the old one. The old multi-lateral balance-of-power in Europe became a bilateral balance of terror worldwide, a final simplification of the balance of power. But it was not built to last. The balance of power never suited the more universalistic, moralist spirit of the late twentieth century.

The second half of the twentieth Century has seen not just the end of the balance of power but also the waning of the imperial urge: in some degree the two go together. A world that started the century divided among European empires finishes it with all or almost all of them gone: the Ottoman, German, Austrian, French , British and finally Soviet Empires are now no more than a memory. This leaves us with two new types of state: first there are now states - often former colonies - where in some sense the state has almost ceased to exist a 'premodern' zone where the state has failed and a Hobbesian war of all against all is underway (countries such as Somalia and, until recently, Afghanistan). Second, there are the post imperial, postmodern states who no longer think of security primarily in terms of conquest. And thirdly, of course there remain the traditional "modern" states who behave as states always have, following Machiavellian principles and raison d'ètat (one thinks of countries such as India, Pakistan and China).

The postmodern system in which we Europeans live does not rely on balance; nor does it emphasise sovereignty or the separation of domestic and foreign affairs. The European Union has become a highly developed system for mutual interference in each other's domestic affairs, right down to beer and sausages. The CFE Treaty, under which parties to the treaty have to notify the location of their heavy weapons and allow inspections, subjects areas close to the core of sovereignty to international constraints. It is important to realise what an extraordinary revolution this is. It mirrors the paradox of the nuclear age, that in order to defend yourself, you had to be prepared to destroy yourself. The shared interest of European countries in avoiding a nuclear catastrophe has proved enough to overcome the normal strategic logic of distrust and concealment. Mutual vulnerability has become mutual transparency.

The main characteristics of the postmodern world are as follows:
· The breaking down of the distinction between domestic and foreign affairs.
· Mutual interference in (traditional) domestic affairs and mutual surveillance.
· The rejection of force for resolving disputes and the consequent codification of self-enforced rules of behaviour.
· The growing irrelevance of borders: this has come about both through the changing role of the state, but also through missiles, motor cars and satellites.
· Security is based on transparency, mutual openness, interdependence and mutual vulnerability.

The conception of an International Criminal Court is a striking example of the postmodern breakdown of the distinction between domestic and foreign affairs. In the postmodern world, raison d'ètat and the amorality of Machiavelli's theories of statecraft, which defined international relations in the modern era, have been replaced by a moral consciousness that applies to international relations as well as to domestic affairs: hence the renewed interest in what constitutes a just war.

While such a system does deal with the problems that made the balance-of-power unworkable, it does not entail the demise of the nation state. While economy, law-making and defence may be increasingly embedded in international frameworks, and the borders of territory may be less important, identity and democratic institutions remain primarily national. Thus traditional states will remain the fundamental unit of international relations for the foreseeable future, even though some of them may have ceased to behave in traditional ways.

What is the origin of this basic change in the state system? The fundamental point is that "the world's grown honest". A large number of the most powerful states no longer want to fight or conquer. It is this that gives rise to both the pre-modern and postmodern worlds. Imperialism in the traditional sense is dead, at least among the Western powers.

If this is true, it follows that we should not think of the EU or even NATO as the root cause of the half century of peace we have enjoyed in Western Europe. The basic fact is that Western European countries no longer want to fight each other. NATO and the EU have, nevertheless, played an important role in reinforcing and sustaining this position. NATO's most valuable contribution has been the openness it has created. NATO was, and is a massive intra-western confidence-building measure. It was NATO and the EU that provided the framework within which Germany could be reunited without posing a threat to the rest of Europe as its original unification had in 1871. Both give rise to thousands of meetings of ministers and officials, so that all those concerned with decisions involving war and peace know each other well. Compared with the past, this represents a quality and stability of political relations never known before.

The EU is the most developed example of a postmodern system. It represents security through transparency, and transparency through interdependence. The EU is more a transnational than a supra-national system, a voluntary association of states rather than the subordination of states to a central power. The dream of a European state is one left from a previous age. It rests on the assumption that nation states are fundamentally dangerous and that the only way to tame the anarchy of nations is to impose hegemony on them. But if the nation-state is a problem then the super-state is certainly not a solution.

European states are not the only members of the postmodern world. Outside Europe, Canada is certainly a postmodern state; Japan is by inclination a postmodern state, but its location prevents it developing more fully in this direction. The USA is the more doubtful case since it is not clear that the US government or Congress accepts either the necessity or desirability of interdependence, or its corollaries of openness, mutual surveillance and mutual interference, to the same extent as most European governments now do. Elsewhere, what in Europe has become a reality is in many other parts of the world an aspiration. ASEAN, NAFTA, MERCOSUR and even OAU suggest at least the desire for a postmodern environment, and though this wish is unlikely to be realised quickly, imitation is undoubtedly easier than invention.

Within the postmodern world, there are no security threats in the traditional sense; that is to say, its members do not consider invading each other. Whereas in the modern world , following Clausewitz' dictum war is an instrument of policy in the postmodern world it is a sign of policy failure. But while the members of the postmodern world may not represent a danger to one another, both the modern and pre-modern zones pose threats.

The threat from the modern world is the most familiar. Here, the classical state system, from which the postmodern world has only recently emerged, remains intact, and continues to operate by the principles of empire and the supremacy of national interest. If there is to be stability it will come from a balance among the aggressive forces. It is notable how few are the areas of the world where such a balance exists. And how sharp the risk is that in some areas there may soon be a nuclear element in the equation.

The challenge to the postmodern world is to get used to the idea of double standards. Among ourselves, we operate on the basis of laws and open cooperative security. But when dealing with more old-fashioned kinds of states outside the postmodern continent of Europe, we need to revert to the rougher methods of an earlier era - force, pre-emptive attack, deception, whatever is necessary to deal with those who still live in the nineteenth century world of every state for itself. Among ourselves, we keep the law but when we are operating in the jungle, we must also use the laws of the jungle. In the prolonged period of peace in Europe, there has been a temptation to neglect our defences, both physical and psychological. This represents one of the great dangers of the postmodern state.

The challenge posed by the pre-modern world is a new one. The pre-modern world is a world of failed states. Here the state no longer fulfils Weber's criterion of having the monopoly on the legitimate use of force. Either it has lost the legitimacy or it has lost the monopoly of the use of force; often the two go together. Examples of total collapse are relatively rare, but the number of countries at risk grows all the time. Some areas of the former Soviet Union are candidates, including Chechnya. All of the world's major drug-producing areas are part of the pre-modern world. Until recently there was no real sovereign authority in Afghanistan; nor is there in upcountry Burma or in some parts of South America, where drug barons threaten the state's monopoly on force. All over Africa countries are at risk. No area of the world is without its dangerous cases. In such areas chaos is the norm and war is a way of life. In so far as there is a government it operates in a way similar to an organised crime syndicate.

The premodern state may be too weak even to secure its home territory, let alone pose a threat internationally, but it can provide a base for non-state actors who may represent a danger to the postmodern world. If non-state actors, notably drug, crime, or terrorist syndicates take to using premodern bases for attacks on the more orderly parts of the world, then the organised states may eventually have to respond. If they become too dangerous for established states to tolerate, it is possible to imagine a defensive imperialism. It is not going too far to view the West's response to Afghanistan in this light.

How should we deal with the pre-modern chaos? To become involved in a zone of chaos is risky; if the intervention is prolonged it may become unsustainable in public opinion; if the intervention is unsuccessful it may be damaging to the government that ordered it. But the risks of letting countries rot, as the West did Afghanistan, may be even greater.



What form should intervention take? The most logical way to deal with chaos, and the one most employed in the past is colonisation. But colonisation is unacceptable to postmodern states (and, as it happens, to some modern states too). It is precisely because of the death of imperialism that we are seeing the emergence of the pre-modern world. Empire and imperialism are words that have become a form of abuse in the postmodern world. Today, there are no colonial powers willing to take on the job, though the opportunities, perhaps even the need for colonisation is as great as it ever was in the nineteenth century. Those left out of the global economy risk falling into a vicious circle. Weak government means disorder and that means falling investment. In the 1950s, South Korea had a lower GNP per head than Zambia: the one has achieved membership of the global economy, the other has not.

All the conditions for imperialism are there, but both the supply and demand for imperialism have dried up. And yet the weak still need the strong and the strong still need an orderly world. A world in which the efficient and well governed export stability and liberty, and which is open for investment and growth - all of this seems eminently desirable.

What is needed then is a new kind of imperialism, one acceptable to a world of human rights and cosmopolitan values. We can already discern its outline: an imperialism which, like all imperialism, aims to bring order and organisation but which rests today on the voluntary principle.

Postmodern imperialism takes two forms. First there is the voluntary imperialism of the global economy. This is usually operated by an international consortium through International Financial Institutions such as the IMF and the World Bank - it is characteristic of the new imperialism that it is multilateral. These institutions provide help to states wishing to find their way back into the global economy and into the virtuous circle of investment and prosperity. In return they make demands which, they hope, address the political and economic failures that have contributed to the original need for assistance. Aid theology today increasingly emphasises governance. If states wish to benefit, they must open themselves up to the interference of international organisations and foreign states (just as, for different reasons, the postmodern world has also opened itself up.)

The second form of postmodern imperialism might be called the imperialism of neighbours. Instability in your neighbourhood poses threats which no state can ignore. Misgovernment, ethnic violence and crime in the Balkans poses a threat to Europe. The response has been to create something like a voluntary UN protectorate in Bosnia and Kosovo. It is no surprise that in both cases the High Representative is European. Europe provides most of the aid that keeps Bosnia and Kosovo running and most of the soldiers (though the US presence is an indispensable stabilising factor). In a further unprecedented move, the EU has offered unilateral free-market access to all the countries of the former Yugoslavia for all products including most agricultural produce. It is not just soldiers that come from the international community; it is police, judges, prison officers, central bankers and others. Elections are organised and monitored by the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). Local police are financed and trained by the UN. As auxiliaries to this effort - in many areas indispensable to it - are over a hundred NGOs.

One additional point needs to be made. It is dangerous if a neighbouring state is taken over in some way by organised or disorganised crime - which is what state collapse usually amounts to. But Usama bin Laden has now demonstrated for those who had not already realised, that today all the world is, potentially at least, our neighbour.

The Balkans are a special case. Elsewhere in Central and Eastern Europe the EU is engaged in a programme which will eventually lead to massive enlargement. In the past empires have imposed their laws and systems of government; in this case no one is imposing anything. Instead, a voluntary movement of self-imposition is taking place. While you are a candidate for EU membership you have to accept what is given - a whole mass of laws and regulations - as subject countries once did. But the prize is that once you are inside you will have a voice in the commonwealth. If this process is a kind of voluntary imperialism, the end state might be describes as a cooperative empire. 'Commonwealth' might indeed not be a bad name.

The postmodern EU offers a vision of cooperative empire, a common liberty and a common security without the ethnic domination and centralised absolutism to which past empires have been subject, but also without the ethnic exclusiveness that is the hallmark of the nation state - inappropriate in an era without borders and unworkable in regions such as the Balkans. A cooperative empire might be the domestic political framework that best matches the altered substance of the postmodern state: a framework in which each has a share in the government, in which no single country dominates and in which the governing principles are not ethnic but legal. The lightest of touches will be required from the centre; the 'imperial bureaucracy' must be under control, accountable, and the servant, not the master, of the commonwealth. Such an institution must be as dedicated to liberty and democracy as its constituent parts. Like Rome, this commonwealth would provide its citizens with some of its laws, some coins and the occasional road.


That perhaps is the vision. Can it be realised? Only time will tell. The question is how much time there may be. In the modern world the secret race to acquire nuclear weapons goes on. In the premodern world the interests of organised crime - including international terrorism - grow greater and faster than the state. There may not be much time left.


Teleological Explanation

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James Bogen 
The Oxford Companion to Philosophy (2 ed.)

From the Greek word for goal, task, completion, or perfection. Teleological explanations attempt to account for things and features by appeal to their contribution to optimal states, or the normal functioning, or the attainment of goals, of wholes or systems they belong to. Socrates' story (in Plato's Phaedo) of how he wanted to understand things in terms of what is best is an early discussion of teleology. Another is Aristotle's discussion of ‘final cause’ explanations in terms of that for the sake of which something is, acts, or is acted upon. Such explanations are parodied in Voltaire's Candide.
                                                                                                                            
There are many cases in which an item's contribution to a desirable result does not explain its occurrence. For example, what spring rain does for crops does not explain why it rains in the spring. But suppose we discovered that some object's features were designed and maintained by an intelligent creator to enable it to accomplish some purpose. Then an understanding of a feature's contribution to that purpose could help us explain its presence without mistakenly assuming that everything is as it is because of the effects it causes. There are many things (e.g. well-designed clocks in good working order) known to have been produced by intelligent manufacturers for well-understood purposes, whose features can, therefore, be explained in this way. But if all teleological explanation presupposes intelligent design, only creationists could accept teleological explanations of natural things, and only conspiracy theorists could accept teleological explanations of economic and social phenomena.

Teleological explanations which do not presuppose that what is to be explained is the work of an intelligent agent are to be found in biology, economics, and elsewhere. Their justification typically involves two components: an analysis of the function of the item to be explained and an aetiological account.

Functional analysis seeks to determine what contribution the item to be explained makes to some main activity, to the proper functioning, or to the well-being or preservation, of the organism, object, or system it belongs to. For example, given what is known about the contribution of normal blood circulation to the main activities and the well-being of animals with hearts, the structure and behaviour of the heart lead physiologists to identify its function with its contribution to circulation. Given the function of part of an organism, the function of a subpart (e.g. some nerve-ending in the heart) can be identified with its contribution—if any—to the function of the part (e.g. stimulating heart contractions). Important empirical problems in biology and the social sciences and equally important conceptual problems in the philosophy of science arise from questions about the evaluation of ascriptions of purposes and functions.


Functional analysis cannot explain a feature's presence without an aetiological account which explains how the feature came to be where we find it. In natural-selection explanations, aetiological accounts typically appeal to (a) genetic transmission mechanisms by which features are passed from one generation to the next and (b) selection mechanisms (e.g. environmental pressures) because of which organisms with the feature to be explained have a better chance to reproduce than organisms which lack it. The justification of teleological explanations in sociobiology, anthropology, economics, and elsewhere typically assumes the possibility of finding accounts of transmission and selection mechanisms roughly analogous to (a) and (b).

Bibliography

- A. Ariew, R. Cummins, and M. Perlman (eds.), Functions (Oxford, 2002).
- Morton O. Beckner, Biological Ways of Thought (Berkeley, Calif., 1968), chs. 6–8.
- Larry Wright, ‘Functions’, Christopher Bourse, ‘Wright on Functions’ Robert Cummins, ‘Functional Analysis’ (along with further references to standard literature), in Elliott Sober (ed.), Conceptual Issues in Evolutionary Biology (Cambridge, Mass., 1984).

What Is a Brand?

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Slavoj Zizek  .  Originally published in PLAYBOY, January 2014, page 121 


Marketing Redefines Our Lives in Strange New Ways


Here is an old Polish anti-communist joke: "Socialism is the synthesis of the highest achievements of all previous historical epochs. From tribal society, it took barbarism. From antiquity, it took slavery. From feudalism, it took relations of domination. From capitalism, it took exploitation. And from socialism, it took the name."

Is it not similar with brand names? Imagine a totally outsourced company—a company like, say, Nike that outsources its material production to Asian or Central American contractors, the distribution of its products to retailers, its financial dealings to a consultant, its marketing strategy and publicity to an ad agency, the design of its products to a designer. And on top of that, it borrows money from a bank to finance its activity. Nike would be nothing "in itself"—nothing other than the pure brand mark "Nike," an empty sign that connotes experiences pertaining to a certain lifestyle, something like "the Nike touch." What unites a multitude of properties into a single object is ultimately its brand name—the brand name indicates the mysterious je ne sais quoi that makes Nike sneakers (or Starbucks coffee) into something special.

A couple of decades ago two new labels established themselves in the fruit juice (and also ice cream) market: "forest fruit" and "multivitamin." Both are associated with clearly identified flavors, but the connection between the label and what it designates is contingent. Any other combination of forest fruits would produce a different flavor, and it would be possible to generate the same flavor artificially (with the same, of course, being true for multivitamin juice). One can imagine a child who, after getting authentic homemade "forest fruit" juice, complains to his mother, "That's not what I want! I want true forest fruit juice!" Such examples distinguish the gap between what a word really means (in our case, the flavor recognized as multivitamin) and what would have been its meaning if it were to function literally (any juice that has a lot of vitamins). The autonomous "symbolic efficiency" is so strong it can occasionally generate effects that are almost uncannily mysterious.

Can we get rid of this excessive dimension and use only names that directly designate objects and processes? In 1986, Austrian writer Peter Handke wrote Repetition, a novel describing Slovenia in the drab 1960s. Handke compares an Austrian supermarket, with many brands of milk and yogurt, with a modest Slovene grocery store that has only one kind of milk, with no brand name and just the simple inscription milk. But the moment Handke mentions this brand-less packaging, its innocence is lost. Today such packaging doesn't just designate milk; it brings along a complex nostalgia for the old times when life was poor but (allegedly) more authentic, less alienated. The absence of a logo thus functions as a brand name for a lost way of life. In a living language, words never directly designate reality; they signal how we relate to that reality.

Another effort to get rid of brand names is grounded not in poverty but in extreme consumerist awareness. In August 2012 the media reported that tobacco companies in Australia would no longer be allowed to display distinctive colors, brand designs or logos on cigarette packs. In order to make smoking as unglamorous as possible, the packs would have to come in a uniformly drab shade of olive and feature graphic health warnings and images of cancer-riddled mouths, blinded eyeballs and sickly children. (A similar measure is under consideration in the European Union parliament.) This is a kind of self-cancellation of the commodity form. With no logo, no "commodity aesthetics," we are not seduced into buying the product. The package openly and graphically draws attention to the product's dangerous and harmful qualities. It provides reasons against buying it.

The anti-commodity presentation of a commodity is not a novelty. We find cultural products such as paintings and music worth buying only when we can maintain that they aren't commodities. Here the commodity-noncommodity antagonism functions in a way opposite to how it functions with logo-less cigarettes. The superego injunction is "You should be ready to pay an exorbitant price for this commodity precisely because it is much more than a mere commodity." In the case of logo-less cigarettes, we get the raw-use value deprived of its logo form. (In a similar way, we can buy logo-less sugar, coffee, etc. in discount stores.) In the case of a painting, the logo itself sublates use value.

But do such logo-less products really remove us from commodity fetishism? Perhaps they simply provide another example of the fetishist split signaled by the well-known phrase "Je sais tres bien, mais quand meme…." ("I know very well, but nevertheless….") A decade or so ago there was a German ad for Marlboros. The standard cowboy figure points with his finger toward the obligatory note that reads, "Smoking is dangerous for your health." But three words were added: Jetzt erst recht, which can be vaguely translated as "Now things are getting serious." The implication is clear: Now that you know how dangerous it is to smoke, you have a chance to prove you have the courage to continue smoking. In other words, the attitude solicited in the subject is "I know very well the dangers of smoking, but I am not a coward. I am a true man, and as such, I'm ready to take the risk and remain faithful to my smoking commitment." It is only in this way that smoking effectively becomes a form of consumerism: I am ready to consume cigarettes "beyond the pleasure principle," beyond petty utilitarian considerations about health.

This dimension of lethal excessive enjoyment is at work in all publicity and commodity appeals. All utilitarian considerations (this food is healthy, it was organically grown, it was produced and paid for under fair-trade conditions, etc.) are just a deceptive surface under which lies a deeper superego injunction: "Enjoy! Enjoy to the end, irrespective of consequences." Will a smoker, when he buys the "negatively" packaged Australian cigarettes, hear beneath the negative message the more present voice of the superego? This voice will answer his question: "If all these dangers of smoking are true—and I accept they are—why am I then still buying the package?"

To get an answer to this question, let us turn to Coke as the ultimate capitalist merchandise. It is no surprise that Coke was originally introduced as a medicine. Its taste doesn't seem to provide any particular satisfaction; it is not directly pleasing or endearing. But in transcending its immediate use value (unlike water and wine, which do quench our thirst or produce other desired effects), Coke embodies the surplus of enjoyment over standard satisfactions. It represents the mysterious factor all of us are after in our compulsive consumption of merchandise.

Since Coke doesn't satisfy any concrete need, do we drink it as a supplement after another drink has satisfied our substantial need? Or does Coke's superfluous character make our thirst for it more insatiable? Coke is paradoxical: The more you drink it, the thirstier you get, which in turn leads to a greater need to drink more of it. With Coke's strange bittersweet taste, our thirst is never effectively quenched. In the old publicity motto "Coke is it" we should discern the entire ambiguity: Coke is never effectively it. Every satisfaction opens up a desire for more. Coke is a commodity whose use value embodies an ineffable spiritual surplus. It's a commodity with material properties that are already those of a commodity.

This example makes palpable the inherent link between the Marxist concept of surplus value, the Lacanian concept of surplus enjoyment (which Lacan elaborated with direct reference to Marxian surplus value) and the paradox of the superego perceived by Freud: The more you drink Coke, the thirstier you are. The more profit you have, the more you want. The more you obey the superego, the guiltier you become. These paradoxes are the opposite of the paradox of love, which is, in Juliet's immortal words to Romeo, "The more I give, the more I have."

The predominance of brand names isn't new. It is a constant feature of marketing. What has been going on in the past decade is a shift in the accent of marketing. It's a new stage of commodification that Jeremy Rifkin has designated "cultural capitalism." We buy a product—say, an organic apple—because it represents a particular lifestyle. An ecological protest against the exploitation of natural resources is already caught in the commodification of experience. Although ecology is perceived as a protest against the virtualization of daily life and an argument for a return to the direct experience of material reality, ecology is simply branded as a new lifestyle. When we purchase organic food we are buying a cultural experience, one of a "healthy ecological lifestyle." The same goes for every return to "reality": In an ad widely broadcast on U.S. television a decade or so ago, a group of ordinary people was shown engaged in a barbecue, with country music and dancing, and the accompanying message: "Beef. Real food for real people." But the beef offered as a symbol of a certain lifestyle (that of "real" Americans) is much more chemically and genetically manipulated than the "organic" food consumed by "artificial" yuppies.

This is what design is truly about: Designers articulate the meaning above and beyond a product's function. When they try to design a purely functional product, the product displays functionality as its meaning, often at the expense of its real functionality. Prehistoric handaxes, for example, were made by males as sexual displays of power. The excessive and costly perfection of their form served no direct use.

Our experiences have become commodified. What we buy on the market is less a product we want to own and more a life experience—an experience of sex, eating, communicating, cultural consumption or participating in a lifestyle. Material objects serve as props for these experiences and are offered for free to seduce us into buying the true "experiential commodity," such as the free cell phones we get when we sign a one-year contract. To quote the succinct formula of Mark Slouka, "As more of the hours of our days are spent in synthetic environments, life itself is turned into a commodity. Someone makes it for us; we buy it from them. We become the consumers of our own lives." We ultimately buy (the time of) our own life. Michel Foucault's notion of turning one's self into a work of art thus gets an unexpected confirmation: I buy my physical fitness by joining a gym. I buy my spiritual enlightenment by enrolling in courses on Transcendental Meditation. I buy my public persona by going to restaurants patronized by people with whom I want to be associated.

Let's return to the example of ecology. There's something deceptively reassuring in our readiness to assume guilt for threats to the environment. We like to be guilty. If we're guilty, then it all depends on us. We can save ourselves by changing our lives. What is difficult to accept (at least for us in the West) is that we are reduced to a purely passive role. We are just impotent observers who can only sit and watch what our fate will be. To avoid such a situation, we engage in frantic and obsessive activity. We recycle paper and buy organic food so we can believe we're doing something. We are like a sports fan who supports his team by shouting and jumping from his seat in front of the TV screen in a superstitious belief that this will somehow influence the outcome of the game.

The typical form of fetishist disavowal apropos ecology is "I know very well (that we are all threatened), but I don't really believe it (so I'm not ready to do anything important like change my way of life)." But there is also the opposite form of disavowal: "I know very well I can't really influence processes that can lead to my ruin, but it is nonetheless too traumatic for me to accept. I cannot resist the urge to do something, even if I know it is ultimately meaningless." Isn't this why we buy organic food? Who really believes that half-rotten and expensive "organic" apples are healthier? The point is that, by buying them, we do not just buy and consume a product; we simultaneously do something meaningful, show our care and global awareness and participate in a large collective project.

Today we buy commodities neither for their utility nor as status symbols. We buy them to get the experience they provide; we consume them to make our lives meaningful. Consumption should sustain quality of life. Its time should be "quality time"—not a time of alienation, of imitating models imposed on us by society, of the fear of not keeping up with the Joneses. We seek authentic fulfillment of our true selves, of the sensuous play of experience, of caring for others.

An exemplary case of "cultural capitalism" can be found in the Starbucks ad campaign that says, "It's not just what you're buying. It's what you're buying into." After celebrating the quality of the coffee, the ad continues: "But when you buy Starbucks, whether you realize it or not, you're buying into something bigger than a cup of coffee. You're buying into a coffee ethic. Through our Starbucks Shared Planet program, we purchase more fair-trade coffee than any company in the world, ensuring that the farmers who grow the beans receive a fair price for their work. We invest in and improve coffee-growing practices and communities around the globe. It's good coffee karma. Oh, and a little bit of the price of a cup of Starbucks coffee helps furnish the place with comfy chairs, good music and the right atmosphere to dream, work and chat in. We all need places like that these days. When you choose Starbucks, you are buying a cup of coffee from a company that cares. No wonder it tastes so good."

The "cultural" surplus is here spelled out. The price is higher because you are really buying the "coffee ethic," which includes care for the environment, social responsibility toward producers and a place where you can participate in a communal life (from the beginning Starbucks presented its shops as ersatz community spaces). If this isn't enough, if your ethical needs are still unsatisfied, if you continue to worry about Third World misery, there are other products you can buy. Consider the description Starbucks offers for its Ethos Water program: "Ethos Water is a brand with a social mission—helping children around the world get clean water and raising awareness of the world water crisis. Every time you purchase a bottle of Ethos Water, Ethos Water will contribute five cents toward our goal of raising at least $10 million by 2010. Through the Starbucks Foundation, Ethos Water supports humanitarian water programs in Africa, Asia and Latin America. To date, Ethos Water grant commitments exceed $6.2 million. These programs will help an estimated 420,000 people gain access to safe water, sanitation and hygiene education."

Authentic experience matters. This is how capitalism, at the level of consumption, integrates the legacy of 1968. This is how it addresses the critique of alienated consumption. A recent Hilton ad consists of a simple claim: "Travel doesn't only get us from place A to place B. It should also make us a better person." Can we imagine such an ad a decade ago? The latest scientific expression of this new spirit is the rise of happiness studies. But how is it that, in this era of spiritualized hedonism, when the goal of life is defined as happiness, anxiety and depression are exploding? It is the enigma of this self-sabotage of happiness and pleasure that makes Freud's message more actual than ever.


Authenticity and brand names are not mutually exclusive—authenticity echoes beneath every brand name.

Aristotelian Ethics

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Christopher Megone, Department of Philosophy, University of Leeds, UK
Encyclopedia of Applied Ethics (Second Edition), 2012, Pages 189-204

Abstract

Aristotelian ethics develops as a systematic response to two key questions: “What is eudaimonia or happiness (the ultimate good for a whole human life)?” and “Does virtue pay?” Aristotle defends the view that virtue pays by arguing that the active life of ethical virtue, not a life of wealth or pleasure, for example, constitutes eudaimonia. In developing this position, Aristotle grounds his account of eudaimonia in his account of human nature and articulates in detail both what virtue is and how it is acquired. He also discusses the role of other internal and external goods in happiness. The resultant theory is a virtue theory in which the virtuous (right) action is that which the phronimos (practically wise man) would do. The richness of his account of virtue and its acquisition allows this to be an informative approach to issues in applied ethics. Details of the picture are also relevant to a wide range of specific applied questions.

Keywords

Character; Choice; Friendship; Happiness (Eudaimonia); Habituation; Human nature; Pleasure; Practical wisdom; rationality; Ultimate good; Virtue; Wealth

Introduction

Aristotle certainly wrote two works on ethics, the Nicomachean Ethics (NE) and the Eudemian Ethics. He may also have written the Magna Moralia. Although it is a matter of dispute, the NE is widely believed to be the most definitive account of his views and this article will draw primarily on that text. However, Aristotle was a systematic thinker. He recognized that in addressing central questions in ethics he also needed to attend to issues in the philosophy of mind and action, metaphysics, and political philosophy. Hence a discussion of his ethics must also draw, from time to time, on works such as De Motu Animalium, Metaphysics (MP), Physics (Phys.), and Politics (Pol.).

What follows has been divided into six main sections. These examine:

1. The broad outlines of an Aristotelian approach;
2. His views on method in ethics, views that obviously determine the nature of his discussion;
3. The answers he develops to the central questions he sets himself, answers focusing on the importance of what are sometimes termed internal goods: virtues of character and of the intellect;
4. His account of external goods such as wealth, friendship, and a good family, as well as another internal good, pleasure;
5. Some prominent features of the theory; and
6. The practical implications of Aristotelian ethical theory and specifically its influence on some contemporary debates in applied ethics.



Aristotle’s Approach to Ethics

Aristotle followed Plato and Socrates in the questions he identified as central to the study of ethics. Socrates’s key question is: “What kind of life should one live?” In the NE Aristotle raises this question in terms of the notion of an ultimate good. He observes that if there is some ultimate good at which we all aim in actions it will be of no little importance to discover it (NE, 1094a 1–26). He then notes that all reach verbal agreement that the ultimate human good is a life of eudaimonia (NE, 1094a 14–20). Despite this verbal agreement, there is disagreement as to what eudaimonia consists in. So Aristotle’s key question is, in effect: “What does eudaimonia consist in?”

Two remarks about this approach are worth making at the outset. First, the question of what Aristotle means by eudaimonia is a matter of some dispute. What has already been said is simply that there is general agreement that it is the ultimate human good. Second, Aristotle initiates discussion of this issue with the claim that all human action aims at some good. This, too, needs examination, but this starting point already shows how for him an understanding of ethics is tied to a full understanding of the nature of human action.

Aristotle also has in mind, like Socrates and Plato, a second question: “Does virtue pay?” He does not raise this question explicitly, but it is implicit in his investigation of the relation between the life of virtue and that of eudaimonia. The question of whether virtue pays is much like the contemporary question: “Why be moral?”, save that it is expressed here in terms of the language of virtue. In adopting that language, then, Aristotle is following Socrates and Plato in developing an approach to ethics that focuses on the virtues. He is a virtue theorist. But he is not merely following authorities. Talk of virtues such as justice and courage was central to the everyday language of praise and blame in his time, with vices and other defects of character equally relevant. That language still makes sense too. In day-to-day life, cries for justice are heard worldwide and those who are courageous, or just, or wise, are still commonly thought admirable. In addressing the question of whether virtue pays, the Greek thinkers recognized that reflection needs to explain to us why it is justifiable to admire the virtuous. If such common attitudes are to be retained, reflection needs to show that they are not mistaken.

A virtue theory such as Aristotle’s has access to a rich vocabulary for ethical reflection. Aristotle’s concern is not simply with right and wrong, but with courage and cowardice, wisdom and foolishness, justice and injustice. His discussion is also one that can allow that weakness of character, or strength of character (NE, 1145a 15–20), should be accounted for by an adequate moral theory. In these sorts of ways, his approach has been held to be more sensitive than rival contemporary theories to the nuances of everyday moral debate.

Aristotle’s ethics, then, has a broad framework provided by the two questions noted above. Within that framework other questions arise. First, in examining what eudaimonia consists in he takes account of prominent existing views. In Republic (540a–b), Plato had indicated that the life philosopher kings would really wish to pursue was one of intellectual inquiry or reflection. Predecessors had also debated the value of pleasure in a good life and the importance of other external goods such as wealth and friendship. Thus Aristotle is interested in the role of all these competitors in a eudaimon life. This arises directly from attending to his first question, but his answer to that leads him to discussion of the nature of both friendship and pleasure; and to focusing on the role of theoria (contemplation, or reflective understanding, perhaps) within eudaimonia.

Second, while Aristotle needs to spell out the nature of eudaimonia, clearly any account of its relation to virtue requires him to also provide a definition of virtue. Thus he faces the Socratic “What is it?” question both in relation to virtue as a whole and with regard to specific virtues. Similarly, he also needs to address the question of the relation between the virtues, whether they constitute a unity, or are in some sense identical. Then, in developing a full account, he must focus on the role of seminal virtues such as justice and courage, as well as practical wisdom (phronesis), an intellectual virtue particularly important for ethical virtue.

Third, the discussion of virtue leads to a discussion of motivation for action. In the early Platonic dialogues, what seems to be a Socratic account of virtue is developed, one in which all desires aim at the good and virtue is thus identified with knowledge (of the good), a position leading Socrates to reject the possibility of weakness of will (as reported by Aristotle (NE, 1145b 21–35)). In Republic (434e–444e), Plato develops a moral psychology that makes room for such a phenomenon, and thus will require a different account of virtue. Despite their differences, what both these predecessors make clear is that there is a tight connection between virtue and action, and in particular that an adequate account of virtue will involve a properly developed moral psychology. Aristotle follows them, too, in taking it as a constraint on the adequacy of a theory that it should give a satisfactory psychological account of defective conditions such as weakness of will and vice. Thus Aristotle’s account focuses on the nature of (ethical) motivation and in particular the role of reason and desire in action, and so their part in a defensible definition of virtue.

Finally, Aristotle notes at the outset of NE that ethics is a branch of political philosophy (NE, 1094a 24–8). Thus for him the investigation of eudaimonia raises the question of the relation between the achievement of the ultimate good and the kind of society a citizen inhabits. This was of course a key theme of Plato’s Republic. Aristotle takes the matter further through a discussion of human nature, and proper human development, taken up also in the early chapters of Politics (1252a 1–1253a 39). For Aristotle too, therefore, discussion of the virtuous individual intertwines with reflection on the just society.

If these are the issues that Aristotle’s ethical theory embraces in addressing his two main questions, an outline of his approach may conclude by indicating the general nature of his response to those questions.

Taking the two questions above in reverse order, Aristotle defends the view that virtue does indeed pay. He shows this by arguing that the active life of practical virtue, not a life of wealth or pleasure, for example, constitutes eudaimonia.

To defend more fully this claim that virtue is worthwhile, Aristotle develops his conceptions of both eudaimonia and virtue. His account of eudaimonia rests on an argument he introduces concerning human nature. This is because in his view the ultimate human good is produced when a human fulfills his nature, realizes (or actualizes) his distinctively human potential. (In an Aristotelian metaphysical picture, members of a biological kind such as humans consist of a set of powers or potentials which are realized or actualized over time. Thus we might say that a human infant has the potential to speak a language and if properly nurtured and educated the developing human will realize or actualize that potential, becoming a fluent speaker. In what follows I will use the terminology of ‘realizing’ potential.) The distinctively human potential (or essential potential) is the potential to live a life guided by reason. So the ultimate human good is achieved when an individual fully realizes his potential for rationality. Thus Aristotle’s answer to the first question is that eudaimonia consists in a maximally rational life.

Aristotle then produces and defends a conception of practical virtue such that a life of practical virtue will exhibit rationality maximally (at least in the practical sphere). Thus he argues that the virtues are states of character that enable the agent to reason (practically), and so act, fully rationally.

Thus it is that the virtuous life produces eudaimonia. The virtuous life is the fully rational life and humans are such that the ultimate human good, eudaimonia, is realized in a fully rational life. Thus practical virtue and eudaimonia are linked, in Aristotle’s view, by the concept of rationality, and his conception of human nature as having a goal or telos, such that the flourishing human fully develops that rationality.

As noted earlier, Aristotle is aware of the widely held views that pleasure, wealth, friendship, and good family are valuable, and he seeks to accommodate these views within his theory. Thus he argues that the fully virtuous life is indeed pleasurable, providing an argument that depends on an analysis of the nature of pleasure. He also indicates the relevance of wealth and family for virtue. Finally he analyzes friendship suggesting that its paradigm form is friendship of the virtuous, and indicating that its significance is related to the importance of the state in the realization of an individual virtuous life.

To begin with, though, Aristotle’s remarks on method in ethics need attention. They help to explain how he arrives at his position, as well as revealing what he takes to be the purpose of ethical theory. Both these points are relevant to the use of Aristotelian theory in applied ethics.

Aristotle’s Method in Ethics

In NE I and VII, Aristotle makes various methodological remarks concerning the study of ethics. His views can be divided into three categories. First, he notes some constraints on the study of ethics, in particular on what sort of results can be expected in ethical inquiry. Second, he remarks on the sort of student that can benefit from engaging in ethical inquiry. These remarks are made in the light of both where ethical discussion must begin and what its purpose is. Finally he offers a suggestion on how to assess the conclusions of a discussion. All these ideas provide insights into the nature of the philosophical study of ethics (and thus of applied ethics), as well as aiding the understanding of Aristotle’s own preferred theory.

Precision in Ethics

Aristotle begins by remarking that different degrees of precision or clarity can be expected in different areas of study, so it will be sufficient in ethics to indicate the truth roughly and in outline. He illustrates his general idea here by noting that persuasive reasoning is evidently not adequate in mathematics, while on the other hand one should not expect demonstrative proofs of a rhetorician. Why should imprecision be expected in ethics? He appeals to the imprecision in its subject matter. Fine and just acts exhibit much variety and fluctuation; and even good things fluctuate in the sense that they sometimes harm people: the courageous sometimes die as a result of their courage (NE, 1094b 10–27).

It is not clear exactly how these remarks are to be taken. There has been some discussion as to what sort of knowledge Aristotle thinks possible in ethics, and whether he thinks it comparable with scientific knowledge. Questions have also arisen as to whether these remarks support some kind of relativist interpretation of his theory. However, he continues to talk of indicating the truth in ethics, as if there were truths here as in other areas of inquiry, mathematics, for example, but their content was less precise. Perhaps his key point is that even though results in ethics do not take the same form as those of mathematics, there is no reason to think it any less possible to discover truths and attain knowledge.

At a more practical level, the remarks suggest that it will be hard to spell out what justice, for example, requires, in terms of general rules such as “always return what you borrow” or “always keep promises.” They also suggest that it might be hard to produce any systematic method, such as the classical utilitarian calculus, in the light of which to determine what act is correct on any occasion. Such a calculus does not suppose a system of rules, so is consistent with variety in that way, but it does suggest that there is a reliable universal guide to what is good, while Aristotle seems to be claiming that such attempted generalizations are always defeasible. Some of these ideas are developed more explicitly in NE V and IX.

Precision and Casuistry in Ethics

In discussing epieikeia (equity) in NE, V, 10 and friendship in NE, IX, 2, Aristotle makes clear that in ethical matters universal laws are not possible. Certain matters of distributive justice arise at the level of the state, and for these issues laws are needed. But even if these laws are made by just rulers Aristotle suggests they will break down: “… all law is universal but about some things it is not possible to make a universal statement which shall be correct.” He indicates that in such cases the law must take the usual case, even though it is not ignorant of the possibility of error. And, as in book I, he holds that the law in such cases will be correct, “for the error is not in the law, nor in the legislator, but in the nature of the thing” (NE, 1137b 13–19). In other words, laws are needed since they will be true for the most part and thus worth having, but the ethical realm is subject to so much variation in detail that even the best generalizations will break down.

In NE, IX, 2 Aristotle spells this out with a series of cases. For example, he asks whether one should show gratitude to a benefactor or oblige a friend, if one cannot do both, and observes that all such questions are hard. The reason is that they admit of “many variations of all sorts in respect both of the magnitude of the service and of its nobility and necessity” (NE, IX, 2). Nonetheless he again emphasizes the value of generalizations, noting that for the most part we should return benefits rather than oblige friends (NE, 1164b 25–33).

The main point here is the nature of the results one might expect to attain in the study of ethics. One cannot expect to discover completely reliable universal rules either about what acts are required of agents or even about the reliability of goods such as courage. The main reason for this is the enormous variation in the details of the situations agents confront. Nonetheless, Aristotle also indicates that we can expect to find truths in ethics, and that the truth will be constituted in part by generalizations that are broadly reliable. Clearly, these remarks have direct implications for practical decisions. If laws break down in this way, what is to be done in the unusual case? If Aristotle holds that there are truths in this area, how are they to be discerned? In other words, the remarks above raise questions as to what sort of practical implications Aristotle thinks an ethical theory can have. This will be addressed in the section titled “Eudaimonia, Pleasure, and External Goods” but, broadly speaking, Aristotle’s remarks in NE, V, 10 indicate that he favors a casuistical approach to those cases where the usually reliable generalization breaks down.

Starting Points, End Points, and Suitable Students of Ethics

In NE I, 3 Aristotle argues that a young person is not a suitable student of ethics, for two reasons. First, the young lack relevant true beliefs that are necessary if one is to start doing ethics, they are ignorant of the actions of life; and, second, they are unlikely to benefit from the study of ethics because they tend to be ruled by their passions. In the next chapter, he adds that if a student is to benefit from lectures on ethics, he must be well brought up, that is, he must have a grasp on the “that” in ethics, or at least be capable of grasping it when advised by others. The reason for this is that in ethics we must begin with those things that are evident to us (as opposed to what is evident without qualification) (NE, 1094b 27–1095b 13). These remarks as to how one should begin an inquiry in ethics can be supplemented by what Aristotle says when investigating weakness of will in NE, VII, 1. Here he notes that we must begin by setting the apparent facts before us (NE, 1145b 2–3).

These ideas about starting points in ethics are important. Very roughly, the idea here is that an inquiry cannot begin in a vacuum but must take as its starting point certain widely held or prominent beliefs. The inquiry then proceeds by examining these beliefs. This certainly seems to be the procedure adopted in the investigation of acrasia in NE, VII, following the passage referred to above, and also in the initial inquiry into the nature of eudaimonia in NE I, 4-5 (noted already), where Aristotle reviews and examines certain widely held beliefs about it.

If so, Aristotle requires that a student of ethics should already hold beliefs of a certain sort in advance of study. The objective will then be to examine those beliefs and, if a standard dialectical method is adopted here, to seek knowledge (or understanding) by uncovering the explanations (the whys) for those beliefs. (The position thus draws a distinction between beliefs, or opinions, and knowledge, or understanding. At the outset of an inquiry, the investigator begins with widely held beliefs. If the inquiry is successful he will attain knowledge. The beliefs will be justified in the sense that he will have discovered explanations for the propositions believed.)

But what sort of beliefs must the student possess at the beginning? First they must be beliefs acquired through experience of actions (experience of circumstances in which significant choices have to be made), and second they must be the sort of beliefs that are acquired through a good upbringing. Some writers have supposed Aristotle to be very demanding here. They suggest that philosophical ethics is only for those who are already good. On this view a well-brought-up young person’s experience of actions will enable him already to have entirely true beliefs as to what the good person should do on any given occasion. Thus, it is said, the study of ethics will simply deepen the student’s reflective appreciation of why the life he correctly believes to be good is good.

Such a view suggests that Aristotelian ethical theory will provide no practical advice at all. For the only possible students are those who need no practical advice. The “that” they must already grasp, prior to philosophical reflection, is what is required of them in any particular circumstance. But there are reasons to doubt this interpretation. Common-sense reflection suggests that if Aristotle had held this view he would have had no students at all. For it seems unlikely that there is any human who has true beliefs as to exactly what the right thing to do is in all possible circumstances.

Furthermore, attention to the cases in NE where Aristotle adopts his method show him considering a range of widely held beliefs. This indicates that suitable students need only be in a position to recognize these as possible beliefs, and perhaps be inclined toward one of them. For example, in the examination of eudaimonia in NE, I, 5, the starting points, presumably the “that” some of which a student must know in advance, include the ideas that the ultimate good is wealth or pleasure, which seem unlikely beliefs for someone who only ever makes good choices.

Also telling is the other reason given above for rejecting the young as students of ethics. Those who are young in age or young in character will be dominated by their passions, so incapable of changing their acts in line with any knowledge their study brings. Yet, Aristotle notes, the point of ethical inquiry is action and not knowledge, a point reiterated in the discussion of virtue (NE, 1095a 4–11 and 1103b 26–29). The significance of this claim can be backed up by attention to an earlier remark that knowledge of eudaimonia will make us more likely to hit upon what is right (NE, 1094a 22–24). Taken together, these assertions suggest that ethical inquiry (well-conducted) is likely to make us change our actions (for the better) in particular circumstances. At least ethical inquiry is intended to achieve that. But if the students of ethics were all wholly virtuous already, ethical inquiry could not make them more likely to do the right actions. All their actions would already be correct.

However, if the requirement is not that students should already have entirely virtuous beliefs, what must a young person who is well brought up believe, prior to studying ethics? One possible interpretation would take Aristotle to be setting down a minimal requirement, that experience of the actions of life must have given suitable students a sense of right and wrong, or good and bad, enough to grasp the significance of these distinctions. Lacking this, the prospective student would be unable to see the point of investigating the ultimate human good.

An alternative interpretation would be that the potential ethicist must already have some correct beliefs about which acts are right, which are wrong, not just the simple view that there is a distinction. On this second view, what will need explaining is why certain correct acts are right, why others are wrong, and this is the sort of thing one might expect a conception of the ultimate good to explain.

These reflections suggest that the “that,” possessed by a suitable student, might include beliefs of an abstract (meta-) level, for example concerning the link between virtue and happiness, or the occurrence of weakness of will; and beliefs as to what virtue requires, or what right action is in a particular case, for example how the courageous person will act in certain circumstances. Furthermore, the student of ethics may be mistaken about at least some of these, of both types, prior to study.

Suppose then that a suitable student must have beliefs of this sort. Inquiry proceeds by examining these beliefs. How, then, does Aristotle determine when such an examination has produced satisfactory results? What is the objective of ethical inquiry? The remarks already referred to in NE I, 4 suggest the goal is to arrive at a grasp of what is evident without qualification, and that this involves reaching the whys, explanations for the starting beliefs. But if so, how are different possible explanations to be assessed? In NE VII, 1 he indicates that the best explanation will preserve as true as many as possible of the widely held beliefs, and the authoritative beliefs, canvassed at the outset, but also explain the conflicts found among the starting beliefs (NE, 1145b 3–7).

Aristotelian Method and Conservatism in Ethics

It might be suggested that this view about the objective of ethical inquiry has rather conservative tendencies. It constrains ethical theory to retain as many as possible of the widely held and authoritative beliefs existing prior to the inquiry. In this respect, Aristotelian ethics might seem to differ in outlook from the position of classical utilitarians such as Bentham and Sidgwick whose aim was to put ethics onto a scientific base, providing a scientifically reliable method for determining what to do. For them it was possible that the method, once discovered, might lead to large-scale revisions of practice.

But the degree of conservatism implied by the Aristotelian method will in fact depend on the nature of the preexisting beliefs. Given a high degree of uniformity among these beliefs, then the method suggests that the theory should at most explain those beliefs, and thus confirm them. Take an example from applied ethics. Suppose that in medical practice there is widespread agreement about the importance of informed consent from patients, then the Aristotelian will simply expect ethical theory to explain that belief and will reject any theory that suggests the belief is false.

However, the method need not be particularly conservative in those areas where there is widespread disagreement. In such cases, it will allow the theory to reject many people’s beliefs and in that respect be highly revisionary. A practical example might be the problem of abortion where some believe it to be wrong in all circumstances, some believe it to be permissible in all circumstances, and there is a huge variety of beliefs held along the spectrum between these polar positions. In such a case, the Aristotelian method might expect ethical theory to vindicate only a small proportion of the beliefs held. (Some might suggest that Aristotle’s defence of the importance of virtue in eudaimonia is another example of radicalism permitted by his method.) A different case might be where two widely held beliefs clashed, as when it is found that there is a quite general gap between the moral beliefs we assert and those we express in practice. A practical example might be the gap between widely expressed views about the horror of homelessness being found among people who do not take the homeless into their spare rooms. In this case, an ethical theory might highlight the conflict as well as leading to the vindication of either the asserted belief or the practice. In all these sorts of cases, then, Aristotelian method can support quite large-scale ethical change.

Aristotelian Ethical Theory: Eudaimonia, Human Nature, and Virtue

If these are the principles governing his examination of ethical issues, how does he apply them to his two central questions? What follows will explore how he develops a conception of eudaimonia that appeals to a conception of human nature and how he then develops an account of virtue that can show how the life of virtue is a life of eudaimonia.

Before turning to the detail, brief comment can be made on the general sort of ethical theory Aristotle advances. What has been said already indicates that Aristotelian ethical theory is a virtue theory, and it is there that its greatest relevance to applied ethics may be found. However, three other general features of the theory can be noted. First, it incorporates an objective conception of the ultimate good at which a human life should aim. Second, the theory is eudaimonist. Aristotle holds that the ultimate good at which a life should aim is eudaimonia, or happiness. This does not mean that the agent should aim at eudaimonia in every action. Virtuous action has its own distinctive motives. But eudaimonia is the point of life. A life goes better to the extent that it realizes eudaimonia and less well insofar as it diverges from this ultimate good. Thus explaining the relation between virtue and eudaimonia provides a reflective justification of the virtuous life. The conception of the virtues is constrained by this feature of Aristotle’s theory. In the end, if virtues are valuable, this can only be because they play a role in achieving this eudaimon life (though Aristotle also allows that “every virtue we choose indeed for themselves” (NE, 1097b 2–3)). So it must be possible to provide an account of what virtue is that reveals the way in which possession of virtue contributes to the eudaimon life.

This second general feature also has repercussions for applied ethics. For, since the virtues may figure in applications of the theory, this eudaimonist constraint on what virtues are will have a bearing on what acts the virtuous individual performs.

Third, Aristotle puts forward a perfectionist theory. He holds that eudaimonia, the ultimate good, is achieved in a life that perfectly realizes human nature. This aspect of the theory constrains both the account of eudaimonia and the account of the virtues. Thus it too has repercussions for applied ethics in the way that the second feature does.

Eudaimonia

Clarification of Aristotle’s views on eudaimonia requires that something be said on several points. First, why did Aristotle think there was such a thing as an ultimate good, which all agree verbally to be eudaimonia? Second, to what English concept, if any, does this Greek concept correspond? Of what is it that Aristotle is trying to produce a correct conception? Third, the application of his favored method to the investigation of the concept needs to be outlined.

The argument for an ultimate good

Aristotle’s argument for the existence of an ultimate good begins from the observation that every (rational) action aims at some good. If an objective is thought of as good, it will either be because it is instrumentally good, it is chosen for the sake of some further good toward which it contributes or because it is good in itself. So, when choosing what to do, an agent’s reasoning must always end at some objective thought good in itself, since instrumental goods always presuppose some further good. Aristotle’s next move has been debated, but can be coherently construed as the conditional claim that if there is some ultimate good at which we aim in all actions it will be of no little importance to discover it (NE, 1094a 1–26). In other words the fact that all our actions aim at objectives thought good in themselves leaves open the possibility that there is a single ultimate good. Thus Aristotle takes the argument to establish the point of investigating what the ultimate good is. But the argument’s distinction between instrumental goods and goods in themselves also leaves open whether the concept of an ultimate good is such that its ultimacy consists in it alone, in some sense beyond all other goods, being pursued for its own sake, or whether it can be ultimate while being simply a composite of a group of noninstrumental goods (all equally noninstrumental). In addition, therefore, this initial argument leaves open whether there will turn out empirically to be just one concrete good for humans, that which is worth pursuing, ultimately, in every (fully rational) action, or a range of such goods, which fit together in such a way as to constitute a unity.

On this interpretation, Aristotle’s initial supposition that there is an ultimate good is only conditional (in various ways). He has not even tried to show that it must exist. Reflection on human (rational) action leaves open the possibility that there is such a thing and, if it exists, it would be worth knowing. This is sufficient to motivate the inquiry. Subsequent discussion, for example, the fact that all reach at least verbal agreement as to what it is (eudaimonia), provides some additional support for its existence; and the fact that the inquiry into its existence seems to be successful constitutes further confirmation. So Aristotle does enough to show us that his first key question, the investigation of eudaimonia, is worth pursuing.

What exactly is it that Aristotle investigates once he has established that Greeks in general agree that the ultimate good is eudaimonia? The most authoritative translations agree on the translation ‘happiness.’ This reflects the need for a concept that many see as an ultimate goal, but about whose actual content there is disagreement.

Aristotle’s method and preliminary inquiry into eudaimonia

How, then, does Aristotle apply his method, described above, to the initial investigation of eudaimonia, or happiness? Aristotle begins his inquiry, in NE I, 4, by considering views as to its content that have been held by the wise or the many. These constitute the “that,” the initial beliefs that require examination.

Of these views, several are swiftly dismissed, namely the idea that it is a life of pleasure, or one that achieves honor, or one in which the agent becomes wealthy. Wealth is only a means to an end, the value of honor depends on who bestows it, and the life of pleasure is not the ultimate good for humans; such a life is more suited to beasts. Two possibilities are left: that it is an active life of practical virtue in which courage, justice, and so on are fully exhibited, or that it is a life of intellectual excellence involving contemplation or deep reflective understanding (NE, 1095b 14–1096a 10). This would presumably be the type of life that fully satisfies man’s natural desire to know (MP, 980a 21).

These rapid dismissals of some popular views may seem contrary to what the method requires. But his subsequent discussion of pleasure, honor, or wealth allows that each has some relevance to eudaimonia. Thus he follows his method in seeking to preserve as much as possible from the initial starting points.

In sum, Aristotle seeks an account of eudaimonia that explains the widely held verbal agreement that this is the ultimate good but is also able to accommodate as much as possible of the variant beliefs as to what it substantively consists of. This is just what his method requires.

In NE I, then, his method has left him with two rival conceptions of eudaimonia (the active life of practical virtue and the contemplative life). Their relation has been an important matter in the scholarly interpretation of Aristotelian theory. For present purposes, the focus is on the active life of practical virtue, as more crucial to applied ethics, and Aristotle’s reasons in NE I–IX for thinking it constitutes an eudaimon life. If it does, then Aristotle will have answered both his central questions: he will have identified eudaimonia and shown that the virtuous life does pay. To answer his questions in this way, he needs to explain the connection between the eudaimon life and the life of virtue. He achieves this by, first, producing an argument that illuminates the concept of eudaimonia and, second, elaborating what practical virtue is in a way that shows how it is connected with the concept so illuminated.

Eudaimonia and Aristotle’s Conception of Human Nature

The argument he produces to illuminate the concept of eudaimonia concerns human nature. He argues that where a kind of thing has a function, a good member of that kind is one that fully performs that function. Thus if the function of a sculptor is to sculpt statues, a good sculptor is one who sculpts statues properly (similarly, a good knife is one that cuts properly). He then argues that human beings should be understood as having a function. Their function is to actively exercise reason. Hence the human good (eudaimonia) will be achieved by an individual who actively reasons properly (NE, 1097b 22–1098a 18).

In other words, what a good X is depends on what kind X belongs to, which is specified by reference to the function of things of that kind. This is the argument that Aristotle implicitly relied on above in denying that the life of pleasure is eudaimon, thus attacking a classical utilitarian view.

Key aspects of this argument are, first, the claim that humans have a function, and second, the claim that the human function is to exercise reason. But do humans have a function? And if so, is that function the exercise of reason?

Both questions require a detailed account of the argument, which is only cryptically stated in NE. For present purposes, suffice it to say that a possible response depends on understanding humans here in the light of his general conception of natural kinds articulated in Physics, II. Very briefly, Aristotle holds that a member of a natural kind possesses a nature, in virtue of which it belongs to that kind, and in virtue of which it is the thing that it is. (The nature constitutes the entity’s essence.) This nature plays a particular role in explaining the entity’s behavior. Thus, for example, an acorn has a nature that explains some of the changes the acorn can undergo, those changes that it undergoes when it develops properly. In the acorn’s case, these are the changes it goes through as it develops into a fully grown oak tree, the sort of tree that best sustains the species. The nature of the acorn explains these changes teleologically. The idea is that the nature of the acorn is constituted by a particular set of potentialities. (These are a subset of all the acorn’s potentialities, a subset of the ways in which an acorn can change.) When the acorn realizes these potentialities it behaves as a good member of the kind. It is in this sense that those changes are explained teleologically. It is also in this sense that an acorn can be thought of as having a function. Its function is to realize that special set of changes that are explained teleologically. And this provides the link to good acorns (as in the case of the sculptor). Good acorns are those that perform their function.

This is the sense in which Aristotle thinks of humans as having a function, such that good humans perform that function properly. A human being has a nature. This nature explains some of the changes that a human undergoes, those changes he undergoes when he develops properly, once again those that contribute to the persistence of the species. Aristotle identifies those changes as the ones that occur in a cycle of development in which the potential for reason is fully realized. How does Aristotle identify this as the key human characteristic? He relies on an analysis of empirical observation. He identifies the nature of the key developments that must take place in a human if that human is to contribute optimally to the persistence of the species. (The phenomenon Aristotle observes and seeks to explain is that of a stable eco-system, and his analysis of natural kinds accounts for their behavior within that framework.) Thus his claim is that the cycle of development that a good human goes through is one in which the power of rationality is developed and exercised fully.

In the NE, only the bare bones of the argument are presented. Furthermore, the conclusion that the good human life involves the full exercise of rationality is not elaborated. In fact, unpacking what it means for a life to be fully rational will be a complex matter. This is unsurprising since the human case is that of the most complex natural kind, so the account of human nature needs to be correspondingly more complex. Aristotle indicates a little more about these complexities in Politics (1252a 1–1253a 39). There he argues that human nature is such that the full realization of the human function can only take place in a polis. The basic reason for this is that humans are a gregarious species (like bees), hence their proper development involves projects shared in common. Some remarks here also gesture toward the way in which some of these shared projects involve the realization of the potential for reason.

However, the point at this stage is that a defence can be offered of the key claims in Aristotle’s argument here and thus of his conception of human nature. This in turn provides a defence of his view that the human good must be elaborated through attention to this conception of human nature, and so the view that eudaimonia must consist in a life which fully realizes the potential to exercise reason. Eudaimonia is linked to reason, so the life of practical virtue can be shown to be eudaimon if it can be shown that practical virtue requires the full exercise of rationality.

The nature of practical virtue

After the initial attention to eudaimonia in NE I, Aristotle examines both what virtue is and the nature of particular virtues. Contrary to Socrates in Plato’s Meno, Aristotle approaches the question of what virtue is by considering first how virtue is acquired. In what follows, the same order will be adopted.

The acquisition of virtue

“Neither by nature, then, nor contrary to nature do the virtues arise in us; rather we are adapted by nature to receive them, and are made perfect by habit.” Thus Aristotle summarizes how the virtues are acquired (NE, 1103a 23–26). If the virtues are to constitute the realization of human nature, they must be, in a sense, in accord with human nature. But this aspect of the realization of human nature requires a particular kind of external intervention. (The virtues will not simply develop, in normal circumstances, unless prevented.) So Aristotle, in noting that they do not arise by nature, accepts that they are artificial, in a sense, and this is because they cannot develop unless the agent’s behavior is initially appropriately guided by others. At a later stage in development, the agent may become capable of training himself, getting himself to do the right thing (in cases where he lacks the virtuous disposition and so has to be strong-willed).

When he talks of the role of habituation in virtue acquisition, Aristotle has in mind something more complex than the conditioning of a child’s behavior. To have a virtue is not a matter of having the mere habit of behaving in a certain way, a conditioned behavioral response brought about through (guided) repetition. As Aristotle describes it, habituation involves guidance, and may involve repetition, but crucial in his analysis is the role of practice or behavior. And habituated practice plays a critical role in the acquisition of the true beliefs required for virtue (as well as the right kind of desires).

For Aristotle there are several stages of habituation that an individual must go through if he is to acquire virtue. Reflection on NE, I, 3-4 indicates that the acquisition of virtue involves grasping first the “that” and then the “why.” Thus this process of habituation appears to run in parallel with what a student must go through in preparing for and then studying ethics.

Granted this distinction between grasp of the “that” and the “why,” there are at least three stages that the young must go through in acquiring the “that.” First a student must learn that a certain type of behavior is required in particular circumstances. In the young, in particular, this is learned from others. Thus in NE II, 1 Aristotle emphasizes the importance of all who play a role in guidance, including legislators, parents, and teachers, for example. But to know the “that” in this sense is merely to have acquired the information that one’s parents, say, believe this is the courageous thing to do. At this stage, the child believes this is the right thing to do merely because it is what those she trusts advise her to do.

But to believe the “that” in the strong sense is to have grasped that this is the right thing to do for oneself, through coming to enjoy it properly. There are two further stages of habituation here, first coming to enjoy the required act, as opposed to doing it because instructed by others, and then coming to enjoy it properly, where one appreciates what it is in the action that is truly enjoyable. Critical to the second stage is action. The child, in the example, must actually do what her parents advise her to do as the courageous act. Only through action can the child come to see for herself that this is indeed the courageous act. This kind of knowledge can only be acquired through trying the activity and coming to enjoy it (which may require repetition). It is in this aspect of habituation that practice has been said to have cognitive powers. The process of seeing for oneself “that” an action is the right thing to do goes hand in hand with learning to enjoy doing it.

The last stage in which the student appreciates what it is about the action that is properly enjoyable must be closely related to a further stage in the development of virtue, namely the point at which something is grasped of why the action is virtuous. This reflective understanding must also be at least part of what is acquired through the study of ethics, but it would seem that it might well contribute to an appreciation of exactly what it is in right action that is truly enjoyable. If so, the grasp of the “that” in this way will overlap with the grasp of the “why.”

However, the main point here is that the role of habituation initially is to enable the young to grasp for themselves the “that” regarding virtue, a requirement of truly virtuous behavior. Once that stage is attained, a second stage, the grasp of the “why,” becomes possible. This stage is necessary if the agent is to have a reasoned understanding of virtuous action. This may involve both a full appreciation of why a particular act is required, as virtuous, in the relevant circumstances, and an ability to grasp fully the relation between practical virtue and other key concepts, such as eudaimonia.

The definition of virtue

Aristotle offers the following definition of virtue: “Virtue, then, is a state of character concerned with choice, lying in a mean, i.e. the mean relative to us, this being determined by a rational principle, and by that principle by which the man of practical wisdom would determine it.” (NE, 1106b 36–1107a 2). This, then, is the condition that arises, first, from habituation: the practice of right action, guided (initially) by good parents, teachers, and law; and in due course, from reflection on the “that” that has been established through habituation. What kind of condition is Aristotle describing?

First, virtue is a state of character (hexis). This is a settled disposition of the mind that disposes the agent to act in certain ways when circumstances arise to which that state of character is relevant. It is a state of character concerned with prohairesis, a technical term in Aristotle’s analysis of action, better translated as “preferential choice” to mark that. So preferential choice must be explained.

Children do not make preferential choices, though they act hekousios (intentionally). A child is capable of originating action through possessing both a desire and the relevant correct beliefs, and this is all that is necessary if the child is to act hekousios. But the desires of children are not preferential desires, the sort of desires that lead to preferential choices. Such desires are formed in the light of deliberation as to how to attain goals, where those goals reflect a conception of the good. Children, as humans in whom rational powers are not realized (though those powers may be in the course of realization), lack such a conception of the good. They are subject only to passing desires. Thus to make a preferential choice, it is necessary not only to act on a desire and a belief, but to act on a desire that derives from a conception of the good. The virtuous person has a settled disposition of the mind to make preferential choices.

But the vicious also make preferential choices, so the definition specifies more about the state of character of one who makes virtuous choices. The virtuous state of character lies in a mean relative to us. What this entails is that the agent’s passions, or emotions, are appropriate, so as to give rise to actions that are appropriate in the circumstances. The doctrine of the mean does not concern moderation, but appropriateness. And it focuses on both the motivating condition of the agent and the actions that result. In places Aristotle seems to suggest that the emotions are primary (NE, 1105b 25–26; NE II, 6). In the case of each virtue, Aristotle envisages a scale of emotional response such that there are vices corresponding to inappropriate emotions and a virtue corresponding to the appropriate emotional condition (NE, 1105b 30–1106a 2; 1106b 18-23). Thus, for example, there is a scale of emotional attitudes to sensual pleasure. At one extreme, there is undue desire for such pleasure; at another there is undue indifference. These emotional conditions are associated with vices of self-indulgence and asceticism. But there is also an appropriate kind of emotional condition on this scale, possessed by the self-controlled individual. These mean conditions involve the agent forming true beliefs about the circumstances he faces and responding with appropriate emotion, which will lead him to make appropriate choices. Thus the virtuous state of character will be a settled state of beliefs and desires, lying in a mean so as to lead to appropriate preferential choices and action.

Ethical virtue, the rational principle, and phronesis

Aristotle next suggests that this mean state of choice and character is determined by a rational principle, that by which the person of practical wisdom (phronimos) would determine it. This is a crucial aspect of the definition since this is the point at which he suggests that practical virtue is a state of character involving the exercise of reason. Reason must enter into the mean state in several ways. First the agent must be disposed to form rational beliefs about the circumstances he encounters. Reason will enter into belief formation so that the agent forms those beliefs best supported by the evidence he has. But reason will also enter the emotional condition of the virtuous agent in that his motivational desires will reflect a reasoned conception of the good. When belief and desire are rational in this way, the agent makes the judgements that would be made by the practically wise person, and acts on them.

To explain further, consider how the acquisition of virtue leads to this state of mind. Aristotle envisages children as capable of acting on beliefs and desires, but not yet on rational beliefs and desires. Habituation enables a child to form more reasoned judgements as to what is worth pursuing and to develop desires that reflect those judgements. In due course the child will not pursue passing objectives simply conceived of as satisfying desires, but as good. The next stage will be for him to form a reasoned conception of what is overall worth pursuing, in the light of the preliminary view of what is worthwhile. The reasoning here involves comparative judgements: seeing that various objects are worthy of pursuit as good in different respects, and making judgements about their comparative worth, thus reaching a reasoned conception of the good. (Clearly the degree of reasoning here can be more or less full, depending on the extent of the comparative judgements made.) At the same time as these developments occur, motivational states will need to develop in such a way that the agent desires those objects considered good, a process in which the agent’s desires come into line with his conception of the good. The result will be fully rational desires.

This account of the role of reason in virtue is further complemented by attention to the nature of phronesis, practical wisdom that determines the principle on which the virtuous agent acts. Phronesis is an intellectual virtue, defined in NE, VI, 5 as “a true and reasoned state of capacity to act with regard to the things that are good or bad for man.” In NE, VI, 7 Aristotle then explains that it is the mark of the practically wise to deliberate well, “but no one deliberates about things … which have not an end which is a good that can be attainable by action.” In other words, practical wisdom is the intellectual virtue that enables the agent to arrive at a reasoned comparative conception of the good, a feature of moral virtue already referred to. It is also the rational faculty that enables the virtuous agent to work out correctly what to do on particular occasions in the light of that conception of the good (to calculate properly so as to reach the correct preferential choice). It thus involves: reasoning about universals, reaching generalizations about what is worthwhile pursuing in life (making a comparative conception of the good), and forming rational beliefs about particulars, all the variables of individual situations.

Particular virtues

Having provided this definition of generic virtue, Aristotle now argues that each of the particular virtues, or each state of character widely believed to be a virtue, can be analyzed as conforming to that definition. His account of virtue must conform adequately to widely held beliefs as to what the virtues are. Thus he claims that courage, self-control, justice, and so on are states of character constituted by relevant sets of rational beliefs and desires. Each is associated with both a particular focus within an overall conception of the good (certain rational beliefs), and a scale of emotional response (relevant rational desires). The approach can be indicated by briefly outlining one of the virtues Aristotle analyses, temperance.

The focus of temperance (self-control) is certain physical pleasures, in particular the pleasures that involve touch: pleasures of food, drink, and sex. Thus the relevant emotional scale is that of desire for these sorts of pleasures. In this area, then, virtue involves having an appropriate conception of the value of food, drink, and sex, and pursuing it accordingly. What counts as appropriate can be explained by noting that it is perfectly natural to find food, drink, and sex pleasant, but that it is possible to pursue them to excess: either excessive pursuit of food, for example, quite generally, or excessive pursuit of particular tastes in food, for example a craving for chocolate. The other vice, enjoying such physical pleasures less than one should, is very rare, though the phenomena of rejecting wholesale certain types of food (e.g., vegetables), or excessive dieting, may now be more common examples. The self-indulgent are further marked by being pained when their excessive appetite is not satisfied, while the temperate agent enjoys consuming just the right amount of food or drink.

The self-controlled person illustrates the reasoning that the virtuous agent engages in. She will have true beliefs about the value of pursuing the sensual pleasures of food, drink, and sex, desires that correspond to those beliefs, and correct beliefs about particulars relevant to each decision. She will then make rational choices whenever self-control is at issue.

Full virtue and the unity of the virtues

Aristotle’s account of virtue is very demanding. It holds that one cannot possess any of the virtues fully without possessing all of them fully. Aristotle makes this clear in his discussion of practical wisdom in NE VI, illuminating the key role of judgement in virtuous character. To possess any virtue fully the agent must be capable of exercising practically wise judgement in the area of concern relevant to that virtue. But to exercise wise judgement in any area of concern, the agent must be fully practically wise, and full practical wisdom is not itself possible without the possession of all the virtues (NE, 1144b 1–1145a 11). Although each virtue has its own evaluative focus, those areas of focus are not hermetically sealed. Courage is not possible without justice or else one may face fear to pursue unjust objectives. The virtues form a unity because guided by phronesis, which involves an overall reasoned conception of the good, enabling wise judgement on every occasion. To the extent that such correct judgement in all areas is an unattainable ideal, the fully virtuous life is an ideal, but of course it is worth striving to live a life as close to the ideal as possible.

Virtue, reason, and eudaimonia

How does this discussion of virtue bear on Aristotle’s main questions? He articulates and defends a definition of virtue (as a genus) such that the practical virtues are states that would be exhibited by a (practically) rational human being (NE, 1106b 36–1107a 2). The virtuous agent must have rational beliefs about the facts of particular circumstances faced, a reasoned conception of the good, and emotional responses that reflect that conception of the good. She will lack rogue desires that might distract her from pursuit of that good. Since he has argued that the life of reason is the eudaimon life, this account of virtue shows that the practical virtues are indeed those characteristics that would produce eudaimonia.

Eudaimonia, Pleasure, and External Goods

Aristotle’s method requires him to preserve widely held beliefs, so he aims to incorporate within his theory the views of many that pleasure, wealth, political power, a good family, and friendship have a role in a eudaimon life.

Though Aristotle dismisses the life of pleasure as constitutive of eudaimonia, he shows that it can be incorporated within his account by analyzing its nature (NE, VII, 11–14 and X, 1–5) in such a way that the life of virtue will turn out to be pleasant. For Aristotle, pleasure is not a uniform category, rather distinct pleasures are taken in distinct activities: “to each man that which he is said to be a lover of is pleasant” (NE, 1099a 7–10). There is in effect a hierarchy of pleasures, their value depending on the activity they are associated with. Thus the truly virtuous take pleasure in virtuous actions (NE, II, 3). Pleasure is a mark of a person’s character, rather than being a goal in itself.

Aristotle expresses the following general view about external goods: “Some must necessarily exist as conditions of happiness, and others are naturally cooperative and useful as instruments” (NE, 1099b 27–29). Thus one would expect there to be such a role for any of these goods within the life of virtue.

Wealth is necessary to satisfy the basic needs of life, food, shelter, cures for illness, education, and so on. But beyond that it affords leisure for sharing in communal activities – discussion, drama, and so on – which contribute to the development of the powers of reason. And material resources may be necessary for the exercise of certain virtues, generosity, for example.

Good family aids habituation in the acquisition of virtue. More broadly, it supports the emotional development necessary if a young person is to share in the communal activities that contribute to the development of practical rationality.

The value of political power lies in the fact that such power provides an opportunity to exercise practical reason, making laws that will help citizens become good through habituation (NE, 1103b 3–6). Thus it is desirable, from this point of view, that all citizens have a turn in exercising power.

For Aristotle, there are three categories of friendship, and between them they cover most of the range of social interactions. However, his paradigm category is virtue friendship, in which two people enjoy each other’s company in virtue of their good character. Friendship between the virtuous is perfect friendship, and the other two categories are analogous to virtue friendship. These other categories are relationships formed for the sake of pleasure, for example a relationship in which two people enjoy each other’s humor, and those formed for the sake of utility, for example a commercial relationship between a consumer and a market-stall holder.

But if the eudaimon life is an active life of virtue, it does not seem, on the face of it, to require friendships. So how can Aristotle show the value of friendship within his theory? Aristotle’s remarks on the close proximity of friendship to justice are suggestive. The value of both friendship and justice lies, at least to a degree, in the fact that a human can only realize his nature in a polis, a community governed by justice. The exercise of rationality involves, in various ways, shared projects (Pol., 1253a 7-18). And friendship, like justice, is the cement that holds the requisite communities together. Friendship, then, facilitates the individual’s realization of his potential for rationality, and thus his achievement of eudaimonia (NE, 1155a 5–28).

Prominent Features of Aristotelian Ethical Theory

Some general features of the Aristotelian approach to ethics can now be noted. First, in focusing on eudaimonia Aristotle makes the shape of life as a whole central to his ethical perspective. His key question is what sort of life a human being (with human essential powers) should live. Thus practical virtues are characteristics an agent needs to develop if a human life as a whole is to have the shape required for eudaimonia. The virtues constitute a unity because a eudaimon life will constitute an integrated unity. This can be contrasted with an approach that makes acts directly the central focus. Thus some forms of consequentialism try to develop a method to determine what act to perform at any given time or rules governing kinds of action to perform in relevant circumstances. The Aristotelian perspective does have implications for action. Virtues must be displayed in action. But acts cannot be evaluated individually, or by reference to rules; what matters is the character of the agent that leads to action.

Second, the Aristotelian approach is embedded in a theory of moral psychology. Aristotle’s theory of virtue depends on a theory of intentional action and preferential choice within which it can be explained how virtue is a condition in which reason governs desire. This explains why the virtuous person will regularly make virtuous preferential choices, leading to the acts characteristic of that virtue. This can be contrasted with some rights-based, duty-based, or consequentialist theories of ethics which appear to pay little attention to moral psychology, and thus make it hard to see how, exactly, considerations of rights, duties, or consequences enter into an agent’s practical reasoning.

A third significant feature of Aristotle’s approach is his emphasis on reason in ethics. Rationality enters into his scheme in two ways. At one level, Aristotle seeks a rational basis justifying certain widely held ethical beliefs about the nature of eudaimonia and the importance of behaving virtuously. Thus he develops an account of the key concepts, eudaimonia, virtue, and human nature, which reveals their conceptual connections. But that account in turn demonstrates the role of reason in practical deliberation about specific acts, since a virtuous state of character is one in which desires are rationally ordered, and that leads to acts in line with rational preferential choices. This can be contrasted with a Hobbesian or Humean view of desires.

Finally the Aristotelian approach is based on a distinctively teleological conception of human nature within which humans have a goal, and thus can flourish to the extent that they achieve that goal, namely exhibiting rationality. This implies that humans are perfectible, they can change for the better, by realizing their potential to be rational (or for the worse, by realizing their potential to be irrational). Their nature is not, in this sense, unalterable. Again Hobbes’ view of humans, as (unalterably) desire-satisfaction machines, constitutes a contrast.

Aristotelian Ethics and Applied Ethics

What significance, then, does Aristotelian ethical theory have for applied ethics? In what follows, a distinction will be made between direct and indirect implications of the theory. The direct approach considers Aristotle’s theory as a virtue theory, and asks how, if at all, that theory can be applied. A virtue theory, here, holds that the right action in any particular case is that action that the virtuous agent would perform.

An indirect approach examines the way in which specific views, such as the account of human nature, or of eudaimonia, or his view of the relation between individual flourishing and the polis, might have a bearing on specific questions in applied ethics.

Direct Implications for Applied Ethics

If Aristotelian ethical theory is considered as a virtue theory, then there have been both positive and negative interpretations of its implications for practice. In discussing these views, it is necessary to bear in mind Aristotle’s methodological remarks on starting points, satisfactory results, and precision in ethics, as well as the specific nature of his account of the virtues and their role in deliberation.

Negative views of the practical implications of Aristotelian theory

As noted, one view holds that Aristotle’s ethical theory has no implications for applied ethics. This is because Aristotle is understood as requiring that students able to benefit from the study of ethics must already have true beliefs as to what action is required in any particular circumstance. In other words, an appropriate student will already be disposed to make all the right choices in the hum-drum decisions of daily life, as well as being clear what to do in the more dramatic cases discussed in medical, business, media, and environmental ethics texts. Furthermore, if a person’s upbringing has disposed her to make the wrong choices on occasion, no amount of reflection will change her.

A rather similar claim has been made by some writers on applied ethics. In their view, applied ethics courses are pointless since moral behavior depends on training, not reflection. Advocates of such a position hold that there is no difficulty telling right from wrong, the only difficulty is getting oneself to act on one’s knowledge. Such a claim is surprising given the disputes over abortion, euthanasia, and whether it is ever appropriate to cease treating, or feeding, persistent-vegetative state-cases, to take just some areas of dramatic applied controversy.

We have seen above that on the grounds both of common sense plausibility and of textual analysis, this is not a plausible reading of Aristotle’s attitude to applied ethics. Aristotle does argue for the importance of habituation in the acquisition of virtue. But his analysis is consistent with that process providing potential students of ethics with a preliminary grasp of the distinction between right and wrong, which can develop through ethical reflection into a richer conception of what each virtue is and of the overall good to pursue in action. Reflection can lead to changes in practice.

Assessment of the negative view also depends in part on the scope of applied ethics. So far in this section it has been assumed that the purpose of applied ethics is to provide guidance at least (and perhaps answers) for specific ethical problems. But it might be held that the study of applied ethics involves not merely grasping what to do, but fully appreciating why such actions are worth doing. If so, even on the implausible proposed interpretation Aristotelian ethics can contribute to applied ethics. For on this account the study of ethics will provide the “why,” the deeper reflective justification for all the particular acts performed.

Positive views of the practical implications of Aristotelian theory

But if Aristotelian ethical theory does not merely provide a deeper understanding of the value of the good life for those who are already good, in what way can the ethical reflection it involves change the student of ethics, and how can this bear on applied ethics?

As a virtue theory, Aristotelian ethics suggests that the right action will be that which is virtuous in the circumstances. But if Aristotle were only to claim, as some suggest, that the virtuous act is that which the practically wise person (phronimos) would perform, and that the practically wise person is simply one who has all the virtues, his position would be uninformatively circular. However, it has already been seen that Aristotle offers a much richer account of virtue than this implies. So how helpful is that account?

Suppose that the student of ethics merely begins with the true beliefs that some acts are right, others wrong, then the first effect of Aristotelian ethics will be that the student will conceive of practical problems in terms of the concepts of virtue and vice. His question is now not merely what action is right or wrong, but what is courageous as opposed to cowardly or rash, self-controlled as opposed to self-indulgent or ascetic. Using all these virtue concepts will itself shape the problem, and thus the factors that he takes into account in reaching a decision. Consider, for example, a patient reflecting on euthanasia. Suppose that instead of asking whether it is right or wrong he considers whether it would be a brave, rash, or cowardly act, in the circumstances, and whether it would be just or unjust. Thinking in these terms forces the patient to address what, in these circumstances, bravery and justice mean, and so what factors of the situation must be attended to in order to determine what courage and justice here require. This affects the features of the conception of the good in terms of which the agent reasons. That conception here has the shape of what the courageous or just person pursues (a shape quite different from that of maximizing pleasure, for example).

But how much practical help does this really provide? A way of thinking about specific problems has been offered, but does this method provide any resources for determining exactly what to do? Once the agent has got as far as deciding to be brave, how does he determine what bravery concretely requires? Does the patient above simply rely on his pretheoretical conception of bravery and justice, or does Aristotle’s theory add anything?

In brief, considerable further resources are provided through the analysis of virtue and the particular virtues outlined above. These suggest that a person of good judgement reflecting on what to do may attend to what (in this case) justice and courage are, what virtue is, and what good judgement (phronesis) itself is.

First, so far as a particular virtue is concerned Aristotle shows that an account of justice, for example, need not simply endorse the traditional views that justice involves returning what one owes, or that it requires one to help friends and harm enemies. Justice is a matter of the proportionate allocation of honor, money, and necessities for survival (soterian), and the categories of friend, enemy, or creditor may not pick out the crucial criterion of desert (NE, 1130b 1–5; 1131a 25–29). The account of particular virtue, then (whether revisionary or not), elaborates the factors the agent should attend to in deciding what virtuous action requires.

Second, the analysis has revealed that virtues are states of characters involving true beliefs and appropriate desires formed in the light of a conception of the good. So virtuous action requires attention to relevant facts in the circumstances and motivation by desires reflecting that conception of the good.

Third, the Aristotelian account casts further light on this overall conception of the good by incorporating within ethical virtue the intellectual virtue of practical wisdom, “a true and reasoned state of capacity to act with regard to the things that are good or bad for man” (NE, 1140b 4–6). The analysis of practical wisdom casts light on what an agent must do to form a conception of the good. It is necessary to reflect on the beliefs formed through habituation. Having learned to enjoy certain quantities of food and drink, for example, or sharing goods in certain ways, or speaking the truth in certain contexts, the agent can reflect on certain general claims about what exactly is worthwhile pursuing as self-controlled, or just, or courageous, and how different objectives fit together into an overall conception of the good. Practical wisdom involves reaching a conception of the good through reflection on beliefs formed about particular circumstances, and forming rational preferential choices in light of it.

Putting these three ideas together, the rational agent may choose what to do in light of his current analysis of what courage and justice are, which will be reached through reflection on beliefs about courageous and just acts formed through habituation. These conceptions of courage and justice will in turn shape the conception of the good in light of which good judgement is arrived at.

From a practical point of view, then, for the Aristotelian the right thing to do is what the phronimos would do, but his theory gives content to this by providing a detailed account of how to reach an overall conception of the good, its relation to emotional responses, and habituation, and its role in particular judgements. It indicates in some detail the considerations which, given the definitions of virtues, are pertinent to particular virtuous decisions. It points out the significance of correct empirical beliefs about particulars, and rational desires, if good preferential choices are to be made. Nonetheless, these outlines do not indicate a precise method for reaching a judgement in each practical decision.

Consider again the agent deliberating about euthanasia. Thus far the Aristotelian theory has provided a conceptual framework within which to reflect on the issue. More than that, it has provided a precise account of particular virtues, thus delineating the considerations that a just, courageous, self-controlled agent would attend to in reaching a decision. To this can be added the fact that the virtuous agent will exercise practical wisdom in making the judgement. Yet this does not seem to determine the right action in the way that certain utilitarian theories, say, might claim to do, by providing a mechanism for working out exactly what to do.

Direct positive implications, precision, and casuistry

Here Aristotle’s remarks on method are relevant. Aristotle held that the same degree of precision was not to be expected in ethics as in areas of inquiry such as mathematics. One interpretation of this claim supports the view that there is no simple answer to questions about the rightness and wrongness of most sorts of actions. Thus it is unrealistic to expect a virtue theory to do more than give a fairly precise account of the nature of the person who will make virtuous judgements.

As the remarks in NE, V, 10 indicated it is a mistake to think that a rule, or set of rules, can be provided that will accommodate all the variety of considerations that practical decision making involves. However, Aristotle’s remarks on casuistry also indicated how the practically wise agent will deal with situations in which general rules break down. This further supplements his account of the practically wise person’s overall conception of the good. “When the law speaks universally, then, and a case arises on it which is not covered by the universal statement, then it is right … to say what the legislator himself would have said had he been present, and would have put into his law if he had known” (NE, 1137b 19–24). This can be generalized to any case where two general claims in the practically wise person’s conception of the good conflict. Suppose he holds that it is generally worthwhile speaking the truth, and generally worthwhile supporting friends, but these aims conflict in the present case. Then it seems that the agent must reflect back on past cases in which he spoke the truth, and those in which he supported friends, and consider how the generalizations relate to those cases. This will indicate the weight attaching to these principles in the past and so inform the judgement in the present case.

On this interpretation of the Aristotelian view of applied ethics, the aim should not be to specify exactly how to reach the right decision on all occasions. No such set of guiding rules can be provided. What is needed, in contrast, is the right framework for thinking about difficult practical problems. That framework is to think as the phronimos would, but this is not redundantly circular. Aristotelian virtue theory provides an adequately rich framework, outlined above, to delimit fairly tightly the kinds of decision that might qualify as correct.

Indirect Implications of Aristotelian Theory for Applied Ethics

So far, Aristotelian ethical theory has been considered simply as a virtue theory. But the nature of his discussion of the virtues provides other resources that are relevant to debates in applied ethics.

Consider first Aristotle’s discussion of eudaimonia, or happiness. This is a discussion of what is ultimately worth pursuing, so must have some potential to affect practice. Recent work on happiness in welfare economics and psychology confirms this, though much of it lacks awareness of Aristotle’s profound contribution. His conclusion here is complex, making the relation of his discussion to practical issues more indirect. For if the life of (practical and/or theoretical) reason is what is ultimately worth pursuing, then it has to be pursued indirectly. For a rational life is itself one in which rational goals are pursued, hence the eudaimon life will be pursued (indirectly) by pursuing the goals of reason. Applied ethical questions will then turn on the nature of the goals of reason, and that takes us back to the decision making of the virtuous agent that has just been discussed.

Nonetheless, a discussion of the ultimate good must have some bearing on the question of what the all-things-considered conception of the good the virtuous agent will hold and thus the kind of judgements he will make in specific cases. Aristotle’s discussion of eudaimonia is relevant here at least in a negative way. For his observations about the importance of pleasure, wealth, and honor (or public esteem) at least show that practical decisions in business, or journalism, for example, which treat any of these as ultimate goods, must be mistaken. His subsequent remarks about the actual place of all three in a eudaimon life must also help shape the virtuous conception of the all-things-considered good to be achieved by virtue.

A second aspect of Aristotle’s ethical theory may also have an impact on the virtuous agent’s conception of the all-things-considered good. This is the view that the full realization of human nature, necessary for the living of a good human life, can only take place in a polis. Thus a courageous agent will consider the value of defending the state in light of the fact that the state is a prerequisite for any individual to flourish, and that some states may be better constituted to promote individual flourishing than others. Similarly, action in line with the virtue of distributive justice will reflect the extent to which different distributions contribute to the flourishing of the state and thus of each individual within it. These are still rather general constraints. However, they will affect decisions in particular practical cases. Thus ethical problems in business, for example questions concerning the purpose of business, as well as issues concerning pay and responsibility in business, will need to be considered in light both of what constitutes happiness and of the fact that an individual flourishes fully in a flourishing society.

This second aspect is developed in some detail by discussion of friendship. The analysis of virtue friendship has direct practical implications for any agent’s conception of a good life. In addition, the wider discussion of good social interactions has clear implications for business ethics and perhaps ethical issues in the media, such as the importance of privacy and honesty.

Finally, Aristotle’s conception of human nature, as a set of potentialities realized fully in a life of reason, is relevant to various issues in medical ethics and may also be important in business ethics. On the medical side, Aristotle’s picture of human nature will be relevant to determining both the nature of human health and illness and the quality of a life affected by ill-health.

On this picture, illness of any sort will consist in states which incapacitate the realization of essential human potential. Such an account can contribute to the clarification of the concept of mental illness, thus providing a clearer view on the ethical issues that arise in psychiatric treatment. So far as quality of life is concerned, the account suggests that the current quality of a particular life will depend on the extent to which the agent is able to exercise those capacities whose exercise is involved in the living of a fully rational life. Such a perspective highlights the significance of mental health for quality-of-life assessments, as well as the extent to which physical incapacities prevent the agent from pursuing significant rational plans.

Furthermore, the Aristotelian picture of a human as a set of essential potentialities, whose good is found in the fully rational life that realizes those potentialities, is relevant to debates about abortion, euthanasia, and the treatment of animals. For it provides a picture within which these essential potentialities (which make a member of the species human) are fundamental in ethical reflection. This challenges the idea that for these issues personhood is what matters, not membership of the human species.

Conclusions

Aristotelian ethical theory provides two kinds of resource for applied ethics. As a virtue theory, it provides a framework for conceiving specific applied problems and, within that framework, offers fairly tight constraints on what might count as the right judgement in each case. However, it suggests that specific problems may involve too many variables for there to be any precise mathematical calculus available to determine what to do on each occasion. It can nonetheless allow that on each occasion of judgement there is a single correct course of action.

In addition to the central notion of a virtue theory, Aristotelian ethics provides some additional considerations that can be made use of in approaching specific areas of applied ethics. Some of these feed into the deliberations about the good that will inform the judgements made by a virtuous agent. Others bear more indirectly on the reflections of such an agent. Rarely will these general considerations determine precisely what must be done in particular circumstances where they apply, in the absence of attention to a detailed elaboration of all the particular features of those circumstances. This is again consistent with the above remarks on precision.

That Shine of Heavenly Light

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George Ross . Philosophy Now, Issue 85, July/August 2011
George Ross left Communist Romania in 1963, eventually settling in London, where he taught physics and philosophy of science. He passed away in April 2011. We publish this article as a tribute to him.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) was no philosopher, at least not in the conventional sense, for he produced no philosophical system, indeed, he never wrote a philosophical work as such. He was a philosopher if we regard as a philosopher anyone who takes as their guide the Socratic dictum ‘An unexamined life is not worth living’; but Goethe would have complemented this dictum by adding its reciprocal: ‘An unlived life is not worth examining’, for he lived his life to the full. He was a poet, a writer, a playwright, a scientist, a Cabinet minister in Weimar, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he also introduced far-reaching reforms, such as making divorce possible in Germany.

Faust was Goethe’s masterpiece. He devoted over sixty years to writing it, starting it when he was twenty. By the time he was twenty-six he had finished the so-called Urfaust, an early version of Part I. Goethe was born in 1749; he published the completed Part I in 1808, and kept working on Part II until a few months before he died on March 22, 1832, at the age of eighty-two.

Millions of young German men decided they were like Faust, and some found the German destiny in boundless, ruthless Faustian striving. Friedrich Schelling identified Faust with the human condition, while Schopenhauer, in The World as Will and Representation of 1819 considered Faustian striving the essence not merely of man but of the cosmos. A hundred years later, Oswald Spengler, in The Decline of the West, described the culture of the modern period as ‘Faustian’.

The key text for this article is taken from the ‘Prologue in Heaven’ of Faust, where Mephistopheles addresses the Lord:

Life on earth would not be quite
so vile had you not given him that shine of heavenly light,
that he calls Reason, but which he uses, if at all,
to be more animal than any animal.

You may recognise the Stoic imagery. In Stoic philosophy, the universe is filled with the heavenly or Divine light, which is the Divine reason, with which all minds are in communion. I shall describe what I regard as Goethe’s warning about human reason in Faust. Thus I would like to show how Goethe’s masterpiece is a warning against rapid and untrammelled industrialisation, against grandiose but ill-thought-out designs and projects, against the unchecked expansion of money markets, against unregulated globalisation, and against authoritarianism, including totalitarianism; for the totalitarian world which dominated almost half of the world until only too recently was, after all, a ‘rational construct’. Specifically, I’d like to show how Faust is a warning against unscrupulous instrumental rationality, and especially against what I call teleological rationality.

The Beginnings of The Tragedy

The tragedy proper opens with Faust in his den, sitting at his desk, on the night preceding Easter Sunday. Despite having studied philosophy, jurisprudence, medicine, theology, he realizes, like Socrates before him, that he does not know anything. And, like Goethe’s older friend Herder, he dabbles in magic. His wish is

That I might see what secret force
Hides in the world and rules its course

Here he is already engaged in a form of reasoning, namely ‘scientific’ or critical reasoning – albeit with a bit of magic thrown in. Goethe’s conception of science was different from the highly mathematical Newtonian version. It may also be described as systemic reasoning – reasoning for its own sake; meaning, he is not yet thinking about how he might instrumentally reason, to achieve goals.

In his scientific theory, Goethe distinguishes between intellect (Verstand) and reason (Vernunft). The analytical, breaking-things-down approach of science, which can be traced back to Anaxagoras, is that of intellect; whereas the approach of reason, which can be traced back to Thales, is directed towards synthesis, that is, to discovering shared principles. In Goethean terminology, reason is good, intellect is bad. This distinction is basic to my interpretation of Faust. In particular, in Goethe’s terminology, technology belongs to the realm of intellect, and, amongst other things, Faust is a warning against the dehumanising effects of technology, and therefore of the intellect. (This warning is also developed by Goethe in other works, such as, for example, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.)

Restless Striving

After a walk amongst the folk gathered to attend Easter mass, and enjoying their expressions of respect and affection, Faust returns to his study and has an epiphany. He opens a Bible and starts reading from the Gospel of St John. Right at the start, this Gospel contains the word ‘Logos’, which is usually translated as ‘word’ or ‘reason’. But to the Greeks of old, logos suggested a philosophical idea: the logos is the account of reality those philosophers sought, the ultimate principle of the cosmos. Faust struggles for the most appropriate meaning of Logos:

It says: “In the beginning was the Word.” [das Wort]
Already I am stopped. This is absurd.
The Word does not deserve the highest prize,
I must translate it otherwise
If I am well inspired and not blind,
In the beginning was the Mind. [der Sinn]
Ponder that first line, wait and see,
Lest you should write too hastily.
Is mind the all-creating source?
It ought to say: In the beginning was the Force. [die Kraft]
Yet something warns me as I grasp the pen,
That my translation must be changed again.
The Spirit helps me. Now it is exact.
I write: in the beginning was the Act. [die Tat]

In fact, Faust has now arrived at an insight about action being the meaning of life which, in a more or less conscious form, shapes and will continue to shape the modern world. It reflects a fundamental principle of Aristotle, who maintained that a man’s salvation lies not in pleasure, wealth, status or fame, but in rational, self-determined action – pure energeia. It is well known that Goethe was influenced by Aristotle; but I think that in Faust Goethe is taking issue with Fichte. In The Vocation of Man, published in 1800, Fichte says: “You do not exist for idle self-observation or to brood over devout sensations. No, you exist for activity. Your activity, and your activity alone, determines your worth.”

The Vocation of Man, like all Fichte’s late works, is characterised by a dark, ominous outlook. That’s when he formulated his collectivist philosophy, the forerunner of both Marxism and Nazism (the late Fichte, especially as he appears in his political writings, is my bête noire). This collectivism maintains that human freedom is an illusion, that man can do nothing without a ‘reason’ from outside. According to Fichte, “the life of reason consists in this, that the individual forgets himself in the species – to risk his life for the life of all and sacrifice his life to theirs.” He also stated, “The individual does not exist, he should not count for anything, but must vanish completely; the group alone exists.” The individual is but an element of the larger entity: if he cuts himself off from it, he is a limb without a body, a meaningless fragment. The fragment derives its significance only from the place that it occupies in the system, the organism, the whole.

This represents a secular version of a pre-Enlightenment, if not pre-Reformation, Judeo-Christian vision of a mystical community of the faithful, who are parts of one another. During the two centuries after the Reformation, some tended to identify this ‘mystical community’ with a nation (the effect being one or another version of Romantic chauvinism), some with a Church (leading to one form or another of religious fundamentalism), some with a race, and some with a class. When the First Part of Faust was published in 1808, Goethe was familiar with Fichte’s views. A sort of feedback took place: Fichte knew the first fragment of Faust, which influenced his immediately subsequent work, and, as a result, Goethe reinforced in the complete First Part the warning against activity for its own sake and against Fichte’s collectivist outlook. Such a collectivist outlook informs and constitutes the foundation of any totalitarian ideology.

It should be stressed that Goethe, influenced by Aristotle, is not against activity or striving. But elsewhere, especially in Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship (1795), Goethe distinguishes sharply between the unbounded striving Faust exemplifies and another kind of striving which is quite compatible with rational self-discipline. “The first vocation of Man is to be active,” Goethe writes in Wilhelm Meister; and, again, “The highest thing of all is the spirit which stirs us to activity.” But these are followed by the caveat: “Man cannot be happy until his unconditional striving limits itself.” As Goethe wrote to his mother in November 1776: “I have everything a man can wish for himself, and yet, I must admit, I am not at rest; man’s driving force is infinite until he has driven himself out.”

So Goethe sees in activity not only the first and highest vocation of man, but also something problematic. In his Maxims and Reflections he writes: “Unconditional activity, of any kind whatsoever, leads in the long run to bankruptcy.” He expresses these views even more forcibly in one of the drafts for Poetry and Truth: “There is a permanent nexus between the deed and remorse, between activity and care.” There are some difficulties about calling Faust a ‘man of action’, since he performs comparatively little in the way of definite deeds; but he is dominated by an inner restlessness, a demonic urge towards activity, for which Goethe regularly uses the word ‘striving’ (‘Streben’). That word, more than any other, sums up Faust’s character.

After concluding his pact with the devil, echoing Fichte, Faust declares: “Only restless activity proves the man.” Mephisto promptly tries to lure him into increasing his restless activity by using a carriage with six horses rather than walking: rather than accept the existing order, Mephisto suggests he should constantly augment his use of non-human energy with reliance on technology. Faust succumbs. Just after Faust leaves the room, in an aside Mephistopheles shouts after him:

Have but contempt for reason and for science,
Man’s noblest force spurn with defiance,
Subscribe to magic and illusion,
The Lying Spirit bolsters your confusion,
And, pact or no, I hold you tight.

‘Science’ (‘knowledge’) is to be understood here as knowledge of how to live well: specifically, in context, as knowledge of the need to practice moderation. The ‘Lying Spirit’ refers to Faust’s propensity for self-delusion.

Faust’s Modern Ideals

Let’s fast forward to the last scenes of Part II. The Emperor rewards Faust for services rendered, including the introduction of paper currency, with its inflationary proclivity and hence with its propensity for making the money-brokers even richer. Faust obtains the privilege of reclaiming land from the sea.

The money economy facilitated by Faust makes possible an economic growth which promises ever-greater prosperity: “Many a meadow, field and garden, wood and town” are foreseen as spreading over the area Faust has reclaimed from the waves. Goethe understands the fascination the promise of economic growth exerts. He does not say where the limits to growth might lie, but he does suggest that mankind will soon no longer even be capable of recognising limits. Like Faust, who becomes blind at the end of the play, man is becoming blind to the problems that surface with the submerging of constraints on growth.

To Goethe this breaking of constraints is due to the economy’s change in form, as the subsistence economy in which labour dominates gives way to the industrial economy, in which capital plays the decisive role. The subsistence economy is adapted to satisfying physical needs, which are satiable. Its goals are therefore finite. On the other hand, the industrial economy is adapted to imaginary needs, which can be constantly expanded, and are insatiable. Inherent in the industrial economy is an infinite striving. It follows from the striving for money, since money can be increased more quickly than goods, which must be laboriously obtained. The tendency is, therefore, first to produce money, and then, tempted by profit, to grant this money additional value, as capital, through a corresponding imaginative expansion of demand, and the production of goods this entails.

By removing these inner limits to its progress, the economy increasingly gains the upper hand and casts the whole world under its spell. Economy, capital and money markets know no boundaries. The logical conclusion of this development, as Goethe so clearly foresaw, is globalisation: the whole known world transformed into a kind of panopticon – and a Hobbesian one at that – with its centrally placed watchtower keeping an eye on everyone and ensuring that everybody conforms to its ideals.

The ideal of an ever-improving future is a vital ingredient in the economy of finance and industry. It could be a market-type economy (which since Marx, has been known as ‘capitalism’) or a collectivistic economy and society, such as that of the former Soviet Union and its satellite countries. Whichever alternative, whatever stands in its way or suggests limitation must be eliminated. The process of elimination is harsh and ruthless, although the methods applied in societies based on market economies are more subtle and less overtly bloody compared with the coercion, repression and genocide practiced on such a large scale by totalitarian regimes. All these aspects are prefigured in Faust.

Further, the making of a new Netherlands is a metaphor for grand projects of the Stalinist type, such as the afforestation of the steppes, the irrigation of the Central Asian deserts, or the Danube-Black Sea canal. All those projects have corroborated – as if there was any need for it – the law of unintended consequences. They all resulted in ecological disasters, and they all used the twentieth century version of slave labour, political detainees, who perished like flies. Of course, Goethe could not have prefigured those horrors in detail, but he had some models to guide him as to what such projects were like. As reported by Eckermann, Goethe’s Boswell, in 1827, Goethe became interested in the Panama Canal. In the same conversation, he expressed the wish to see a link established between the Danube and the Rhine, as well as being interested in the Suez Canal. And Goethe had before him a true ‘designer society’, the first real one, the United States of America – moulded by its founders in the spirit of the Enlightenment. We know that he followed with fascination the new order taking shape there. But he could not have fathomed the dangers inherent in creating societies by reason; or perhaps he could. The limits of human reason in navigating the reefs of modern utopianism and the artificial creation of societies are clearly seen in Faust Part II.

Goethe, Cassandra of Modernisation

In ancient Greek legend, when Zeus and Hermes came in search of just people who will be saved when the rest of mankind perishes, the old couple Philemon and Baucis pleased the gods with their hospitality, giving them all the food and drink their garden had to offer. With typical Goethean irony, Philemon and Baucis in Faust Part II are not saved, but become victims.

In Faust no gods come to visit them, but rather, a stranger whom they rescued long ago from a shipwreck and nursed back to health. On his return they grant the stranger hospitality, just as the old couple of legend entertained the gods. But new to the setting are Faust’s presence as a neighbour, and the fresh territory he has reclaimed from the sea. Philemon points out Faust’s new world:

Where the savage waves maltreated
You, on shores of breaking foam,
See, a garden lies completed,
Like an Eden – dream of home!

Note how Philemon has adopted the utopian argot of totalitarianism, with its dream of creating a paradise on earth. But Philemon is acutely aware of the suffering inflicted to accomplish Faust’s grandiose Eden project:

Vainly in the daytime laboured
Pick and shovel, clink and strike,
Where at night the elf-lights wavered,
By the dawn there stood a dyke.
Human victims bled and fevered,
Anguish on the night-air borne,
Fiery torrents pouring seaward
Scored a channel by the morn.

Faust’s first choice would be to integrate Philemon and Baucis into his brave new world, but they resist. They do not want to be dislocated; they are wary, they do not trust the new territory, preferring to remain on the high ground, above the new land, beside their old chapel, in their familiar habitat. So Philemon and Baucis must be eliminated. Mephistopheles tempts Faust with this idea:

Say, “from this palace, from this beach,
The world is wholly in my reach.”
All started from this very spot,
Here stood the earliest wooden hut.

That is to say, the high ground on which stands the old couple’s hut and the little chapel where they worship, would be an ideal spot on which to erect the observation tower of Faust’s panopticon, from the top of which he could observe his subject-slaves and also survey his integrated global economy. He must buy the old people’s homestead, or expropriate it if they don’t want to sell. (This prefigures the wholesale confiscation or nationalisation without compensation practiced in the former communist countries.) This is Faust’s reply to Mephisto:

That aged couple must surrender,
I want their linden for my throne,
Their unowned timber-margin slender
Despoils for me the world I own.
There, for my eye’s untrammelled roving,
I wish a scaffold to be woven
From branch to branch, for vistas deep
Of my achievement’s fullest sweep,
With all-embracing gaze to scan
The masterpiece of sapient man.

Mephistopheles with his three heavies are instructed to evict the old couple, who are dragged out of their home and, terrified, drop dead. The travelling stranger puts up a fight, and is killed. In the process, the hut catches fire and burns down, the flames consuming the three corpses. For a moment, Faust is remorseful and admonishes Mephistopheles:

So you have turned deaf ears to me!
I meant exchange, not robbery.
This thoughtless violent affair,
My curse on it, for you to share!
But the chorus intones what could be the anthem of authoritarianism:
That ancient truth we will recite:
Give way to force, for might is right;
And would you boldly offer strife,
Then risk your house, estate, and – life.

Blind Fate

We move now to the end of the tragedy. Faust is now very old and blind. The metaphor of blindness is, like most things in Faust, ambiguous. Is it a reference to Tiresias, the blind prophet in Oedipus, who saw more clearly than any sighted man? Or is it an allusion to the blind Samson, who destroys everybody, and himself, in the end? Or, quite simply, could it signify that we are blind and oblivious of the suffering round us? Another interpretation is that Faust falls prey, in the end, to delusion; he loses his faculty to appraise mankind realistically, and instead surrenders to an utopian optimism.

Faust is in a hurry. He wants to accomplish his grand plan before his end. And he feels that his end is approaching:

The night, it seems, turns deeper still – but shining
The light within continues ever bright,
I hasten to fulfil my thought’s designing;
The master’s word alone imparts his might.
Up, workmen, man for man, arise anew!
Let blithely savour what I boldly drew.
Seize spade and shovel, each take up his tool!
Fulfil at once what was marked off by rule.

Mephistopheles intervenes with his final insult: ghoulish Lemures replace the workmen. Lemures are the spirits of the evil dead in classical mythology, depicted as skeletons (not to be confused with ‘lemurs’, a nocturnal primate). With Goethean irony, these Virgilian spirits of the night and the dead, are singing a pirated, paraphrased version of the gravedigger’s song in Hamlet as he digs Ophelia’s grave. The blind Faust, hearing the sound of their shovels, does not know they are at work digging his grave and are not accomplishing his final improvement of nature. He says:

How gaily ring the spades, a song of mirth!
It is my host of toiling slaves,
That renders self-content the earth,
Ordains a border to the waves,
The sea with rigid bonds enchains.

Impatient, Faust instructs Mephistopheles to recruit more hands and show no mercy in driving the labourers to even harder work. Like a slave driver or a supervisor of political detainees using a combination of stick and carrot, Faust orders:

From every source
Find me more hands, recruit with vigour
Spur them with blandishment and rigour,
Spare neither pay nor lure nor force!

The final speech of Faust, his monologue at the edge of his grave, offers a kind of utopian prefiguration which represents the highest impulse of the modern spirit. In his last moment he has a vision of a self-contained human society of free men animated by the balanced operation of the two basic principles of competition and cooperation – competition as the drive directed against the non-human, cooperation in the exercise of that drive in a society moved by a common zeal:

For many millions not safe, I shall open regions
To dwell in free and active legions.
Green are the meadows, fertile; and in mirth
Both men and herds live on this newest earth…
This is the highest wisdom that I own,
The best that mankind ever knew:
Freedom and life are earned by those alone
Who conquer them each day anew.
Surrounded by such danger, each one thrives,
Childhood, manhood, and age lead active lives.
At such a throng I would fain stare,
With free men on free ground their freedom share.
Then, to the moment I might say:
Abide, you are so fair!
The traces of my earthly day
No aeons can impair.
As I presage a happiness so high,
I now enjoy the highest moment.

With this, Faust falls back into the arms of the Lemures, who lay him down on the ground and inter him.

At the last moment of his life, his final ideal, the spirit of free collective human activity, is the embodiment of wisdom for Faust. Faust’s last vision is an idyllic one, but it is however an extreme simplification. The forces operating in any real society will never arrange themselves to conform to so neat a design – certainly not in a democracy as we know it.

Characteristically, Goethe prevents any single response from dominating the final act. What is obvious in Goethe’s text is the ironic contrast between Faust’s vision of freedom, and the dominance of the agents of inhuman power which control his city. Yet since the great idea of confining the sea dawned upon him, Faust has treated men only as means to his ends. He has applied the ‘teleological’ principle of morality: the end justifies the means; or, in Lenin’s quaint formulation, “you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.” With the assistance of Mephistopheles, he has founded an industrial despotism, and has ruled in a perfectly violent and capricious way. Faust’s subjects, however prosperous they may have become, living in luxury among pleasant parks and gardens, are still slaves. Faust’s will is supreme. And if Faust has freed his subjects from nature, it is only by subjecting them to the yet more dehumanising tyranny of an industrial system. Faust, with all his conquest of nature, has not benefitted men, which shows that there is no necessary connection between those two ideals.

Faust’s Hidden Truths

How should we take Faust, and in what way should we interpret its message?
The second part of Faust is not only about the downfall of a man obsessed by the blind pursuit of his projects, but I shall concentrate on that. Here Goethe helps us. In his last letter, of 17th March 1832, written five days before his death, addressed to his friend Wilhelm von Humboldt, Goethe writes:

“But the present age is so senseless and confused that I know I should only be poorly rewarded for my many years of sincere effort at erecting this strange building … Bewildering ideas, leading to bewildering deeds, hold the world to ransom.”

‘Bewildering ideas’ no doubt refers, among other things, to the ideas of the Saint Simonists, whose creed, encapsulating the modern notion of ‘the project’, so greatly disturbed Goethe in the last years of his life. He subscribed to the Saint Simonist journal Globe, and read the relevant Saint Simonist writings. But Goethe was alarmed by the absolute belief the Saint Simonists held that grand projects such as the Suez Canal could lead to humanity’s salvation.

Claude Henri de Saint Simon was an early socialist who greatly influenced Karl Marx. He and his followers wanted to replace free competition with a universal association uniting all human beings in harmony. Their basic aim was “the gradual diminishing of man’s exploitation by his fellow man, and the increasingly effective exploitation of the earth by man.” In Faust, Goethe offers us a clear picture of his different attitude to developments in technology and science, as well as to the emergent capitalism of the day. That is to say, in the attitude which Goethe was critiquing in Faustsystemic rationality has been replaced with teleological [= goal-directed] rationality – the sort of rationality that orders grand projects. (We should bear in mind that ‘project’ here represents not only the spirit of technological advance, but also man’s new interest in reason, which now had little to do with the phronesis, the practical moral wisdom of earlier generations.) Specifically, descriptive teleological rationality describes human action as rational insofar as it helps us reach whatever historical destination the theorist defines as inevitable: for examples, in Christian eschatology; in Condorcet’s dream of democratic liberation in the coming tenth epoch of history, or Marx’s claim that the historical evolution of the class struggle will lead to a revolution against capitalism that will inaugurate a golden age of equality and prosperity. By contrast, prescriptive teleological rationality advocates moving to some social goal defined by the theorist as rational, but not seen as inevitable. For instance, a liberal might say that we have a moral duty to build a society where tolerance, freedom and decency prevail. DTR is the realm of prophets; PTR of moralists, or dictators. The villains of the piece are teleological rationality (i.e., utopianism), and especially prescriptive teleological rationality. (I’ve adapted this classification of types of reason from ‘The Limits of Instrumental Rationality in Social Explanation’ by Doug Mann in Critical Review, Vol.13, 1999.)

The dream of reason produces monsters when critical reason (systemic rationality) is replaced by teleological, goal-justified rationality. I think Faust must be understood in this way. In it Goethe distanced himself from the ‘achievements’ of modernity produced through reason going outside its limits.

Goethe told us how he wished to be remembered: “If I were to say what I had really been to the Germans in general, and to the young German poets in particular, I should say I had been their liberator.” In his Ulysses, James Joyce wrote: “History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.” Goethe woke up from it, and he tried, and is perhaps still trying, to wake us up.


Self-control – the moral muscle

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Roy F. Baumeister, Department of Psychology, Florida State University
  The Psychologist, The British Psychological Society, Volume 25 – Part 2 – Pages:112-115 (February 2012)

The capacity of the human mind to alter its own responses is one of the wonders of nature. It is a vital foundation for culture, progress, achievement, morality and individual success. This article provides an overview of a research programme that has been pursued for the past two decades. It has led the researchers to bring back the Victorian notion of willpower as a limited supply of energy that is used for control and self-discipline – and several other important phenomena, including making decisions. Self-control processes link together mind with body, present with future and past, resisting temptation with making choices, and a remarkably wide range of daily activities with each other.



What is the most important and desirable trait? What would you most wish your child to have, or your rivals to lack? What trait is most important for helping people lead happy, successful and useful lives? Decade after decade, psychologists keep coming up with the same two answers. One is intelligence. The other is self-control. Nothing else comes close.

Early in my career I studied self-esteem, which in the 1970s and 1980s seemed to hold the promise of being a powerful key to mental health and successful behaviour. But self-esteem ultimately disappointed most of us: its benefits are quite limited (see Baumeister et al., 2003). So for the past two decades my research has focused on self-control .

People use self-control quite frequently. A recent study (Hofmann et al., in press) had 200 people wear beepers for a week, and at random intervals they were asked to report on whether they felt any desire, and if so how strongly, whether they tried to resist it, and how successful that resistance was. Out of 10,000 responses, 7000 desires were reported. Efforts at self-control were common: people reported resisting two out of every five desires. Thus, much of the average day is spent trying to control one’s wants and needs. What’s more, this resistance was often successful. With no resistance, people enacted 70 per cent of their desires; with resistance the rate dropped to only 17 per cent.

Self-control is what people use to restrain their desires and impulses. More precisely, it can be understood as the capacity to override one response(and substitute another). It is largely synonymous with ‘self-regulation’, a term preferred by many researchers because of its greater precision. To regulate is to change; namely, change in the direction of some standard, some idea about how something could or should be. Self-regulation thus means changing responses based on some rule, value or ideal.

Most self-regulation occurs in one of four spheres. People regulate thought, such as trying to concentrate or shut an annoying tune out of their minds. They regulate emotion and mood, such as when trying to feel better. They regulate impulse, such as when resisting temptation. And they regulate performance, such as by trading off speed and accuracy, or persevering despite a discouraging failure.

How self-control works

Self-control depends on multiple processes. Pioneering work by Carver and Scheier (e.g. 1981) applied feedback-loop theory to self-regulation. People compare their current status to the standard, make appropriate changes, compare again, and exit the loop when the need for change has been satisfied.

My work has focused on the processes of change, and has shown that successful self-control depends on a limited energy resource. The folk notion of willpower is not far off the mark. When people exert self-control, they use up some of this energy, leaving them in a temporarily depleted state. If they try to exert self-control again soon after – even in some sphere unrelated to the first exertion – they tend to do worse than if they had not previously exerted self-control.

Thus, self-control is like a muscle that gets tired. People may start the day fresh and rested, but as they exert self-control over the course of the day, their powers may diminish. Many researchers have observed that self-control tends to break down late in the day, especially if it has been a demanding or stressful day. Most diets are broken in the evening, sexual misdeeds and addictive relapses occur at the end of long and demanding days. In some cases, there are more temptations available in the evening than the morning – though that may just reflect the marketplace adapting to where its customers are.

Some of our first experiments supported the view of self-control as a limited resource. In one, participants arrived at the lab after skipping a meal, and their hunger was further stoked by seating them in front of a tray of freshly baked cookies and candies. Also in front of them was a bowl of radishes. Some were told that their task was to eat only the radishes and not the sweets. They were left alone for five minutes, ostensibly to do their radish tasting, but the real point was to make them struggle to resist eating the sweets. There were two control conditions, one of which was told to eat the sweets (and not the radishes), and the other skipped the food part of the study altogether (Baumeister et al., 1998).

Later, all participants were given some difficult (in fact unsolvable) puzzles, and we timed how long they kept trying until they gave up, a procedure adapted from stress research. Trying over and over despite discouraging failure takes inner strength, including the self-discipline to persevere instead of quitting so as to go do something more pleasant.

We found that the participants in the radish condition gave up significantly faster than those in the control conditions. Apparently, resisting the temptation to eat sweets took something out of them – depleted their willpower – leaving them with fewer resources to persevere on the next, seemingly unrelated task.

Over the next decade, many more studies of this sort were done. A meta-analysis by Hagger et al. (2010) combined results from 83 such studies and confirmed the general pattern of what has come to be called ‘ego depletion’ – the idea that self-control or willpower is an exhaustible resource, and that if it is used up, mental activity requiring self-control is impaired. The term ‘ego depletion’ was chosen in part as homage to Freud, because he was one of the last theorists to discuss the self in terms of energy. By the 1980s and 1990s, most self theories had emphasised information and concepts, not energy. But our work indicates that one important part of the self is the well of energy that it expends when it regulates its responses.

Two important implications of these findings require emphasis. First, all self-control tasks draw on the same energy resource. That is, when you, for example, hold your tongue, resist an urge to smoke, drink or eat, restrain aggression, postpone using the toilet, feign mirth at an inane joke, push yourself to keep working, it depletes some crucial energy and leaves you with less available for meeting the next challenge. Many seemingly unrelated things are therefore linked in this regard.

Second, willpower is limited. In the radish study, five minutes of resisting the temptation to eat chocolate cookies produced a drop of ten minutes in how long people persevered at a stressful task. Thus, even just minor exertions of self-control can make a substantial difference.

Extending the strength model

Self-control resembles a muscle in more ways than one. Not only does it show fatigue, in the sense that it seems to lose power right after being used, it also gets stronger after exercise. (The fatigue effect is immediate; the strengthening is delayed, just like with muscular exercise.) After people perform exercises designed to strengthen self-control for a couple weeks, they do better on lab tests of self-control (even ones completely different from what they exercised) and report improvements in multiple spheres of their lives (for review, see Baumeister et al., 2006). Smokers who strengthened their self-control by doing handgrip muscle exercises or avoiding sweet foods were later more successful than others at quitting smoking (Muraven, 2010).

How much willpower do people have? It might seem that they do not have much, given that ego depletion effects begin after just a few minutes of exerting self-control. But this is misleading, and again the muscle analogy is helpful. When athletes exert their muscles, they get tired gradually. After some exertion, they begin to conserve their remaining energy (which may be considerable). Hence fatigue effects can show up relatively early, whereas complete exhaustion of the muscles is rarely seen.

Ego depletion effects are mostly conservation effects rather than exhaustion effects. Muraven et al. (2006) showed that even after people become depleted they can perform well if there is a compelling reason to do so – but then they are much more depleted if another demand for self-control comes along. Like a tired athlete who summons up a great exertion for the last lap, they allocate their resources judiciously once these begin to be depleted. Muraven et al. (2006) also showed that people hold back more when they expect subsequent demands than when they think they are confronting the final demand.

What gets depleted?

Willpower is folk term and a metaphor for psychological processes. What is the actual process? By accident, my research group stumbled on an important key to the physiology of willpower.

Glucose is a chemical in the bloodstream. It is ‘brain fuel’ in the sense that it provides energy for brain activities. Neurotransmitters are made from glucose. Glucose is also used to furnish energy for much of the body’s other activities, including muscular exertion and even the immune system. Glucose is made from nutritious food (not just sugar) and either used or stored for later use.

Our interest in glucose began when an experiment on another hypothesis went awry. We were testing the alluring hypothesis that if resisting temptation weakened self-control, maybe yielding to temptation would strengthen subsequent self-control. Participants underwent a depleting exercise in self-control, and some were given a bowl of ice cream to eat. Sure enough, the people who enjoyed this pleasant indulgence showed an improvement in self-control performance on the next task. Unfortunately for that hypothesis, we included a control condition in which people consumed a large portion of tedious, unappetising food, which hardly constituted a pleasant indulgence – and they also showed an improvement in self-control afterwards. This got us to wondering, if the recovery of willpower was not attributable to the pleasure, could it be simply the calories?

A series of experiments confirmed that willpower is tied to glucose (Gailliot et al., 2007). After people exert self-control, even on artificial lab tasks, their blood glucose levels drop. Low levels of blood glucose predict poor performance on tests of self-control. Most dramatically, the effects of ego depletion can be counteracted by giving people a dose of glucose.

The link to glucose provides a new perspective on self-control. For example, a recent study showed that the decisions of judges regarding parole fluctuate over the day in a manner that suggests ego depletion and glucose (Danziger et al., 2011). Sending a convict back to prison is the safe and easy decision, whereas granting parole puts the judge at risk, because if the parolee commits another crime, the judge will look bad and possibly be blamed. It therefore takes more energy to grant parole than to deny it. Judges get depleted as they make decision after decision. Hence a convict applying for parole fares reasonably well first thing in the morning, when the judge is fresh and well-fed, but as the morning wears on, the chances go down. The judges then have a break for a mid-morning snack, and another for lunch, and their rates of granting parole shoot up dramatically at these points – and then resume dropping. A convict whose case comes up just before lunch has a near zero probability of being paroled, whereas one who comes before the board right after lunch has a good (65 per cent) chance of getting out of prison.

Glucose may also hold a key to understanding premenstrual syndrome (PMS). Folklore suggests that PMS occurs because women mysteriously acquire antisocial impulses and tendencies at a certain time each month. Instead, Gailliot et al. (2010) proposed that the extra metabolic demands of the luteal phase of the menstrual cycle siphon off a large portion of the body’s glucose supply, leaving less available for self-control. (Many women eat more during this stage, but most do not increase their caloric intake enough to offset the extra metabolic demands of the reproductive system). Hence the self-discipline and restraint that normally manage the woman’s behaviour are harder to sustain, and a broad variety of breakdowns occur – aggression, petty crime, smoking, drinking, overeating, emotional outbursts, drug use, and so forth. In other words, PMS is not a matter of new antisocial impulses but rather a wholesale weakening of restraints, caused by the body’s relative lack of glucose available for self-control.

When willpower is low

Researchers have illuminated many of the effects of ego depletion on a wide assortment of behaviours. Some are standard foci of self-control. As a standard example, dieters eat more fattening food when their willpower has been depleted (Vohs & Heatherton, 2000); and the same study showed no change in eating among non-dieters. Thus, depletion only alters behaviour when people are trying to restrain or control it. Dieters wish to restrain their eating, and so ego depletion makes them eat more. In a similar vein, aggression increases with ego depletion – but only among people who have been provoked and angered and therefore have aggressive impulses that they would normally restrain (DeWall et al., 2007).

Aggression is of course a particularly prominent social problem as well as a professional concern of many psychologists. In 2011 I attended the conference of the Division of Forensic Psychology of the British Psychological Society and had lively discussions with researchers and practitioners interested in domestic violence. Laboratory and field studies by Finkel et al. (2009) have shown that even nonviolent couples tend to treat each other in more abusive ways when their self-control resources are depleted. Fortunately, that work also showed that strengthening willpower via self-control exercises reduced the tendency to engage in intimate partner violence.

Even apart from violence and abuse, close relationships benefit from self-control (Vohs et al., 2011), and good practices deteriorate when willpower is depleted. Intimate partners in good relationships often shield their partners from blame, but under ego depletion they start to blame their partners more (Vohs & Baumeister, 2008). Depletion makes them also pay more attention to attractive members of the opposite sex, which could increase their temptation to stray (Vohs & Baumeister, 2008). Sexual inhibitions are also reduced during ego depletion, making people unusually willing to do sexual things they would normally resist (Gailliot & Baumeister, 2007).

Likewise, most people normally restrain their prejudices, but these are more likely to emerge when people are depleted, and restraining prejudice can deplete people so that their self-control suffers in other domains (Richeson & Trawalter, 2005). Exercising self-control can help people restrain their prejudices, as can a dose of glucose (Gailliot et al., 2007).

Self-control has been called the ‘moral muscle’ because it provides the power to do what is right. Not surprisingly, virtue deteriorates quickly under ego depletion. Experimental studies have shown that people become more willing to cheat and steal when depleted (Mead et al., 2009).

Another easily overlooked application of willpower is for thinking. To be sure, some thought processes are automatic and therefore require minimal energy, but strenuous and demanding forms of thought such as logical reasoning and extrapolation require disciplined mental effort. People’s IQ scores dropped substantially under ego depletion, as did their performance on other tests of logic, though rote memory and other automatic processes were unaffected (Schmeichel et al., 2003).

Beyond self-control

The processes by which the human body uses its central energy supply to override its responses and regulate its actions are clearly an important part of the human self. Yet perhaps those processes have even wider applications than just self-control.

 One turning point came in a paper by Vohs et al. (2008). That article showed that making choices and decisions depletes the self: after making decisions, self-control was impaired. A companion paper a year later by Pocheptsova et al. (2009) reversed the sequence and showed that after exerting self-control, decision making was altered in various ways. Depleted deciders were less prone than others to compromise and more prone to fall prey to irrational bias. They also showed some tendency to duck or postpone decisions if they could.

The implication is that making decisions draws on the same (glucose) energy that is used for self-control. Possibly this could help explain the endless stream of news stories about politicians and other authority figures who get caught up in sex scandals or other forms of misbehaviour: they expend their energy making decisions, leaving them without enough for ordinary self-control. Lab work has in fact shown that leaders pour extra energy into their work, often rendering them more depleted than other people (DeWall et al., 2011). Unpublished work also suggests that initiative is depleting. After exerting self-control, people tend to respond in passive ways and take default options (Vohs & Baumeister, 2010).

The combination of self-control, decision making, and initiative prompted me to begin discussing this work in the context of free will. Many philosophical works on free will invoke just those sorts of behaviours, without realising that they all share a common psychological and physiological substrate.

The notion of free will is controversial, but I assume most people accept the reality of self-control, initiative and rational choice. The common process that produces those three types of behaviours is almost certainly the psychological reality behind the popular notion of free will. Either it is exactly what free will is, or it is what is mistaken for free will. In any case, this link further extends the importance of understanding and knowing how to use this important human resource.

Getting the most from life

This article has provided an overview of my research program, but many other questions remain, such as how to raise children with good self-control, and how to manage the limited resource for best results. Those wishing for a broader and fuller discussion are invited to consult my co-authored book Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength (2011).

One important conclusion in that book is a newly emerging sense of how successful people manage the limited resource. The popular image of self-control and willpower still conforms to traditional ideas of the person using inner strength to fend off strong temptations and cope with crises. Yet increasingly the evidence is suggesting that the most successful people, and indeed those with the best self-control, spend relatively less time than others struggling with temptations and crises. Yes, willpower can be used for such things – but it can also be used to set up one’s life to run smoothly so as to avoid those demands and problems. Trait self-control has been especially successful at predicting performance at school and work, which depends less on the single heroic feat of will than on having steady, reliable work habits. Put another way, some people use their willpower to study all night before the exam, but others use it more effectively by keeping up with their work so they don’t have to stay up all night at the last minute. If anything, they make sure to get a good night’s sleep so they are well rested for the exam.

Willpower may have an unappealing, Victorian reputation. But it is simply a matter of using one’s physical and mental energy to reach one’s goals and get the most out of life. It is one of the most important human traits and a key to long-term success in life.

References

Baumeister, R.F., Bratslavsky, E., Muraven, M. & Tice, D.M. (1998). Ego depletion: Is the active self a limited resource? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 74, 1252–1265.
Baumeister, R.F., Campbell, J.D., Krueger, J.I. & Vohs, K.D. (2003). Does high self-esteem cause better performance interpersonal success, happiness, or healthier lifestyles? Psychological Science in the Public Interest, 4, 1–44.
Baumeister, R.F., Gailliot, M., DeWall, C.N. & Oaten, M. (2006). Self-regulation and personality: How interventions increase regulatory success, and how depletion moderates the effects of traits on behavior. Journal of Personality, 74, 1773–1801.
Carver, C.S. & Scheier, M.F. (1981). Attention and self-regulation. New York: Springer.
Danziger, S., Levav, J. & Avnaim-Pesso, L. (2011). Extraneous factors in judicial decisions. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/
pnas.1018033108
DeWall, C.N., Baumeister, R.F., Mead, N.L., & Vohs, K.D. (2011). How leaders self-regulate their task performance: Evidence that power promotes diligence, depletion, and disdain. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 100, 47–65.
DeWall, C.N., Baumeister, R.F., Stillman, T. & Gailliot, M.T. (2007). Violence restrained: Effects of self-regulation and its depletion on aggression. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 43, 62–76.
Finkel, E.J., DeWall, C.N., Slotter, E.B. et al. (2009). Self-regulatory failure and intimate partner violence perpetration. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 97, 483–499.
Gailliot, M.T. & Baumeister, R.F. (2007). Self-regulation and sexual restraint: Dispositionally and temporarily poor self-regulatory abilities contribute to failure at restraining sexual behavior. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 33, 173–186.
Gailliot, M.T., Baumeister, R.F., DeWall, C.N., et al (2007). Self-control relies on glucose as a limited energy source: Willpower is more than a metaphor. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 92, 325–336.
Gailliot, M.T., Hildebrandt, B., Eckel, L.A. & Baumeister, R.F. (2010). A theory of limited metabolic energy and premenstrual syndrome (PMS) symptoms: Increased metabolic demands during the luteal phase divert metabolic resources from and impair self-control. Review of General Psychology, 14, 269–282.
Hagger, M.S., Wood, C., Stiff, C., & Chatzisarantis, N.L.D. (2010). Ego depletion and the strength model of self-control: A meta-analysis. Psychological Bulletin, 136, 495–525.
Hofmann, W., Baumeister, R.F., Foerster, G. & Vohs, K.D. (in press). Seven thousand desires: Desire, conflict, and control in everyday life. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology.
Mead, N.L., Baumeister, R.F., Gino, F. et al. (2009). Too tired to tell the truth: Self-control resource depletion and dishonesty. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 45, 594–597.
Muraven, M. (2010). Practicing self-control lowers the risk of smoking lapse. Psychology of AddictiveBehaviors, 24, 446–452.
Muraven, M., Shmueli, D., & Burkley, E. (2006). Conserving self-control strength. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91, 524–537.
Pocheptsova, A., Amir, O., Dhar, R. & Baumeister, R.F. (2009). Deciding without resources: Resource depletion and choice in context. Journal of Marketing Research, 46, 344–355.
Richeson, J.A. & Trawalter, S. (2005). Why do interracial interactions impair executive function? A resource depletion account. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 88, 934–947.
Schmeichel, B.J., Vohs, K.D. & Baumeister, R.F. (2003). Intellectual performance and ego depletion: Role of the self in logical reasoning and other information processing. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 85, 33–46.
Vohs, K.D. & Baumeister, R.F. (2008). Why self-control supports good relationships: Evidence that couples treat each other badly when resources are depleted. Manuscript in preparation.
Vohs, K.D. & Baumeister, R.F. (2010). Active initiative requires self-control resources. Manuscript submitted for publication.
Vohs, K.D., Baumeister, R.F., Schmeichel, B.J. et al (2008). Making choices impairs subsequent self-control: A limited resource account of decision making, self-regulation, and active initiative. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 94, 883–898.
Vohs, K.D. & Heatherton, T.F. (2000). Self-regulatory failure: A resource-depletion approach. Psychological Science, 11, 249–254.
Vohs, K.D., Finkenauer, C. & Baumeister, R.F. (2011). The sum of friends’ and lovers’ self-control scores predicts relationship quality. Social and Personality Psychology Science, 2, 138–145.

The Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement 1960-2000 (A Review)

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Bill Devall (1938-2009)
From Ethics & the Enviornment 6.1 (2001) 18-41






Abstract
Arne Naess, in a seminal paper on environmental philosophy, distinguished between two streams of environmental philosophy and activism--shallow and deep. The deep, long-range ecology movement has developed over the past four decades on a variety of fronts. However, in the context of global conferences on development, population, and environment held during the 1990s, even shallow environmentalism seems to have less priority than demands for worldwide economic growth based on trade liberalization and a free market global economy.


"If nature is not a prison and earth a shoddy way-station, we must find the faith and force to affirm its metabolism as our own--or rather, our own as part of it. To do so means nothing less than a shift in our whole frame of reference and our attitude towards life itself, a wider perception of the landscape as a creative, harmonious being where relationships of things are as real as the things. Without losing our sense of a great human destiny and without intellectual surrender, we must affirm that the world is a being, a part of our own body" (Shepard 1969, 3).

When Paul Shepard wrote this passage, he summarized a stream of thought that was developing during the 1960s in the writings of Gary Snyder, Alan Watts, and Rachel Carson, among others. Two books were particularly effective during the 1960s in stimulating conservation activism, Rachel Carson's Silent Spring (1962) and Stewart Udall's The Quiet Crisis (1963). These books emphasize both the unintended and negative impact that certain human behaviors have on ecological relationships and the philosophy that humans are part of, not apart from, the rest of nature. This stream of thought and activism has been traced to John Muir and Henry David Thoreau and to pre-Socratic Greek philosophers and eventually to the Sumerians in the Epic of Gilgamesh at the beginning of civilization (Nash 1989; Oelschlaeger 1991; Sessions 1981; Sessions 1995a).

Professor Arne Naess of the University of Oslo catalyzed discussion of two streams of environmental philosophy when he articulated the distinction between "shallow ecology" and the "deep, long-range ecology movement" (DEM) in a short paper published in 1973. He characterized the shallow ecology movement as "Fight against pollution and resource depletion. Central objective: the health and affluence of people in the developed countries" (Naess 1973).

When Naess outlined principles of the deep, long-range ecology perspective, he included "fight against pollution and resource depletion," but he went beyond that statement to include principles that are not part of the dominant social paradigm. These included "ecocentrism,""wide sustainability,""complexity, not complication," and "rejection of man-in-environment image in favor of a relational, total-field image" (Naess 1973). Naess made it socially acceptable for academics to be activists on conservation issues by relating reflection to action. He also showed how people can move from denial to creative, nonviolent direct action based on their core values. 1

When Naess wrote his original essay on deep ecology, he knew there was limited scientific data available on the impact of industrial civilization on free nature. That is why he was inspired by both the science and the feelings for free nature expressed by Rachel Carson in Silent Spring2

The wave of enthusiasm for the environment that began with Earthday 1970 was reaching a climax in the United States with the passage of the federal Endangered Species Act. Many supporters of deep ecology in the U. S. consider the federal Endangered Species Act to be the most ecocen-tric environmental legislation because the underlying premise of the act is that humans have no right to willfully cause the extinction of other species, regardless of their value, or lack of value, for humans. 

The Endangered Species Act therefore moves us, in the words of Robyn Eckersley, "beyond human racism.""Green political theorists can make a contribution here in critically exploring and articulating fundamental value orientations and defending principles which enable the mutual satisfaction of human and nonhuman needs. A more proactive task for green political theorists might be to explore how social institutions might be arranged to expand conventional boundaries of care in day to day practices, while also redressing the problems of willful neglect and ignorance of ecosystems. Indeed, in the light of the history of discrimination against nonhuman species, it might even be said that there is now a case for 'affirmative action' for nonhuman nature" (Eckersley 1998).

Many researchers have documented the recurring, anthropogenic-caused collapse of natural systems at the regional or landscape level since modern humans began spreading across the planet approximately 35,000 years ago. However, the contemporary environmental crisis is the first planetary-wide anthropogenically caused extinction crisis (Wilson 1992; Bright 1998) and environmental crisis.

Much of the scientific research advanced during the 1970s, which had been proclaimed the "decade of the environment" by President Richard Nixon, is summarized in a report authorized by President Jimmy Carter and published in 1980, The Global 2000 Report to the President: Entering the Twenty-First Century (CEQ 1980). This report concluded, "if present trends continue, the world in 2000 will be more crowded, more polluted, less stable ecologically, and more vulnerable to disruption than the world we live in now (i.e., 1980). For hundreds of millions of the desperately poor, the outlook for food and other necessities of life will be no better. For many it will be worse."

Those trends did continue, and the Global 2000 report was written before the AIDS epidemic and before the emergence of a general agreement among scientists that global warming is occurring, probably at least partially due to anthropogenic causes.

While the Global 2000 report is phrased within the framework of conservation of natural resources for human populations, it foreshadowed reports written from a deep ecology perspective during the past two decades that focus on "wide ecological sustainability." The well-known equation I=PAT means that human impact on a region, or on the whole planet, is a combination of human population growth, plus affluence (or rate of consumption) and technology.

The Global 2000 report was intended as a warning to humanity to collectively change its behavior, and this warning has been reaffirmed many times during the past two decades. For example, using computer modeling of a simulated world system, the authors of Beyond the Limits ran several computer models of the 'world system' varying rates of resources use, industrial output, human population growth, food production, and pollution. Projected from 1900 to 2100, all of the computer runs, using different rates for the different variables, forecast an overshoot of carrying capacity and collapse of the collective human enterprise around 2050 (Meadows, Meadows, and Rander 1992). They argue, however, that collectively the human species can learn to change its behavior in a short (decade ) period of time and move into a "sustainable" mode of collective behavior.

A convergence of various trends has led to what is frequently called the "environmental crisis." On a finite planet there is no "new land" available for expansion of industrial civilization. Yet human population has continued to grow; per capita consumption has increased; and technolo-gy has been applied on a grand scale. Demographers proclaimed that the six billionth human was born in October 1999. While some people believe that humans will find solutions to many problems through technology, the pace of technological change continues to disrupt the lives of hundreds of millions of people.

The process of worldwide economic integration, called globalization, continues to disrupt the social and economic security of billions of people while global warming, acid rain, destruction of the ozone layer and other effects of industrial civilization undermine the integrity of natural systems across the planet.

William Catton, Jr., a sociologist trained in ecological theory, concluded that there are several modes of adaptation that societies may take to ecologically inexorable change. In many contemporary societies including both developed nations, such as the United Kingdom and the United States as well as so-called Third World nations, such as India and China, many people continue to insist that "sustainable" economic growth is possible. Catton labels this mode of adaptation "ostrichism."

Some proponents of reform environmentalism used the images of earth sent from platforms orbiting the earth in space to argue that "spaceship earth" or the "blue planet" is an appropriate image for "ecological consciousness" as a response to the contemporary environmental crisis. However, critics writing from a deep ecology perspective have warned that, at best, such metaphors are ambiguous. For example, Wolfgang Sachs concluded that "shooting a satellite into space is perhaps the most radical way of establishing the distance from our world necessary for fantasies of large-scale planning. The image of the Blue Planet--so small and easily comprehensible--suggests that what has hitherto provided the preconditions for diverse forms of human existence may now be planned and managed as a single unit" (Sachs 1994).
In contrast, poet-ecophilosopher Gary Snyder suggests the metaphor of humans singing and dancing around "a little watering hole in deep space." The choice of metaphors and slogans is crucial for any social movement. When supporters of deep ecology reject the phrase, "spaceship earth," they are rejecting a mechanistic worldview. When they accept slogans such as "Earth First!" or "thinking like a mountain," they are rejecting human hubris and placing Homo sapiens, as a species, in a more modest position in the cosmos.

In a short essay, "Modesty and the Conquest of Mountains," Naess reflects that " . . . modesty is of little value if it is not a natural consequence of much deeper feelings, and even more important in our special context, a consequence of a way of understanding ourselves as part of nature in a wide sense of the term. This way is such that the smaller we come to feel ourselves compared to the mountain, the nearer we come to participating in its greatness. I do not know why this is so" (Naess 1979, 16).

In the face of a crisis of planetary scale, some radical environmentalists argue that mild reforms in public policy and practices are basically useless. Deep changes in society require a 'paradigm shift' from the dominant modern paradigm of industrial civilization to a "new environmental paradigm" or "new ecological paradigm" (Catton 1980b; Drengson 1980).

The Role of the Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement in Promoting Social Change

Several scholarly summaries of themes in the emerging DEM and the deep ecology perspective show the intellectual development of the movement over the past four decades (Devall 1979, 1980, 1991, 1995a, 1995b; LaChapelle 1988; Sessions 1981). Anthologies drawing from the deep ecology literature include those edited by Sessions (1995a) and Drengson (1995).

In 1984, while camping together in the California desert, Arne Naess and George Sessions compiled the platform for the deep, long-range ecology movement. Some supporters of the DEM assert that the 'platform' is the "heart of deep ecology" (McLaughlin 1993). Other supporters of the DEM disagree, arguing that the gestalt of deep ecology, the intuition of deep ecology, is the heart of the movement (Glasser 1997).

Naess said his purpose in developing this 'platform' was 'modest', that is, to develop a set of very general principles or statements upon which supporters of deep ecology could comment and discuss. Naess's goal is to help people articulate their own deep ecological total view. The deep ecology "platform" therefore is a pedagogical tool to assist people in the process of developing their own statement of ecosophy and as a device to stimulate dialogue between supporters of and critics of the DEM.

Platform of Deep Ecology

1. The well-being and flourishing of human and nonhuman life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: inherent worth; intrinsic value, inherent value). These values are independent of the usefulness of the nonhuman world for human purposes.
2. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves.
3. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs.
4. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a substantial decrease of the human population. The flourishing of non-human life requires such a decrease.
5. Present human interference with nonhuman world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening.
6. Policies must therefore be changed. The changes in policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present.
7. The ideological change is mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwelling in situations of inherent worth) rather than adhering to an increasingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between big and great.
8. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation directly or indirectly to participate in the attempt to implement the necessary changes (this version of the deep ecology 'platform' is found in Devall 1988).

The DEM is based on radical pluralism in 'foundational' beliefs. Buddhists, Christians, Jews, Moslems, pantheists, agnostics, and materialists can come to a kind of deep ecology position or perspective both from their own experience (which Naess calls 'the intuition of deep ecology') and from historic philosophic and religious traditions (Naess 1989).

Naess defines ecosophy as " . . . a philosophy of ecological harmony or equilibrium. A philosophy as a kind of sofia (or) wisdom, is openly normative, it contains both norms, rules, postulates, value priority announcements and hypotheses concerning the state of affairs of our universe. Wisdom is policy wisdom, prescription, not only scientific description and prediction. The details of an ecosophy will show many variations due to significant differences concerning not only the 'fact' of pollution, resources, population, etc., but also value priorities' (in Sessions 1995a).

Thus, when individuals and communities articulate their own authentic ecosophy they provide an intellectual and emotional basis for their practice of deep ecology. Arne Naess calls his version "ecosophy T." His philosophical reflection on his own ecosophy is based on his experiences in a mountain hut in Norway where he has worked for many decades. A complimentary statement of ecosophy by Vice President Albert Gore, Jr. is developed in his book, Earth in the Balance (Gore 1992). Although Gore devotes a few paragraphs in his book to denouncing "deep ecology" based on misconceptions of the movement, his own ecosophy is grounded in deep ecology kind of thinking (Glasser 1996; Carmer 1998).

The slogan, "simple in means, rich in ends," emphasizes that the DEM encourages rich experiences, and rich experience includes experiences in free nature. As modern life continues to encroach on our daily lives, millions and millions of people are less and less able to have rich experiences in free nature. The importance of such experience is emphasized in the growing field of ecopsychology.

For Naess, rich experiences in free nature contributes to a sense of maturity. Both Dolores LaChapelle (1988) and Paul Shepard (1973, 1998) have contributed thoughtful commentary on the usefulness of looking at other cultures, especially primal cultures, for models of appropriate experiences that encourage greater human maturity.

The practice of deep ecology includes both personal lifestyles and community lifestyles (Devall 1993). In the United States several organizations have arisen to assist individuals and communities who want to change their lifestyles to incorporate simple means and rich experiences. 3

Some supporters of the DEM see a need to develop more emphasis on developing public policy initiatives from a deep ecology perspective. A recent study of the impact of deep ecology perspectives on public policy in the United States concludes, "The deep ecology movement continues to struggle against its critics with hopes of one day transforming society and politics. Though deep ecologists have enjoyed success in developing an alternative political and social vision from their deep respect for nature, they have had only limited success in advancing their agenda" (Cramer 1998, 226). However, many supporters of the DEM remain quite active in politics. For example, Arne Naess who is in his 80s, continues to engage in political action. The development of argumentation based on Naess's principles provides a way of getting the camel through the eye of the needle in making public policy decisions by establishing priorities for policy and action (Glasser 1996).

Naess concludes that the DEM has a special role in political life. "For one, it rejects the monopoly of narrowly human and short-term argumentation patterns in favor of life-centered long-term arguments. It also rejects the human-in-environment metaphor in favor of a more realistic human-in-ecosystems and politics-in-ecosystems one. It generalizes most ecopolitical issues: from 'resources' to 'resources for . . . '; from 'life quality' to 'life quality for . . . '; from 'consumption' to 'consumption for . . . '; where 'for . . . ' is, we insert 'not only humans, but other living beings'. Supporters of the Deep Ecology movement have, as a main source of motivation and perseverance, a philosophical/ecological total view (an ecosophy) that includes beliefs concerning fundamental goals and values in life which it applies to political argumentation. That is, it uses not only arguments of the usual rather narrow kind, but also arguments from the level of a deep total view and with the ecological crisis in mind. But supporters of the Deep Ecology movement do not consider the ecological crisis to be the only global crisis; there are also crises of social justice, and of war and organized violence. And there are, of course, political problems which are only distantly related to ecology. Nevertheless, the supporters of the Deep Ecology movement have something important to contribute to the solution of these crises: they provide an example of the nonviolent activism needed in the years to come" (in Sessions 1995, 452).

Naess continues to emphasize that most of supporters of the DEM are not intellectuals nor ideologues but ordinary people who continue to struggle to find a way to live based on their core beliefs and values. However, even when people want to "do the right thing" they are hamstrung by force of habit, a sense of despair, lack of community support for change, and institutional constraints. Anthropological research in the U. S. has found widespread acceptance of major principles in the 'platform' of deep ecology across a wide spectrum of the population including labor union members, rural and urban residents, as well as members of conservation organizations (Kempton et al. 1995).

Some researchers suggest the "biophilia hypothesis" provides a sociobiology explanation for agape, love of nature as something more than a social construction, although a biologically-based love of nature is constantly mediated by socio-psychological expressions of biophilia (Kellert 1993).

The translation of values and the 'intuition' of deep ecology into action in the midst of industrial civilization requires purposeful, collective action and attention to "ecological self." The "ecological self," defined by Naess as "broad identification" with nature, whether based on biophilia or on experiences in the "wildness" of nature, has stimulated some of the most provocative theories developed from a deep ecology perspective (see for example Mathews 1991; Everden 1993; Macy 1991; Fox 1990). When people have gone from denial to despair, how do they recatalyze energy to respond effectively and creatively to the environmental crisis? Teachers such as John Seed and Joanna Macy have pioneered in developing experiental workshops where participants are invited to explore "broader identification" through a "council of all beings" (Seed 1988). At least one researcher has concluded that experiences individuals have during a "council of all beings" can assist in helping participants engage in nonviolent direct action based on their awareness of their "ecological self" as part of an unfolding, interdependent "net" of relationships (Bragg 1995).

Joanna Macy, and other teachers who are supporters of the DEM, have demonstrated that participation in the "council of all beings" and other rituals and exercises designed to explore the "ecological self," is effective cross-culturally. Macy herself has led such exercises in Russia, Australia, several European nations, as well as in the United States with participants from culturally diverse backgrounds.4

Since many supporters of the DEM have been critical of some of major assumptions of modernity, it is not surprising that deep ecology has been greeted with hostility both by some critics on the left and critics on the right, as well as post-modern theorists (for example, van Wyck 1997). However, as Glasser has documented, some of the criticism of deep ecology perspectives is the result of misconceptions and fallacies committed by the critics. It is difficult to speak across paradigms when the basic approach of different paradigms is phrased in language that is incommersurable (Glasser 1998). The "Eight points" platform of the DEM formulated by Arne Naess and George Sessions does not concern the question of what is the main cause of the ecological crisis. There are a variety of views about causes such as those advanced by social ecologists and ecofeminists. Supporters of the DEM can also support social ecology and ecofeminism and vice versa. 5

Some postmodern critics have had special difficulties with the DEM. But Charlene Spretnak, a scholar who has specialized in the development of 'green' politics, concludes that 'deconstructionist postmodernism' should not be confused with 'ecological postmodernism' (Drengson 1996; Spretnak 1997). The key metaphor of 'ecological postmodernism' is ecology and the primary truth is 'particular-in-context', or bioregionalism.

Naess asserts that there are three great social movements of the 20th century--the ecology movement, the peace movement, and the social justice movement. These three movements speak to our yearning for liberation and can be compatible with each other in specific political campaigns. However, in situations of conflict, priorities must be established.

Soon after Earthday 1970, commentators were warning of possible conflicts between environment and civil rights (Hutchins 1976) and between economic growth and environmental quality (Heller 1973). As the deep ecology perspective became more widely discussed during the 1980s, critics from postmodern schools of thought, feminism, and social ecology argued strenuously for nonessentialist, anthropocentric approachs to environmental ethics. Supporters of the DEM demonstrated that there are parallels between ecofeminism and deep ecology (Fox 1989; Plumwood 1992).

Some critics assume that the DEM is inappropriate for the Third World because the Third World must address problems of militarism, poverty, food supply, and demands for gender equality (Guha 1989). On the contrary, supporters of the DEM conclude it is most appropriate for the Third World because of its emphasis on long-range sustainability of natural systems within which humans as well as all other species must dwell (Naess 1995; Cafaro 1998).

During the 1980s and 1990s, shallow or reform environmental movements continued to emphasize the tenet that "sustainable economic growth and development" for both developed and "underdeveloped" societies is desirable, and indeed necessary, in order to achieve goals of cleaner air and water as well as protection of natural resources for sustained use by a growing human population (see the Bruntland Report, Our Common Future 1987, and Agenda 21 approved by the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment 1992). The subtext of all the major documents, based on reform environmentalism, is that an increasing population of humans will "sustainably" use increasing amounts of "natural resources" by ef-ficiently using evolving technologies such as biotechnology, computer technology, nanotechnology, and energy technology.

Most of the documents issued at world conferences on the environment fail to clearly answer the questions "what is being sustained,""how long is it being sustained," and "how will conflicts between priorities or between the short-term interests of various categories of people be resolved?""How will priorities of the current generation of humans and future generations be resolved?"

Supporters of the DEM recognize the need to address the great disparity between the opportunities of people living in the Third World to sustain their vital needs and people living in Japan, the United States, Canada, and the European Union. Much effort has been given by supporters of the DEM to addressing issues of environmental justice raised by a globalizing economy and the impact of free trade treaties such as NAFTA (and the WTO) on our ability to speak for the protection of wild species and their habitat, as well as the impact that global financial structures have on the lives of ordinary people around the world (Mander 1991).

When the demands for redistribution of money, power, and wealth, in the short-term, between more wealthy and less wealthy societies, between genders, between age groups, between politically defined ethnic groups, and so forth, become the primary agenda of social activists, there is a danger, as George Sessions has concluded, of "the demise of the ecology movement" because social justice concerns frequently replace concern for the ecological integrity of the Earth (Sessions 1995b, 1995c ). While many social issues can be addressed simultaneously, even if a utopian social justice society could be established, it may be on a planet that is rapidly losing biodiversity, primary forests, and free nature.


Warnings to Humanity

Before the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment in 1992, the Union of Concerned Scientists circulated the World Scientists' Warning to Humanity, signed by over 1,700 scientists, including 104 Nobel laureates. The Warning stated, in part, "Human beings and the natural world are on a collision course . . . A great change in our stewardship of the earth and the life on it is required, if vast human misery is to be avoided and our global home on the planet is not to be irretrievably mutilated . . . No more than one or a few decades remain before the chance to avert the threats we now confront will be lost" (Ehrlich 1996, Appendix B).

In April 1999, the World Commission on Forests, created after the Rio Summit of 1992, concluded that nearly 15 million hectares of primary for-ests, an area the size of England and Wales, have been lost due to logging and other human activities each year since 1980. Original frontier forests have all but disappeared in 76 countries, and declined by at least 95 % in 11 countries. The planet's original forest cover of 6 billion hectares has been reduced to 3.6 billion hectares (World Commission on Forests 1999).

During the 1980s some commentators suggested that the 1990s would be a "turnaround decade" or a "turning point" where rapid changes would encourage the emergence of a new social paradigm or a new type of social organization based on ecology (Capra 1982). Has a paradigm shift occurred, or is it occurring on a planetary scale at the beginning of the 21st century?

It is widely accepted that reform environmentalism is now part of the political agenda of most nations. Politicians are expected to include "the environment" as part of their campaign promises and public policy objectives. Many governments of developing nations are willing to participate in conservation programs--if they are given cash in exchange for their participation, such as the "debt for nature" agreements reached with some nations in South America. Findings from cross-cultural surveys indicate that even in poor nations, there is widespread awareness of and concern with environmental issues (Brechin 1994). Radical grassroots environmental movements have developed in many Third World nations (Taylor 1995). Whether or not motivated by deep ecology or reform environmental perspective or demands for tribal or First Nations sovereignty from national governments, grassroots movements have irritated governments, some corporations, and other economic and political interest groups who ignited a backlash against radical environmentalism both in the United States and in many developing nations. Campaigns of suppression, detention, and even murder of grassroots radical environmentalists have been extensively documented (Rowell 1996). 

Leaders of all the major world religions including Native American pantheism, Orthodox Christianity, Roman Catholic, Buddhism, Islam, and Judaism have presented statements that echo the World Scientists' Warning to Humanity. Religious leaders have presented statements affirming that conservation is part of their ethical teachings and that humans have no right to destroy the integrity of natural systems (Oelschlaeger 1994).

In 1982, the United Nations General Assembly passed the World Charter for Nature, sponsored by a Third World nation--Zaire--with only one dissenting vote, the United States. The World Charter contains significant deep ecology statements including,

1. Nature shall be respected and its essential processes shall not be disrupted.
2. The genetic viability on the earth shall not be compromised; the population level of all life forms, wild and domesticated, must be at least sufficient for their survival, and to this end necessary habitats shall be maintained.
3. All areas, both land and sea, shall be subject to these principles of conservation; special protection shall be given to unique areas, representative sample of all ecosystems and the habitats of rare and endangered species.
4. Ecosystems and organisms, as well as land, marine and atmospheric resources which are utilized by man shall be managed to achieve and maintain optimum sustainable productivity, but not in such a way as to endanger the integrity of those other ecosystems or species with which they coexist.
5. Nature shall be secured against degradation caused by warfare or other hostile activities.
The Charter challenges national and local governments to select the appropriate mix of social, political, and economic methods to achieve their goals (Wood 1985). However, the major world environmental conferences held during the 1990s, including the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment (1992) and the Kyoto Conference on Global Warming (1998), presented documents that retreated from deep ecological statements found in the World Charter for Nature.

Even by their own anthropocentric criteria, the world environmental conferences of the 1990s have had limited success. Five years after the Rio summit, the United Nations Environmental Programme issued a report, The Global Environmental Outlook. The report concludes that "significant progress has been made in confronting environmental challenges. Nevertheless, the environment has continued to degrade in nations of all regions. Progress toward a sustainable future has simply been too slow" (UNEP 1997).

Agenda 21, the document approved by governments attending the Rio Summit, clearly states that sustainable development would be achieved through trade liberalization. Since the Rio Summit, forest destruction from Mexico to Siberia and from Brazil to Indonesia has increased due to the impetus provided by "free trade" and globalization of the timber trade (Menotti 1998).

An Earth Charter was to have guided the Rio Summit on Environment and Development, but governments could not agree on such a statement of ethical principles. However, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) were interested in the idea and formed a network of NGOs to develop a citizens' Earth Charter. In early 1997, an Earth Charter Commission composed of distinguished persons from each continent was appointed at a meeting of international NGOs to draft a citizens' Earth Charter.

A Draft Earth Charter was released in March 1997 at the Rio+5 Forum. The Earth Charter is supposed to provide "an ethical framework for decision making on all matters of environment and development." The Draft Earth Charter contains eighteen planks. The first plank says, "Respect Earth and all life. Earth, each life form, and all living beings possess intrinsic value and warrant respect independent of their utilitarian value to humanity," and plank 2, "Care for Earth, protecting and restoring the diversity, integrity, and beauty of the planet's ecosystems. Where there is risk of irreversible or serious damage to the environment, precautionary action must be taken to prevent harm."

The clear statement that ecological sustainability must take precedence in all policy decisions in the citizens' Draft Earth Charter contrasts starkly with the development tone of official Agenda 21 documents released through the United Nations.

The United Nations sponsored Cairo conference on Development and Population in 1994 presented documents primarily devoted to development of women's opportunities to participate in economic growth in Third World nations. Decline in birth rates was linked to "empowerment" of women and to "economic opportunities" for women in a growing economy. It was assumed that if women participate in economic growth under capitalism, have access to contraceptives and choice on abortions, and are more educated, that the birth rate will fall. Some critics of the Cairo conference statement, including representatives of Moslem nations and the Catholic church, noted the ideological tone of the Cairo statement and failure of the Cairo statement to respect cultural diversity. Five years after the Cairo conference, at a world conference of governments and nongovernmental organizations called to assess the outcomes of the Cairo conference, the political consensus of 1994 was in disarray. The environmental caucus of Cairo+5 in particular insisted that "we cannot address access to food, water safety, and migration without addressing the environment as well. A healthy environment should be a priority when seeking to address human health and welfare." 6 It was also unclear if contributing nations would raise the programmed $10 billion a year for implementation of the Cairo agreement and the anticipated $22 billion a year that will be needed by 2015.

The United Nations Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995 included "environment" as one of the twelve planks in its "platform for action." However, that plank read, "Eliminate all obstacles to women's full and equal participation in sustainable development with equal access to and control over resources; integrate rural women's traditional knowledge and practices into environmental management programs; support women's consumer initiatives by promoting recycling, organic food production and marketing and product labeling that is clear to the illiterate."

There was no plank in the women's platform that emphasized the role of women in maintaining wide ecological sustainability by responsibly limiting the number of children they have, nor any support for intrinsic values of other species, nor support for programs that protect the habitat of native species in each bioregion. In commenting on this platform, a British writer, Sandy Irvine, concludes, " . . . Some fundamental aspects of the eco-crisis, particularly overpopulation, are ignored or denied. Organisations such as the Women's Environment Movement specifically deny that existing human numbers are already too great for the global ecosystem to sustain" (Irvine 1995).

With the prospect of a conscious, collective movement of rapid social turnaround fading, some supporters of the DEM suggest that the human species has exceeded the limits of natural systems to respond to anthropogenic changes, and that radical changes in human society will occur during the 21st century because "nature bats last" (Catton 1980a; Meadows et al. 1992).

In his 1971 book, The Closing Circle, Barry Commoner summarized these 'laws' of ecology: Nature is more complex than we know, and probably more complex than we can know. Everything has to go somewhere. There is no such thing as a free lunch. And, the most controversial 'law', Nature knows best (Commoner 1971). Some commentators conclude that humans in industrial civilization have become like a cancer on the planet, killing the host organism.

Other visionary writers hypothesize that as a species Homo sapiens is evolving toward a planetary civilization that " . . . will come from the synergy of the collective experience and wisdom of the entire human family--the entire species. The world has become so interdependent that we must make it together, transcending differences of race, ethnicity, geography, religion, politics, and gender. It is the human species that must learn to live together as a civilized and mutually supportive community. To focus on the development of civility among the human species is not to inflate unduly the importance of humanity within the ecosystem of life on Earth; rather it is to recognize how dangerous the human race is to the viability of the Earth's ecosystem. Humanity must begin consciously to develop a planetary-scale, species-civilization that is able to live in a harmonious relationship with the rest of the web of live" (Elgin 1993, 14).

Philosopher Thomas Berry calls this project the "great work" of humans. Berry concludes that humans live in a "moment of grace" as we move into the 21st century which enables humanity to "be present to the planet in a mutually beneficial way" (Berry 1999). Others believe that Gaia herself, a conscious, self-organizing system, will regulate such an unruly species as Homo sapiens. The Gaia hypothesis has stimulated not only controversy among scientists but also has stimulated numerous religious, mystical, and feminist responses that indicate a yearning for integration with the "Earth Mother." 7

Naess himself says he remains an optimist "for the 22nd century.""There is no time for overly pessimistic statements that can be exploited by passivists and those who promote complacency. The realization of what we call wide ecological sustainability of the human enterprise on this unique planet may take a long time, but the more we increase unsustainability this year, and in the years to come, the longer it will take. . . . The Deep Ecology movement is concerned with what can be done today, but I forsee no definite victories scarcely before the twenty-second century" (in Sessions 1995a, 464). 

The resurgence of interest in bioregionalism, restoration, locally-based agriculture, and new initiatives to establish huge nature reserves in many nations indicates that supporters of the DEM will continue to be leaders in developing new agendas for the conservation movement as we move into the 21st century. For example, there is a growing number of alliances between conservation groups and tribal or First Nation peoples (a designation most commonly used in Canada) with the objective of assisting traditional cultures and protecting wildness. From Ecuador to British Columbia, numerous NGOs continue to implement projects with tribal and First Nation peoples. 8

Yet, since liberals and conservatives, capitalists and socialists, as well as green parties in Europe, Japan, and North America, have found it difficult to integrate a deep ecology perspective and environmental justice agenda into their political agendas, it is difficult to see where the political momentum for radical social change based on the norm of wide ecological sustainability will arise. Fritjof Capra, however, concludes that "while the transformation (from one paradigm to another) is taking place, the declining culture refuses to change, clinging ever more rigidly to its outdated ideas; nor will the dominant social institutions hand over their leading roles to the new cultural forces. But they will inevitably go on to decline and disintegrate while the rising culture will continue to rise, and eventually will assume its leading role. As the turning point approaches, the realization that evolutionary changes of this magnitude cannot be prevented by short-term political activities provides our strongest hope for the future" (Capra 1982, 419).

Joanna Macy, and other visionary scholar/teachers who are supporters of the deep, long-range ecology movement and who utilize system theory approaches in their teaching, emphasize that emergent forms of social organization that arise out of the chaos and breakdown of current social systems may be very different from present forms of social organization and cannot be predicted based on linear trend analysis.

Conclusion

Ecological systems approaches to global modeling and analysis have developed extensively over the past several decades to the extent that some scientists are calling for "international ecosystem assessment." These scientists argue that an international system of ecosystem modelling and monitoring, integrating the many differing factors--climate change, biodiversity loss, food supply and demand, forest loss, water availability and quality--is urgently needed. The magnitude of human impacts on ecosystems is escalating. One-third of global land cover will be transformed in the next hundred years. In twenty years world demand for rice, wheat, and maize will rise by 40%. Demands for water and wood will double over the next half-century. At the turn of the millennium, they argue, we need to undertake the first global assessment of the condition and future prospects of global ecosystems (Ayensu 1999).

The continuing collective efforts to change human behavior to forestall global warming indicates that some attempts at effective political action in the face of a "global environmental crisis" are being made (Depledge 1999). Deep ecology perspectives and the DEM have contributed to the development of ecophilosophy, ecopsychology, and intellectual discussions of these issues over the past four decades, in particular by helping people articulate and develop their own ecosophy both individually and as part of a community (Glasser 1996). However, how the planet as an interdependent ecosystem, subject to increasing and generally negative human interventions, will fare in the 21st century remains an open question.

There are those who see hope for the future of Homo sapiens living in harmony with the rest of nature. They maintain that Homo sapiens have the capacity to develop into mature human beings both as individuals and collectively if humanity practices CPE on the earth--conservation, preservation, restoration (Brower 1995). Others, seeing that even small populations of Homo sapiens armed with simple but very effective technology of fire and stone arrowhead have, over the past 35,000 years, had immense impact on landscapes of whole continents (such as Australia), and conclude that at bestHomo sapiens can be seen as an auto immune disease on the world system, on Gaia, or as a cancer on the world system that at this time has begun to destroy the vital organs of the planet.

Another forecast is presented by Bill Joy, chief engineer for Sun Electronics and one of the creators of Java for the Internet. He begins with Murphy's Law, "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong," and with the premise from systems theory that when systems involved are complex, involving interaction among and feedback between many parts, any changes in such a system will cascade in ways that are difficult to predict; this is especially true when human actions are involved. Joy explores the unintended consequence of developing the new fields of technology including robotics, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology.

Since "biological species almost never survive encounters with superior competitors" and given that robotics, at the current rate of development, could be superior in intelligence to Homo sapiens within fifty years, and could self-replicate, it is likely that cyborgs will out-compete current Homo sapiens and win control of the planet. For Joy, the only hope for Homo sapiens in the 21st century is if, as a species, we relinquish research on robotics, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology. Exploring the love and compassion that is more basic to our humanness than the "will to power" in capitalist, free-market economies based on exponential growth of technology, humans can enter a path toward a utopia based on altruism (Joy 2000).
We are left to contemplate the question asked by John Muir, considered by many historians to be the founder of the American conservation movement, in 1875. Returning to the Central Valley of California, after spending another summer meditating in the Sierra Nevada, Muir wrote in his journal:

Every sense is satisfied. For us there is no past, no future--we live only in the present and are full. No room for hungry hopes--none for regrets--none for exaltation--none for fears.

Enlarge sphere of ideas. The mind invigorated by the acquisition of new ideas. Flexibility, elasticity.

I often wonder what men will do with the mountains. That is, with their utilizable, destructable garments. Will he cut down all, and make ships and houses with the trees? If so, what will be the final and far upshot? Will human destruction, like those of Nature--fire, flood, and avalanche--work out a higher good, a finer beauty. Will a better civilization come, in accord with obvious nature, and all this wild beauty be set to human poetry? Another outpouring of lava or the coming of the glacial period could scarce wipe out the flowers and flowering shrubs more effectively than do the sheep. And what then is coming--what is the human part of the mountain's destiny? (Engberg and Wesling 1980, 162)

Acknowledgment

The author expresses thanks to Harold Glasser for his extensive commentary and help on preliminary drafts of this article.

Bill Devall (1938-2009) was a consultant to the Foundation for Deep Ecology in San Francisco and Professor Emeritus in Sociology at Humboldt State University in Arcata, California. Devall was a well-known lecturer and author, most notably (with George Sessions) of the influential book, Deep Ecology (1985), and Simple in Means, Rich in Ends (1988), Living Richly in an Age of Limits(1992), and Clearcut: The Tragedy of Industrial Logging (1993). He also wrote a book on bioregional politics and culture, Bioregion on the Edge. 

Notes

1. The Selected Works of Arne Naess, edited by Harold Glasser and published by Kluwer Academic Publishers, will be available in early 2001. Information concerning the current status of this project is available from the Foundation for Deep Ecology, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965.

2. Naess frequently uses the term "free nature" to refer to landscapes that are relatively unmodified by human activities. Other supporters of the DEM frequently use the term "wild nature" to refer to landscapes that may contain human communities such as tribal societies, but are relatively untrammeled by industrial civilization, agriculture, roads, cattle, or sheep grazing. Henry David Thoreau expressed one of the central axioms of the modern conservation movement when he wrote "in wildness is the preservation of the world."
Virtually all regions of the planet are currently impacted by planetary industrial civilization as witnessed by "global warming," the "hole in the ozone layer," and massive deforestation of all the primary forests on the planet (World Commission on Forests 1999).

3. See, for example, the Northwest Earth Institute, Suite 1100, 506 SW 6th St., Portland, OR 97205.

4. Recent educational material on the deep, long-range ecology movement includes the 13-part radio series, "Deep Ecology for the 21st Century," available from New Dimensions Broadcasting Network, P.O.Box 569, Ukiah CA 95482. Two videos highlight the work of Arne Naess in articulating deep ecology; "Crossing the Stones," produced by Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation in 1992 and available in the United States from Bullfrog Films, Oley PA; and "The Call of the Mountain," produced by ReRun Produkties in 1997, distributed in the United States by the Foundation for Deep Ecology, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965.

5. The International Forum on Globalization, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965, provides books, articles and other material on the environmental and social impacts of globalization.

6. Population and Habitat Update: Cariro+5: Identifying Successes, New Challenges: National Audubon Society's Population and Habitat Campaign, May/June 1999.

7. When James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis presented the Gaia Hypothesis, it was embraced by the broader public before it was embraced by the community of scientists (Lovelock 1987). Surfing through Amazon.com, I found more than 120 books that use the word Gaia in titles published after 1988. These included "a guided meditation for vibrational medicine cards and Gaia matrix oracle,""from eros to Gaia,""Gaia and God: an ecofeminist theology of earth healing,""gay and Gaia, ethics, ecology, and the erotic," and "the goddess in the office: a personal energy guide for the spiritual warrior at work."

8. The agenda of the DEM now includes "rewilding," a term not yet found in the dictionaries. According to Michael Soule, author of numerous books on biodiversity and president of The Wildlands Project, rewilding means "the process of protecting Nature by putting all the ecological pieces back together and restoring the landscape to its full glory and building a network of conservation reserves--cores, corridors, and mixed-use buffers--with enough land to allow wolves, jaguars, bears and other large carnivores to move freely and reclaim a part of their former range" (Soule 1998).

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Democracy and philosophy

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Richard Rorty (1931-2007)
First published in Kritika&Kontext 33 (2007)

This article is the text of a lecture given by Richard Rorty in April 2004 at the Centre for Cultural Studies in Tehran. The lecture was presented in the series of lectures by Western intellectuals in Tehran, organized by Ramin Jahanbegloo. Besides Rorty, speakers included Jürgen Habermas, Noam Chomsky, Ágnes Heller, Timothy Garton Ash, Michael Ignatieff, Adam Michnik, and Paul Ricoeur. Ramin Jahanbegloo was arrested on 30 March 2006 by Iranian Police and held in custody despite international outcry. After five months of investigation he was released from custody in August 2006. This happened after he admitted under duress that he had cooperated with western diplomats in plotting a "velvet revolution" in Iran that would overthrow the current regime and replace it with a western-type democracy.

Philosophy is a ladder that Western political thinking climbed up, and then shoved aside. Starting in the seventeenth century, philosophy played an important role in clearing the way for the establishment of democratic institutions in the West. It did so by secularizing political thinking – substituting questions about how human beings could lead happier lives for questions about how God's will might be done. Philosophers suggested that people should just put religious revelation to one side, at least for political purposes, and act as if human beings were on their own – free to shape their own laws and their own institutions to suit their felt needs, free to make a fresh start.

In the eighteenth century, during the European Enlightenment, differences between political institutions, and movements of political opinion, reflected different philosophical views. Those sympathetic to the old regime were less likely to be materialistic atheists than were the people who wanted revolutionary social change. But now that Enlightenment values are pretty much taken for granted throughout the West, this is no longer the case. Nowadays politics leads the way, and philosophy tags along behind. One first decides on a political outlook and then, if one has a taste for that sort of thing, looks for philosophical backup. But such a taste is optional, and rather uncommon. Most Western intellectuals know little about philosophy, and care still less. In their eyes, thinking that political proposals reflect philosophical convictions is like thinking that the tail wags the dog.

I shall be developing this theme of the irrelevance of philosophy to democracy in my remarks. Most of what I shall say will be about the situation in my own country, but I think that most of it applies equally well to the European democracies. In those countries, as in the US, the word "democracy" has gradually come to have two distinct meanings. In its narrower, minimalist meaning it refers to a system of government in which power is in the hands of freely elected officials. I shall call democracy in this sense "constitutionalism". In its wider sense, it refers to a social ideal, that of equality of opportunity. In this second sense, a democracy is a society in which all children have the same chances in life, and in which nobody suffers from being born poor, or being the descendant of slaves, or being female, or being homosexual. I shall call democracy in this sense "egalitarianism".

Suppose that, at the time of the US presidential election of 2004, you had asked voters who were wholeheartedly in favour of re-electing President Bush whether they believed in democracy. They would have been astonished by the question, and have replied that of course they did. But all they would have meant by this is that they believe in constitutional government. Because of this belief, they were prepared to accept the outcome of the election, whatever it turned out to be. If John Kerry had won, they would be angry and disgusted. But they would not have dreamt of trying to prevent his taking office by going out into the streets. They would have been utterly horrified by the suggestion that the generals in the Pentagon should mount a military coup in order to keep Bush in the White House.

The voters who in 2004 regarded Bush as the worst American president of modern times, and who desperately hoped for Kerry's success, were also constitutionalists. When Kerry lost, they were sick at heart. But they did not dream of fomenting a revolution. Leftwing Democrats are as committed to preserving the US constitution as are rightwing Republicans.

But if, instead of asking these two groups whether they believe in democracy, you had asked them what they mean by the term "democracy", you might have received different replies. The Bush voters will usually be content to define democracy simply as government by freely elected officials. But many of the Kerry voters – and especially the intellectuals – will say that America – despite centuries of free elections and the gradual expansion of the franchise to include all adult citizens – is not yet a full-fledged democracy. Their point is that although it obviously is a democracy in the constitutional sense, it is not yet a democracy in the egalitarian sense. For equality of opportunity has not yet been attained. The gap between the rich and the poor is widening rather than narrowing. Power is becoming more concentrated in the hands of the few.

These leftwing Democrats will remind you that of the likely fate of the children of badly educated Americans, both black and white, raised in a home in which the full-time labour of both mother and father brings in only about $40 000 a year. This sounds like a lot of money, but in America children of parents at that income level are deprived of many advantages, will probably be unable to go to college, and will be unlikely to get a good job. For Americans who think of themselves as on the political Left, these inequalities are outrageous. They demonstrate that even though America has a democratically elected government, it still does not have a democratic society.

Ever since Walt Whitman wrote his essay "Democratic Vistas" in the middle of the nineteenth century, a substantial sector of educated public opinion in the US has used "democracy" to mean "social egalitarianism" rather than simply "representative government". Using the term in this way became common in the Progressive Era and still more common under the New Deal. That usage permitted the civil rights movement led by Martin Luther King, the feminist movement, and the gay and lesbian rights movement to portray themselves as successive attempts to "realize the promise of American democracy".

So far I have said nothing about the relation of religion to American democracy. But for an understanding of the ongoing context between constitutionalist and egalitarian understandings of democracy it is important to realize that Americans on the political Left tend to be less religiously committed and religiously active than people on the political Right. The leftists who are religious believers do not try very hard to bring their religious convictions and their political preferences together. They treat religion as a private matter, endorse the Jeffersonian tradition of religious tolerance, and are emphatic in their preference for the strict separation of church and state.

On the political Right, however, religious and political convictions are often interwoven. The hardcore Bush voters are not only considerably more likely to go to church than the hardcore Kerry voters, but are considerably more likely to sympathize with Bush's insistence on the need to elect officials who take God seriously. They often describe the United States of America as a nation especially blessed by the Christian God. They like to say that theirs is "a Christian country", and not to realize that this phrase is offensive to their Jewish and Muslim fellow citizens. They tend to see America's emergence as the only superpower left standing not just as an accident of history, but as evidence of divine favour.

Because of this different stance toward religious belief, one might be tempted to think of the opposition between the political Right and the political Left as reflecting a difference between those who think of democracy as built upon religious foundations and those who think of it as built upon philosophical foundations. But, as I have already suggested, that would be misleading. Except for a few professors of theology and philosophy, neither rightist nor leftist American intellectuals think of democracy in the sense of constitutionalism as having either sort of foundation.

If asked to justify their preference for constitutional government, both sides would be more likely to appeal to historical experience rather than to either religious or philosophical principles. Both would be likely to endorse Winston Churchill's much-quoted remark that "Democracy is the worst form of government imaginable, except for all the others that have been tried so far." Both agree that a free press, a free judiciary, and free elections are the best safeguard against the abuse of governmental power characteristic of the old European monarchies, and of fascist and communist regimes.

The arguments between leftists and rightists about the need for egalitarian social legislation are also matters neither of opposing religious beliefs nor of opposing philosophical principles. The disagreement between those who think of a commitment to democracy as a commitment to an egalitarian society and those who have no use for the welfare state and for government regulations designed to ensure equality of opportunity is not fought out on either philosophical or religious grounds. Even the most fanatic fundamentalists do not try to argue that the Christian scriptures provide reasons why the American government should not redistribute wealth by using taxpayers' money to send the children of the poor to college. Their leftist opponents do not claim that the need to use taxpayer's money for this purpose is somehow dictated by what Kant called "the tribunal of pure reason".

Typically the arguments between the two camps are much more pragmatic. The Right claims that imposing high taxes in order to benefit the poor will lead to "big government", rule by bureaucrats, and a sluggish economy. The Left concedes that there is a danger of over-bureaucratization and of over-centralized government. But, they argue, these dangers are outweighed by the need to make up for the injustices built into a capitalist economy – a system that can throw thousands of people out of work overnight and make it impossible for them to feed, much less educate, their children. The Right argues that the Left is too much inclined to imposing its own tastes on society as a whole. The Left replies that what the right calls a "matter of taste" is really a matter of justice.

Such arguments proceed not by appeals to universally valid moral obligations but by appeals to historical experience – the experience of over-regulation and over-taxation on the one hand and the experience of poverty and humiliation on the other. The rightists accuse the leftists of being sentimental fools – bleeding-heart liberals – who do not understand the need to keep government small so that individual freedom can flourish. The leftists accuse the rightists of heartlessness – of being unable or unwilling to imagine themselves in the situation of a parent who cannot make enough money to clothe his daughter as well as her schoolmates are clothed. Such polemical exchanges are pursued at a pragmatic level, and no theological or philosophical sophistication is required to conduct them. Nor would such sophistication do much to strengthen either side.

So far I have been talking about the form that contemporary American political disagreements take, and emphasizing the irrelevance of philosophy to such disputes. I have been arguing that neither the agreement between Left and Right on the wisdom of retaining constitutional government nor the disagreement between them about what laws to pass has much to do with either religious conviction or philosophical opinion. You can be a very intelligent and useful participant in political discussion in contemporary democratic societies such as the US even though you have no interest whatever in either religion or philosophy.

Despite this fact, one still occasionally comes across debates among philosophers about whether democracy has "philosophical foundations", and about what these might be. I do not regard these debates as very useful. To understand why they are still conducted, it helps to remember the point I made at the outset: that when the democratic revolutions of the eighteenth century broke out, the quarrel between religion and philosophy had an importance it now lacks. For those revolutions were not able to appeal to the past. They could not point to the successes enjoyed by democratic and secularist regimes. For few such regimes had ever existed, and those that had had not always fared well. So their only recourse was to justify themselves by reference to principle, philosophical principle. Reason, they said, had revealed the existence of universal human rights, so a revolution was required to put society on a rational basis.

"Reason" in the eighteenth century was supposed to be what the anti-clericalists had to compensate for their lack of what the clergy called "faith". For the revolutionaries of those times were necessarily anti-clerical. One of their chief complaints was the assistance that the clergy had rendered to feudal and monarchical institutions. Diderot, for example, famously looked forward to seeing the last king strangled with the entrails of the last priest. In that period, the work of secularist philosophers such as Spinoza and Kant was very important in creating an intellectual climate conducive to revolutionary political activity. Kant argued that even the words of Christ must be evaluated by reference to the dictates of universally shared human reason. For Enlightenment thinkers such as Jefferson, it was important to argue that reason is a sufficient basis for moral and political deliberation, and that revelation is unnecessary.

The author of both the Virginia Statute of Religious Freedom and of the American Declaration of Independence, Jefferson was a typical leftist intellectual of his time. He read a lot of philosophy and took it very seriously indeed. He wrote in the Declaration that "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, that among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness". As a good Enlightenment rationalist, he agreed with Kant that reason was the source of such truths, and that reason was sufficient to provide moral and political guidance.

Many contemporary Western intellectuals (among them Juergen Habermas, the most influential and distinguished living philosopher) think that there was something importantly right about Enlightenment rationalism. Habermas believes that philosophical reflection can indeed provide moral and political guidance, for it can disclose principles that have what he calls "universal validity". Foundationalist philosophers like Habermas see philosophy as playing the same role in culture that Kant and Jefferson assigned to it. Simply taking thought will reveal what Habermas calls "presuppositions of rational communication", and thereby provide criteria which can guide moral and political choice.

Many leftist intellectuals in America and in the West generally would agree that democracy has such a foundation. They too think that certain central moral and political truths are, if not exactly self-evident, nonetheless transcultural and ahistorical – the product of human reason as such, not simply of a certain sequence of historical events. They are annoyed and disturbed by the writings of anti-foundationalist philosophers like myself who argue that there is no such thing as "human reason".

We anti-foundationalists, however, regard Enlightenment rationalism as an unfortunate attempt to beat religion at religion's own game – the game of pretending that there is something above and beyond human history that can sit in judgment on that history. We argue that although some cultures are better than others, there are no transcultural criteria of "betterness" that we can appeal to when we say that modern democratic societies are better than feudal societies, or that egalitarian societies are better than racist or sexist ones. We are sure that rule by officials freely elected by literate and well-educated voters is better than rule by priests and kings, but we would not try to demonstrate the truth of this claim to a proponent of theocracy or of monarchy. We suspect that if the study of history cannot convince such a proponent of the falsity of his views, nothing else can do so.

Anti-foundationalist philosophy professors like myself do not think that philosophy is as important as Plato and Kant thought it. This is because we do not think that the moral world has a structure that can be discerned by philosophical reflection. We are historicists because we agree with Hegel's thesis that "philosophy is its time, held in thought". What Hegel meant, I take it, was that human social practices in general, and political institutions in particular, are the product of concrete historical situations, and that they have to be judged by reference to the needs created by those situations. There is no way to step outside of human history and look at things under the aspect of eternity.

Philosophy, on this view, is ancillary to historiography. The history of philosophy should be studied in the context of the social situations that created philosophical doctrines and systems, in the same way that we study the history of art and literature. Philosophy is not, and never will be, a science – in the sense of a progressive accumulation of enduring truths.

Most philosophers in the West prior to the time of Hegel were universalist and foundationalist. As Isaiah Berlin has put it, before the end of the eighteenth century Western thinkers viewed human life as the attempt to solve a jigsaw puzzle. Berlin describes what I have designated as their hope for universal philosophical foundations for culture as follows:

There must be some way of putting the pieces together. The all-wise being, the omniscient being, whether God or an omniscient earthly creature – whichever way you like to conceive of it – is in principle capable of fitting all the pieces together into one coherent pattern. Anyone who does this will know what the world is like: what things are, what they have been, what they will be, what the laws are that govern them, what man is, what the relation of man is to things, and therefore what man needs, what he desires, and how to obtain it.[1]

The idea that the intellectual world, including the moral world, is like a jigsaw puzzle, and that philosophers are the people charged with getting all the pieces to fit together presupposes that history does not really matter: that there has never been anything new under the sun. That assumption was weakened by three events. The first was the spate of democratic revolutions at the end of the eighteenth century, especially those in America and in France. The second was the Romantic Movement in literature and the arts – a movement that suggested that the poet, rather than the philosopher, was the figure who had most to contribute to social progress. The third, which came along a little later, was the general acceptance of Darwin's evolutionary account of the origin of the human species.

One of the effects of these three events was the emergence of anti-foundationalist philosophy – of philosophers who challenge the jigsaw puzzle view of things. The Western philosophical tradition, these philosophers say, was wrong to think that the enduring and stable was preferable to the novel and contingent. Plato, in particular, was wrong to take mathematics as a model for knowledge.

On this view, there is no such thing as human nature, for human beings make themselves up as they go along. They create themselves, as poets create poems. There is no such thing as the nature of the state or the nature of society to be understood – there is only an historical sequence of relatively successful and relatively unsuccessful attempts to achieve some combination of order and justice.



To further illustrate the difference between foundationalists and non-foundationalists, let me return to Jefferson's claim that the rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are self-evident. Foundationalists urge that the existence of such rights is a universal truth, one that has nothing in particular to do with Europe rather than Asia or Africa, or with modern history rather than ancient history. The existence of such rights, they say, is like the existence of irrational numbers such as the square root of two – something that anybody who thinks hard about the topic can be brought to recognize. Such philosophers agree with Kant's claim that "the common moral consciousness" is not an historical product but part of the structure of human rationality. Kant's categorical imperative, dictating that we must not use other human beings as mere means – must not treat them as mere things – is translated into concrete political terms by Jefferson and by the authors of the Helsinki Declaration of Human Rights. Such translations simply reformulate moral convictions that should have seemed as self-evidently true in the days of Plato and Alexander as they are now. It is the business of philosophy to remind us of what, somehow, deep in our hearts, we have always known to be true. Plato was, in this sense, right when he said that moral knowledge is a matter of recollection – an a priori matter, not a result of empirical experimentation.

In contrast, anti-foundationalists like myself agree with Hegel that Kant's categorical imperative is an empty abstraction until it is filled up with the sort of concrete detail that only historical experience can provide. We say the same about Jefferson's claim about self-evident human rights. On our view, moral principles are never more than ways of summing up a certain body of experience. To call them "a priori" or "self-evident" is to persist in using Plato's utterly misleading analogy between moral certainty and mathematical certainty. No statements can both have revolutionary political implications and be self-evidently true.

To say that a statement is self-evident is, we anti-foundationalists believe, merely an empty rhetorical gesture. The existence of the rights that the revolutionaries of the eighteenth century claimed for all human beings had not been evident to most European thinkers in the previous thousand years. That their existence seems self-evident to Americans and Europeans two hundred-odd years after they were first asserted is to be explained by culture-specific indoctrination rather than by a sort of connaturality between the human mind and moral truth.

To make our case, we anti-foundationalists point to unpleasant historical facts such as the following: The words of the Declaration were taken, by the supposedly democratic government of the US, to apply only to people of European origin. The American Founding Fathers applied them only to the immigrants who had come across the Atlantic to escape from the monarchical governments of Europe. The idea that native Americans – the Indian tribes who were the aboriginal inhabitants – had such rights was rarely taken seriously. Recalcitrant Indians were massacred.

Again, it was only a hundred years after the Declaration of Independence that the citizenry of the US began to take women's rights seriously – began to ask themselves whether American females were being given the same opportunities for the pursuit of happiness as were American males. It took almost a hundred years, and an enormously costly and cruel civil war, before black Americans were given the right not to be held as slaves. It took another hundred years before black Americans began to be treated as full-fledged citizens, entitled to all the same opportunities as whites.

These facts of the history of my country are sometimes cited to show that America is an utterly hypocritical nation, and that it has never taken seriously its own protestations about human rights. But I think that this dismissal of the US is unfair and misleading. One reason it became a much better, fairer, more decent, more generous country in the course of two centuries was that democratic freedoms – in particular freedom of the press and freedom of speech – made it possible for public opinion to force the white males of European ancestry to consider what they had done, and were doing to the Indians, the women, and the blacks.

The role of public opinion in the gradual expansion of the scope of human rights in the Western democracies is, to my mind, the best reason for preferring democracy to other systems of government that one could possibly offer. The history of the US illustrates the way in which a society that concerned itself largely with the happiness of property-owning white males could gradually and peacefully change itself into one in which impoverished black females have become senators, cabinet officers, and judges of the higher courts. Jefferson and Kant would have been bewildered at the changes that have taken place in the Western democracies in the last two hundred years. For they did not think of equal treatment for blacks and whites, or of female suffrage, as deducible from the philosophical principles they enunciated. Their hypothetical astonishment illustrates the anti-foundationalist point that moral insight is not, like mathematics, a product of rational reflection. It is instead a matter of imagining a better future, and observing the results of attempts to bring that future into existence. Moral knowledge, like scientific knowledge, is mostly the result of making experiments and seeing how they work out. Female suffrage, for example, has worked well. Centralized control of a country's economy, on the other hand, has not.

The history of moral progress since the Enlightenment illustrates the fact that the important thing about democracy is as much a matter of freedom of speech and of the press as about the ability of angry citizens to replace bad elected officials with better elected officials. A country can have democratic elections but make no moral progress if those who are being mistreated have no chance to make their sufferings known. In theory, a country could remain a constitutional democracy even if its government never instituted any measures to increase equality of opportunity. In practice, the freedom to debate political issues and to put forward political candidates will ensure that democracy in the sense of egalitarianism will be a natural consequence of democracy as constitutional government.

The moral of the anti-foundationalist sermon I have been preaching to you is that for countries that have not undergone the secularization that was the most important effect of the European Enlightenment, or that are only now seeing the emergence of constitutional government, the history of Western philosophy is not a particularly profitable area of study. The history of the successes and failures of various social experiments in various countries is much more profitable. If we anti-foundationalists are right, the attempt to place society on a philosophical foundation should be replaced by the attempt to learn from the historical record.

[1] Isaiah Berlin, Roots of Romanticism, 23.

The Dictatorship of a Faceless Economy

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Pope Francis
Clementine Hall, Thursday, 16 May 2013
                         

ADDRESS OF POPE FRANCIS TO THE NEW NON-RESIDENT AMBASSADORS TO THE HOLY SEE: KYRGYZSTAN, ANTIGUA AND BARBUDA, LUXEMBOURG AND BOTSWANA

Your Excellencies,

I am pleased to receive you for the presentation of the Letters accrediting you as Ambassadors Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Holy See on the part of your respective countries: Kyrgyzstan, Antigua and Barbuda, the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg and Botswana. The gracious words which you have addressed to me, for which I thank you heartily, have testified that the Heads of State of your countries are concerned to develop relations of respect and cooperation with the Holy See. I would ask you kindly to convey to them my sentiments of gratitude and esteem, together with the assurance of my prayers for them and their fellow citizens.

Ladies and Gentlemen, our human family is presently experiencing something of a turning point in its own history, if we consider the advances made in various areas. We can only praise the positive achievements which contribute to the authentic welfare of mankind, in fields such as those of health, education and communications. At the same time, we must also acknowledge that the majority of the men and women of our time continue to live daily in situations of insecurity, with dire consequences. Certain pathologies are increasing, with their psychological consequences; fear and desperation grip the hearts of many people, even in the so-called rich countries; the joy of life is diminishing; indecency and violence are on the rise; poverty is becoming more and more evident. People have to struggle to live and, frequently, to live in an undignified way. One cause of this situation, in my opinion, is in our relationship with money, and our acceptance of its power over ourselves and our society. Consequently the financial crisis which we are experiencing makes us forget that its ultimate origin is to be found in a profound human crisis. In the denial of the primacy of human beings! We have created new idols. The worship of the golden calf of old (cf. Ex 32:15-34) has found a new and heartless image in the cult of money and the dictatorship of an economy which is faceless and lacking any truly humane goal.

The worldwide financial and economic crisis seems to highlight their distortions and above all the gravely deficient human perspective, which reduces man to one of his needs alone, namely, consumption. Worse yet, human beings themselves are nowadays considered as consumer goods which can be used and thrown away. We have started a throw-away culture. This tendency is seen on the level of individuals and whole societies; and it is being promoted! In circumstances like these, solidarity, which is the treasure of the poor, is often considered counterproductive, opposed to the logic of finance and the economy. While the income of a minority is increasing exponentially, that of the majority is crumbling. This imbalance results from ideologies which uphold the absolute autonomy of markets and financial speculation, and thus deny the right of control to States, which are themselves charged with providing for the common good. A new, invisible and at times virtual, tyranny is established, one which unilaterally and irremediably imposes its own laws and rules. Moreover, indebtedness and credit distance countries from their real economy and citizens from their real buying power. Added to this, as if it were needed, is widespread corruption and selfish fiscal evasion which have taken on worldwide dimensions. The will to power and of possession has become limitless.

Concealed behind this attitude is a rejection of ethics, a rejection of God. Ethics, like solidarity, is a nuisance! It is regarded as counterproductive: as something too human, because it relativizes money and power; as a threat, because it rejects manipulation and subjection of people: because ethics leads to God, who is situated outside the categories of the market. God is thought to be unmanageable by these financiers, economists and politicians, God is unmanageable, even dangerous, because he calls man to his full realization and to independence from any kind of slavery. Ethics – naturally, not the ethics of ideology – makes it possible, in my view, to create a balanced social order that is more humane. In this sense, I encourage the financial experts and the political leaders of your countries to consider the words of Saint John Chrysostom: "Not to share one’s goods with the poor is to rob them and to deprive them of life. It is not our goods that we possess, but theirs" (Homily on Lazarus, 1:6 – PG 48, 992D).

Dear Ambassadors, there is a need for financial reform along ethical lines that would produce in its turn an economic reform to benefit everyone. This would nevertheless require a courageous change of attitude on the part of political leaders. I urge them to face this challenge with determination and farsightedness, taking account, naturally, of their particular situations. Money has to serve, not to rule! The Pope loves everyone, rich and poor alike, but the Pope has the duty, in Christ’s name, to remind the rich to help the poor, to respect them, to promote them. The Pope appeals for disinterested solidarity and for a return to person-centred ethics in the world of finance and economics.

For her part, the Church always works for the integral development of every person. In this sense, she reiterates that the common good should not be simply an extra, simply a conceptual scheme of inferior quality tacked onto political programmes. The Church encourages those in power to be truly at the service of the common good of their peoples. She urges financial leaders to take account of ethics and solidarity. And why should they not turn to God to draw inspiration from his designs? In this way, a new political and economic mindset would arise that would help to transform the absolute dichotomy between the economic and social spheres into a healthy symbiosis.

Finally, through you, I greet with affection the Pastors and the faithful of the Catholic communities present in your countries. I urge them to continue their courageous and joyful witness of faith and fraternal love in accordance with Christ’s teaching. Let them not be afraid to offer their contribution to the development of their countries, through initiatives and attitudes inspired by the Sacred Scriptures! And as you inaugurate your mission, I extend to you, dear Ambassadors, my very best wishes, assuring you of the assistance of the Roman Curia for the fulfilment of your duties. To this end, upon you and your families, and also upon your Embassy staff, I willingly invoke abundant divine blessings. Thank you.

Egoism and Altruism

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Jan Narveson, Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Philosophy, University of Waterloo in Ontario, Canada.
Encyclopedia of Applied Ethics (Second Edition) 2012, Pages 51–55

Egoism and altruism come in two forms: psychological and normative – theories about what we do and what we ought to do. Psychological egoism succumbs to the distinction between interests in ourselves, strictly, and interests that are ours but not directed at ourselves. The first, egoism proper, is clearly false. The second allows altruism. Ethical egoism falls before the familiar observation that exclusive devotion to ourselves does not make us as happy as a life of love and involvement. Moral egoism is irrational, asking us to sanction actions by others that are strongly against our own interests.

Psychological versus Ethical Egoism

Egoism and altruism are subject even more than usual in philosophy to crucial ambiguities that must be sorted out before one can say anything helpful. There are two types of egoism – psychological and ethical. The first is a theory about human motivations: What makes us tick? According to egoism, we are actuated entirely by self-interest, even when it appears to be otherwise. Altruism, of course, denies this. However, the second is a normative theory – a theory about what we should do. It says that we should, or ought to, act only in our own interest. How these are related is perhaps the central question for the subject.

Substantive versus Tautological Psychological Egoism

Just what is self-interest? Here, the groundbreaking work of Joseph Butler (1692–1752) paves the way for us. Does ‘self-interest’ mean interests in ourselves or only interests of ourselves? Everything hangs on that one-word difference.

Interests in ourselves are interests that one’s own self have certain things, held to be good by the agent – things that can be identified and had independently of the goods of others. For example, hunger is a desire for food in one’s own stomach; desires for physical comfort, for optimal temperature, or for the absence of pain in one’s own body are further examples. The desire to feel pleasure and avoid pain is the most widely held candidate for the status of fundamental motivator of all action. Interests in others, by contrast, would be such desires as love or hatred, where we are essentially directing our actions toward the production of certain states of other people. The kind of psychological egoism holding that we are exclusively motivated by the first kind of interests may be called strict or substantive.

Interests of ourselves, on the other hand, simply refer to whose interests they are but not at all to what the interests are taken in – what they are aimed at affecting, either in or outside of ourselves. As Butler pointed out, it is trivial to say that all action is motivated by interests or desires of the agent – that is what makes them the agent’s actions at all. We might call this tautologous psychological egoism. By contrast, it is not at all trivial to say that the object of our actions is only to produce certain conditions of ourselves. Of course, the situation is complicated by the fact that we can get pleasure, for example, from our perception of the condition of certain other people, or even of all other people. When we do so, are we motivated by the prospect of pleasure from our relations to those people? If so, is that to be accounted egoism, despite the fact that the source of our pleasure in these cases is the pleasures – or perhaps the pains – of others? On the face of it, we need yet another distinction. This would be between theories that deny that we even get pleasure from other-regarding acts and theories that accept this but insist that it is only because of the pleasure we get from them that we perform them.

Superficial versus Deep Theories

The question whether psychological egoism may be true becomes very difficult, however, when we distinguish between what we may call superficial or, in the terminology of contemporary philosophers of mind, folk-psychological versions of the theory and what we may call deep theories.

At the superficial level, psychological egoism is, as Butler also pointed out, overwhelmingly implausible. People make huge sacrifices for those they love, including sacrifice of their very lives. Moreover, they sometimes go out of their way to do evils to other people even at the cost of ruining their own lives in the process.

Deep theories are quite another matter. No one can claim to have refuted the view that there is some variable within the soul – or the nervous system – such that all actions really do maximize it, regardless of all else in the environment. To make this work, of course, it would have to be noted that other factors in the environment would certainly interact with that variable, whatever it is.

The most popular candidate for what we may be trying to maximize, no doubt, is net pleasure: the quantity, pleasure minus pain, or more plausibly, of positive affect minus negative affect (or plus negative affect if we think of the latter as a negative quantity). Perhaps the man who falls on the grenade to save his comrades reckons that he could not live with himself if he did not do it. Perhaps, as Kant supposed, our self-interested motivations are hidden from our own view so that despite our pretentions to altruism, we are really always acting in our own interest after all. However, once the common-sense idea that pleasure and pain are things we are aware of is abandoned, the situation changes radically. We then need a good theory explaining just what the quantity in question is really supposed to be – electrical magnitudes in brain cells, perhaps? We would need to explain how the theory is to be assessed in empirical terms. Clearly, appraising any such view will be very difficult. In this article, we will not further discuss such possibilities. Regarding commonsense distinctions, psychological egoism may surely be dismissed as simply wrong and based entirely on the confusion between egoism as a substantive view and egoism in its tautological form.

Varieties of Motivation

A major complication in the discussion of this issue is just how we are to count certain human motivations in relation to the egoism versus altruism categories. There are many cases in which someone acts without obviously intending to promote his or her own pleasure but also without obviously intending to benefit anyone else. Suppose that Henry conceives a passion for building a replica of the Great Pyramid in his backyard. He labors mightily and for years, often with considerable pain, and it damages his health considerably in the process. Is he here pursuing pleasure? If we say so, then the notion of pleasure has become very broad. Is he doing it for anyone else’s benefit? Not obviously, at least.

For the purposes of this article, we account motivations that seem to be for the pursuit of states of affairs having no evident connection with either the agent’s or anyone else’s benefit as being, nevertheless, for the agent’s benefit inasmuch as they are attempts to attain something that he or she wants, or at least feels impelled, to do. If this is not very much like satisfying hunger or sex, that is the point. The category of the self-interested is hugely broad so that the explanatory value of appeals to self-interest is rather low.

Altruism – Psychological Version

If psychological egoism has its difficulties, psychological altruism is also problematic. Again, discussion requires more care with definitions. Altruism may be understood as concern with others – but how much, and which others? At the opposite extreme from egoism is the view that we only act for the sake of others, and we do so for the sake of all others. To the author’s knowledge, no one has ever seriously advocated such a theory. The English philosopher David Hume (1711–76) hypothesized that some altruism is to be found in every human – a general feeling for all other humans, at the least. Taken as a superficial-level generalization about people, this is fairly plausible, and it would be even more so if we said that nearly everyone is at least slightly altruistic regarding most other humans. But it is, of course, not very precise, and how to describe it more accurately, and account for it, is an interesting question. Interaction with one’s mother in infancy, for example, and later with peers, may play a role in the genesis of such dispositions.

Ethical Incompatibility with Psychological Egoism

We now turn to the ethical versions of egoism. Here, we do well to begin by recognizing that for ethical egoism to be meaningful at all, strict psychological egoism, at least in its superficial forms, must be false. If Jones is unable to seek anyone’s well-being but his own, then there is obviously no point in telling him that he ought to be seeking someone else’s. Ought, as philosophers state, implies can. (Even here, the distinction of shallow from deep theories is essential because it is by no means clear that ethics is incompatible with deep self-interest. Possibly, totally altruistic behavior is best for oneself, and the truly selfish person is the saint or the hero who devotes his or her life to helping others.)

Ethical versus Moral Egoism

For the purposes of this article, we are assuming the plain or superficial level of discussion, which we all understand fairly well, and ask whether ethical egoism is plausible in those terms. However, now we must make still another distinction, and again a crucial one – this time with the word ‘ethical.’ By ethical, do we refer to the general theory of how to live? Or do we mean, much more narrowly, rules for the group? Egoism will look very different in these two very different contexts. If the question is, should I aim to live the best life I can? it is extremely difficult to answer in the negative. Each one of us should, surely, try to live the best life we can – the most satisfying, most rewarding, most pleasant, etc., life we can manage. Of course, this leads to the very large question of what the ultimate values of life are and how to maximize them – what sort of life will do that. For example, as already noted, it is quite possible that a life of self-sacrifice is nevertheless the most fulfilling or rewarding. Perhaps it is even the most pleasant, although this seems to strain the idea. Furthermore, perhaps there are other values more important than pleasure.

Egoism Not Necessarily Selfish

As the previous discussion suggests, egoism as a theory of life may be very different from what the word at first suggests. When we think of egoists, we think, first, of people who are highly self-centered, who tend to ignore others and their needs, even their rights. Another word for this is egotism, which is a personality trait rather than a theory. At the extreme, we think of the psychopath, who will kill, rape, steal, lie, and cheat without compunction in order to achieve certain narrow ends for himself – usually the increment of his monetary income, but by no means always. However, does the psychopath live a good life? Would someone setting out to live the happiest, most rewarding life he or she can become psychopathic? That is extremely implausible. The wisdom of philosophers through the millennia has been uniform on this point: If you want to be happy yourself, then you need friends, loved ones, and associates, and you need to treat all these people with respect, most of them with kindness as well, and some of them with real love.

This last discussion shows the difficulty of contrasting egoism and altruism at this level. Should we literally sacrifice our own overall happiness or well-being for others? Which others? And especially, of course, why? To suggest that one should do such a thing – if it is possible – seems to be to suggest that those other persons are somehow superior to you. Why should we believe any such thing?

Notice that as a universal theory, this last would run into logical difficulties. Whatever ‘worthy’ means, if A is more worthy than B, then B is less worthy than A, by definition. Thus, it is impossible for everyone to be more worthy than everyone else.

Egoism and Morality

At this point, let us turn to the other member of the distinction I have made – morality. To talk about morality is to talk of what should be the rules governing the general behavior of the group. One question this immediately raises is, which group? Without getting too involved in the question of cultural relativism, let us supply two answers to this question: (1) the group in question – that is, the group of which the persons we are addressing are members, with whom they interact, fairly frequently; and (2) the group consisting of literally everybody – all humans. Again, most classic philosophers assumed the latter, and the assumption is certainly not an unrealistic one.

What matters, however, is that we are now addressing the question not simply what to do in life generally but what to do in relation to our fellows: How do we carry on our dealings with them, our interactions? It is when we address this question that egoism, in any sense of that word in which it is meaningful, becomes enormously implausible. For if we think of the egoist as the one who pursues only his or her own interest, regardless of others, so that our image is of near-psychopathic behavior, then to recommend that as the rule for a group seems completely absurd, even unintelligible. Egoism, again speaking at the superficial level, must address the question of conflicts of interest. If A’s interests are incompatible with B’s – meaning, simply, that if A achieves what he is after, then B is frustrated in his pursuit of what he is after – then a rule addressed to the two of them, telling them both to ignore the other and go for it, is silly. If both try to follow it, at least one will fail. In fact, most likely both of them will, especially if we take into account any aspects of their values that extend beyond the narrow one that was the subject of conflict. For example, if the two come to blows, then at least one and probably both will suffer injuries that they would prefer not to have inflicted on them. A rule for a group, if it is to be even remotely plausible, will have to do better than that. When there are conflicts, it is going to have to tell us who is in the right and who is in the wrong – who gets to go ahead and who has to back down.

Trying to incorporate real egoism, of the first kind identified at the outset, into the very matter of moral rules is an invitation to conceptual disaster. That Jones ought to do x and Smith ought to do y, even though Jones’s doing x entails Smith’s not doing y, is rightly regarded as a nonsense rule. Two boxers in the ring ought both, of course, to try to win, but to say that both ought to win is nonsense because by definition that is impossible. A morality for all, therefore, cannot look like directions to the cheering section for one of the fighters but, rather, like the rule book for boxing, which tells both of them that they have only so many minutes between breaks, that they may not hit below the belt, and so forth. Morality in our second and narrower sense of the term consists of the rules for large, natural groups – that is, groups of people who happen, for whatever reason, to come in contact with each other rather than groups that come together intentionally for specific purposes. For such groups, the rules are going to have to be impartial rather than loaded in favor of one person or set of persons as against another. Thus, such rules simply cannot be egoistic.

Altruism and Morality

Can they be altruistic? That gets us to our last question. Should the rules for groups tell everyone to love everyone else, as fully as if everyone were one’s dear sibling or spouse? The answer to this is surely in the negative, as Nietzsche pointed out. One or at most a very few lovers or loved ones is all any of us can handle. Truly to love someone, we must elevate that person well above the crowd, pay more attention to him or her than to others – not merely an equal amount – and so on. Altruism construed as the general love of humankind, therefore, simply cannot be using the term ‘love’ in its full normal sense. A doctrine of general altruism must retreat very far from that. Indeed, it is clear that general altruism has exactly the same problem as general egoism: Both are shipwrecked as soon as we see the inevitable asymmetries and partialities necessarily involved in love, whether of oneself or anyone else.

How far, then, do we retreat? Here, a variety of answers have been given, and we need to make one last distinction – between two departments or branches of morals. One branch is stern, and associated with justice, rules that are to be enforced by such heavy-duty procedures as punishments; the other is associated with commendations and praise, warm sentiments, and so forth. Following Kant, we may call these respectively the theory of justice and the theory of virtue or, in a slightly different vein, justice and charity. One is, in short, the morality of the stick, whereas the other is the morality of the carrot. That is, it is appropriate to reinforce the rules of justice by such methods as punishment, including incarceration, or even death. However, the other is to be encouraged – we cheer for those who do well but we do not resort to punishment for lesser performance of those actions that are merely virtuous rather than downright required.

Now, our question may be put thus: Is altruism to be regarded as figuring prominently in, or perhaps even constituting the basis of, either of these, both, or neither of these?

Again, it is highly plausible to deny altruism any significant role in the first. If you and I are enemies, it is pretty pointless to tell us to love each other, but it is not at all pointless to tell us to draw some lines and then stay on our side of them. For example, we are to refrain from killing, stealing from, lying to, cheating, maiming, or otherwise damaging even if we hate each other. We shall all do better if we simply rule out such actions. This is negative morality, the morality of thou shalt not, and it applies between absolutely everyone and absolutely everyone else, be they friends or enemies or strangers, with the sole qualification being that those who themselves are guilty of transgressing one of those restrictions may be eligible for punishment. It is absurd to point to love as the basis of such rules. Rather, it is our interests, considered in relation to how things are and how other people are, that undergird these vital rules of social life.

On the other hand, when it comes to helping those in need, showing kindness to people, being thoughtful, helpful, supportive, and so on – in short, of being, in the words of Hume, agreeable and useful to others – it is more plausible to ascribe this to sentiment – to some degree of altruism. Even so, it is by no means clear that it is necessary because in being nice to others, we inspire them to be nice to us, and so even considerations of self-interest fairly narrowly construed will teach us the value of these other-regarding virtues. However, it is also plausible to suggest that we admire and praise people who go well beyond the minimum in these respects: We put the Mother Theresas of the world, the heroic life-savers, those who go the extra mile and then some, on pedestals, and rightly so. As Hume conjectures, it seems implausible to confine those tendencies to self-interest in any narrow sense of that word.

Conclusion

To get a clear view of this long-discussed subject, we need to make several important distinctions. First, we must distinguish the normative or ethical from the psychological version of egoism. Second, in both cases, we need to distinguish between egoism in the narrow sense in which it entails an interest exclusively in the self, defined as independent of all others, and the much broader – really vacuous – sense in which it essentially means that one acts only on one’s own desires, whatever their objects. Third, we must distinguish shallow or superficial from deep versions. Finally, we must distinguish ethics in the very broad sense of one’s general view of life from morality, in the much narrower sense of a canon or set of rules for the conduct of everyone in society. It is then seen that ethical egoism says essentially nothing, whereas moral egoism proposes what is obviously unacceptable. 

The new liberal imperialism

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Robert Cooper 
Observer.co.uk, Sunday 7 April 2002

Senior British diplomat Robert Cooper has helped to shape British Prime Minister Tony Blair's calls for a new internationalism and a new doctrine of humanitarian intervention which would place limits on state sovereignty. This article contains the full text of Cooper's essay on "the postmodern state". Cooper's call for a new liberal imperialism and admission of the need for double standards in foreign policy have outraged the left but the essay offers a rare and candid unofficial insight into the thinking behind British strategy on Afghanistan, and Iraq.

In 1989 the political systems of three centuries came to an end in Europe: the balance-of-power and the imperial urge. That year marked not just the end of the Cold War, but also, and more significantly, the end of a state system in Europe which dated from the Thirty Years War. September 11 showed us one of the implications of the change.

To understand the present, we must first understand the past, for the past is still with us. International order used to be based either on hegemony or on balance. Hegemony came first. In the ancient world, order meant empire. Those within the empire had order, culture and civilisation. Outside it lay barbarians, chaos and disorder. The image of peace and order through a single hegemonic power centre has remained strong ever since. Empires, however, are ill-designed for promoting change. Holding the empire together - and it is the essence of empires that they are diverse - usually requires an authoritarian political style; innovation, especially in society and politics, would lead to instability. Historically, empires have generally been static.

In Europe, a middle way was found between the stasis of chaos and the stasis of empire, namely the small state. The small state succeeded in establishing sovereignty, but only within a geographically limited jurisdiction. Thus domestic order was purchased at the price of international anarchy. The competition between the small states of Europe was a source of progress, but the system was also constantly threatened by a relapse into chaos on one side and by the hegemony of a single power on the other. The solution to this was the balance-of-power, a system of counter-balancing alliances which became seen as the condition of liberty in Europe. Coalitions were successfully put together to thwart the hegemonic ambitions firstly of Spain, then of France, and finally of Germany.

But the balance-of-power system too had an inherent instability, the ever-present risk of war, and it was this that eventually caused it to collapse. German unification in 1871 created a state too powerful to be balanced by any European alliance; technological changes raised the costs of war to an unbearable level; and the development of mass society and democratic politics, rendered impossible the amoral calculating mindset necessary to make the balance of power system function. Nevertheless, in the absence of any obvious alternative it persisted, and what emerged in 1945 was not so much a new system as the culmination of the old one. The old multi-lateral balance-of-power in Europe became a bilateral balance of terror worldwide, a final simplification of the balance of power. But it was not built to last. The balance of power never suited the more universalistic, moralist spirit of the late twentieth century.

The second half of the twentieth Century has seen not just the end of the balance of power but also the waning of the imperial urge: in some degree the two go together. A world that started the century divided among European empires finishes it with all or almost all of them gone: the Ottoman, German, Austrian, French , British and finally Soviet Empires are now no more than a memory. This leaves us with two new types of state: first there are now states - often former colonies - where in some sense the state has almost ceased to exist a 'premodern' zone where the state has failed and a Hobbesian war of all against all is underway (countries such as Somalia and, until recently, Afghanistan). Second, there are the post imperial, postmodern states who no longer think of security primarily in terms of conquest. And thirdly, of course there remain the traditional "modern" states who behave as states always have, following Machiavellian principles and raison d'ètat (one thinks of countries such as India, Pakistan and China).

The postmodern system in which we Europeans live does not rely on balance; nor does it emphasise sovereignty or the separation of domestic and foreign affairs. The European Union has become a highly developed system for mutual interference in each other's domestic affairs, right down to beer and sausages. The CFE Treaty, under which parties to the treaty have to notify the location of their heavy weapons and allow inspections, subjects areas close to the core of sovereignty to international constraints. It is important to realise what an extraordinary revolution this is. It mirrors the paradox of the nuclear age, that in order to defend yourself, you had to be prepared to destroy yourself. The shared interest of European countries in avoiding a nuclear catastrophe has proved enough to overcome the normal strategic logic of distrust and concealment. Mutual vulnerability has become mutual transparency.

The main characteristics of the postmodern world are as follows:
· The breaking down of the distinction between domestic and foreign affairs.
· Mutual interference in (traditional) domestic affairs and mutual surveillance.
· The rejection of force for resolving disputes and the consequent codification of self-enforced rules of behaviour.
· The growing irrelevance of borders: this has come about both through the changing role of the state, but also through missiles, motor cars and satellites.
· Security is based on transparency, mutual openness, interdependence and mutual vulnerability.

The conception of an International Criminal Court is a striking example of the postmodern breakdown of the distinction between domestic and foreign affairs. In the postmodern world, raison d'ètat and the amorality of Machiavelli's theories of statecraft, which defined international relations in the modern era, have been replaced by a moral consciousness that applies to international relations as well as to domestic affairs: hence the renewed interest in what constitutes a just war.

While such a system does deal with the problems that made the balance-of-power unworkable, it does not entail the demise of the nation state. While economy, law-making and defence may be increasingly embedded in international frameworks, and the borders of territory may be less important, identity and democratic institutions remain primarily national. Thus traditional states will remain the fundamental unit of international relations for the foreseeable future, even though some of them may have ceased to behave in traditional ways.

What is the origin of this basic change in the state system? The fundamental point is that "the world's grown honest". A large number of the most powerful states no longer want to fight or conquer. It is this that gives rise to both the pre-modern and postmodern worlds. Imperialism in the traditional sense is dead, at least among the Western powers.

If this is true, it follows that we should not think of the EU or even NATO as the root cause of the half century of peace we have enjoyed in Western Europe. The basic fact is that Western European countries no longer want to fight each other. NATO and the EU have, nevertheless, played an important role in reinforcing and sustaining this position. NATO's most valuable contribution has been the openness it has created. NATO was, and is a massive intra-western confidence-building measure. It was NATO and the EU that provided the framework within which Germany could be reunited without posing a threat to the rest of Europe as its original unification had in 1871. Both give rise to thousands of meetings of ministers and officials, so that all those concerned with decisions involving war and peace know each other well. Compared with the past, this represents a quality and stability of political relations never known before.

The EU is the most developed example of a postmodern system. It represents security through transparency, and transparency through interdependence. The EU is more a transnational than a supra-national system, a voluntary association of states rather than the subordination of states to a central power. The dream of a European state is one left from a previous age. It rests on the assumption that nation states are fundamentally dangerous and that the only way to tame the anarchy of nations is to impose hegemony on them. But if the nation-state is a problem then the super-state is certainly not a solution.

European states are not the only members of the postmodern world. Outside Europe, Canada is certainly a postmodern state; Japan is by inclination a postmodern state, but its location prevents it developing more fully in this direction. The USA is the more doubtful case since it is not clear that the US government or Congress accepts either the necessity or desirability of interdependence, or its corollaries of openness, mutual surveillance and mutual interference, to the same extent as most European governments now do. Elsewhere, what in Europe has become a reality is in many other parts of the world an aspiration. ASEAN, NAFTA, MERCOSUR and even OAU suggest at least the desire for a postmodern environment, and though this wish is unlikely to be realised quickly, imitation is undoubtedly easier than invention.

Within the postmodern world, there are no security threats in the traditional sense; that is to say, its members do not consider invading each other. Whereas in the modern world , following Clausewitz' dictum war is an instrument of policy in the postmodern world it is a sign of policy failure. But while the members of the postmodern world may not represent a danger to one another, both the modern and pre-modern zones pose threats.

The threat from the modern world is the most familiar. Here, the classical state system, from which the postmodern world has only recently emerged, remains intact, and continues to operate by the principles of empire and the supremacy of national interest. If there is to be stability it will come from a balance among the aggressive forces. It is notable how few are the areas of the world where such a balance exists. And how sharp the risk is that in some areas there may soon be a nuclear element in the equation.

The challenge to the postmodern world is to get used to the idea of double standards. Among ourselves, we operate on the basis of laws and open cooperative security. But when dealing with more old-fashioned kinds of states outside the postmodern continent of Europe, we need to revert to the rougher methods of an earlier era - force, pre-emptive attack, deception, whatever is necessary to deal with those who still live in the nineteenth century world of every state for itself. Among ourselves, we keep the law but when we are operating in the jungle, we must also use the laws of the jungle. In the prolonged period of peace in Europe, there has been a temptation to neglect our defences, both physical and psychological. This represents one of the great dangers of the postmodern state.

The challenge posed by the pre-modern world is a new one. The pre-modern world is a world of failed states. Here the state no longer fulfils Weber's criterion of having the monopoly on the legitimate use of force. Either it has lost the legitimacy or it has lost the monopoly of the use of force; often the two go together. Examples of total collapse are relatively rare, but the number of countries at risk grows all the time. Some areas of the former Soviet Union are candidates, including Chechnya. All of the world's major drug-producing areas are part of the pre-modern world. Until recently there was no real sovereign authority in Afghanistan; nor is there in upcountry Burma or in some parts of South America, where drug barons threaten the state's monopoly on force. All over Africa countries are at risk. No area of the world is without its dangerous cases. In such areas chaos is the norm and war is a way of life. In so far as there is a government it operates in a way similar to an organised crime syndicate.

The premodern state may be too weak even to secure its home territory, let alone pose a threat internationally, but it can provide a base for non-state actors who may represent a danger to the postmodern world. If non-state actors, notably drug, crime, or terrorist syndicates take to using premodern bases for attacks on the more orderly parts of the world, then the organised states may eventually have to respond. If they become too dangerous for established states to tolerate, it is possible to imagine a defensive imperialism. It is not going too far to view the West's response to Afghanistan in this light.

How should we deal with the pre-modern chaos? To become involved in a zone of chaos is risky; if the intervention is prolonged it may become unsustainable in public opinion; if the intervention is unsuccessful it may be damaging to the government that ordered it. But the risks of letting countries rot, as the West did Afghanistan, may be even greater.



What form should intervention take? The most logical way to deal with chaos, and the one most employed in the past is colonisation. But colonisation is unacceptable to postmodern states (and, as it happens, to some modern states too). It is precisely because of the death of imperialism that we are seeing the emergence of the pre-modern world. Empire and imperialism are words that have become a form of abuse in the postmodern world. Today, there are no colonial powers willing to take on the job, though the opportunities, perhaps even the need for colonisation is as great as it ever was in the nineteenth century. Those left out of the global economy risk falling into a vicious circle. Weak government means disorder and that means falling investment. In the 1950s, South Korea had a lower GNP per head than Zambia: the one has achieved membership of the global economy, the other has not.

All the conditions for imperialism are there, but both the supply and demand for imperialism have dried up. And yet the weak still need the strong and the strong still need an orderly world. A world in which the efficient and well governed export stability and liberty, and which is open for investment and growth - all of this seems eminently desirable.

What is needed then is a new kind of imperialism, one acceptable to a world of human rights and cosmopolitan values. We can already discern its outline: an imperialism which, like all imperialism, aims to bring order and organisation but which rests today on the voluntary principle.

Postmodern imperialism takes two forms. First there is the voluntary imperialism of the global economy. This is usually operated by an international consortium through International Financial Institutions such as the IMF and the World Bank - it is characteristic of the new imperialism that it is multilateral. These institutions provide help to states wishing to find their way back into the global economy and into the virtuous circle of investment and prosperity. In return they make demands which, they hope, address the political and economic failures that have contributed to the original need for assistance. Aid theology today increasingly emphasises governance. If states wish to benefit, they must open themselves up to the interference of international organisations and foreign states (just as, for different reasons, the postmodern world has also opened itself up.)

The second form of postmodern imperialism might be called the imperialism of neighbours. Instability in your neighbourhood poses threats which no state can ignore. Misgovernment, ethnic violence and crime in the Balkans poses a threat to Europe. The response has been to create something like a voluntary UN protectorate in Bosnia and Kosovo. It is no surprise that in both cases the High Representative is European. Europe provides most of the aid that keeps Bosnia and Kosovo running and most of the soldiers (though the US presence is an indispensable stabilising factor). In a further unprecedented move, the EU has offered unilateral free-market access to all the countries of the former Yugoslavia for all products including most agricultural produce. It is not just soldiers that come from the international community; it is police, judges, prison officers, central bankers and others. Elections are organised and monitored by the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). Local police are financed and trained by the UN. As auxiliaries to this effort - in many areas indispensable to it - are over a hundred NGOs.

One additional point needs to be made. It is dangerous if a neighbouring state is taken over in some way by organised or disorganised crime - which is what state collapse usually amounts to. But Usama bin Laden has now demonstrated for those who had not already realised, that today all the world is, potentially at least, our neighbour.

The Balkans are a special case. Elsewhere in Central and Eastern Europe the EU is engaged in a programme which will eventually lead to massive enlargement. In the past empires have imposed their laws and systems of government; in this case no one is imposing anything. Instead, a voluntary movement of self-imposition is taking place. While you are a candidate for EU membership you have to accept what is given - a whole mass of laws and regulations - as subject countries once did. But the prize is that once you are inside you will have a voice in the commonwealth. If this process is a kind of voluntary imperialism, the end state might be describes as a cooperative empire. 'Commonwealth' might indeed not be a bad name.

The postmodern EU offers a vision of cooperative empire, a common liberty and a common security without the ethnic domination and centralised absolutism to which past empires have been subject, but also without the ethnic exclusiveness that is the hallmark of the nation state - inappropriate in an era without borders and unworkable in regions such as the Balkans. A cooperative empire might be the domestic political framework that best matches the altered substance of the postmodern state: a framework in which each has a share in the government, in which no single country dominates and in which the governing principles are not ethnic but legal. The lightest of touches will be required from the centre; the 'imperial bureaucracy' must be under control, accountable, and the servant, not the master, of the commonwealth. Such an institution must be as dedicated to liberty and democracy as its constituent parts. Like Rome, this commonwealth would provide its citizens with some of its laws, some coins and the occasional road.


That perhaps is the vision. Can it be realised? Only time will tell. The question is how much time there may be. In the modern world the secret race to acquire nuclear weapons goes on. In the premodern world the interests of organised crime - including international terrorism - grow greater and faster than the state. There may not be much time left.


Does Surveillance Make Us Morally Better?

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Emrys Westacott
Department of Philosophy, Alfred University in Western New York

Philosophy Now, Issue 79, June/July 2010

Imagine that right after briefing Adam about which fruit was allowed and which forbidden, God had installed a closed-circuit television camera in the garden of Eden, trained on the tree of knowledge. Think how this might have changed things for the better. The serpent sidles up to Eve and urges her to try the forbidden fruit. Eve reaches her hand out – in paradise the fruit is always conveniently within reach – but at the last second she notices the CCTV and thinks better of it. Result: no sin, no Fall, no expulsion from paradise. We don’t have to toil among thorns and thistles for the rest of our lives, earning our bread by the sweat of our brows; childbirth is painless; and we feel no need to wear clothes.

So why didn’t God do that and save everyone a lot of grief? True, surveillance technology was in its infancy back then, but He could have managed it, and it wouldn’t have undermined Eve’s free will. She still has a choice to make; but once she sees the camera she’s more likely to make the right choice. The most likely explanation would be that God doesn’t just want Adam and Eve to make the right choices; he wants them to make the right choices for the right reasons. Not eating the forbidden fruit because you’re afraid you’ll be caught doesn’t earn you moral credit. After all, you’re only acting out of self-interest. If paradise suffered a power cut and the surveillance was temporarily down, you’d be in there straight away with the other looters.

So what would be the right reason for not eating the fruit? Well, God is really no different than any other parent. All he wants is absolute, unquestioning obedience (which, by an amazing coincidence, also happens to be exactly what every child wants from their parents.) But God wants this obedience to be voluntary. And, very importantly, He wants it to flow from the right motive. He wants right actions to be driven not by fear, but by love for Him and reverence for what is right. (Okay, He did say to Adam, “If you eat from the tree of knowledge you will die” – which can sound a little like a threat – but grant me some literary license here.)

Moral philosophers will find themselves on familiar ground here. On this interpretation, God is a follower of the eighteenth century German philosopher Immanuel Kant. (This would, of course, come as no surprise to Kant.) According to Kant, our actions are right when they conform to the moral rules dictated to us by our reason, and they have moral worth insofar as they are motivated by respect for that moral law. In other words, my actions have moral worth if I do what is right because I want to do the right thing. If I don’t steal someone’s iPod (just another kind of Apple, really) because I think it would be wrong to do so, then I get a moral pat on the back and am entitled to polish my halo. If I don’t steal the iPod because I’m afraid of getting caught, then I may be doing the right thing, and I may be applauded for being prudent, but I shouldn’t be given any moral credit.

Highway Star

These musings are intended to frame a set of questions: What is the likely impact of ubiquitous surveillance on our moral personalities? How might the advent of the surveillance society affect a person’s moral education and development? How does it alter the opportunities for moral growth? Does it render obsolete the Kantian emphasis on acting from a sense of duty as opposed to acting out of self-interest? Such questions fall under the rubric of a new field of research called Surveillance Impact Assessment.

Here is one way of thinking: surveillance edifies – that is, it builds moral character – by bringing duty and self-interest closer together. This outlook would probably be favoured by philosophers such as Plato and Thomas Hobbes. The reasoning is fairly simple: the better the surveillance, the more likely it is that moral transgressions will be detected and punished. Knowing this, people are less inclined to break the rules, and over time they form ingrained rule-abiding habits. The result is fewer instances of moral failure, and patterns of behaviour conducive to social harmony. A brief history of traffic surveillance illustrates the idea nicely:

Stage One (‘the state of nature’): Do whatever you please – it’s a free for all. Drive as fast as you want, in whatever condition you happen to be in. Try to avoid head-on collisions. Life is fast, fun and short.

Stage Two: The government introduces speed limits, but since they are not enforced they’re widely ignored.

Stage Three: Cops start patrolling the highways to enforce the speed limits. This inhibits a few would-be tearaways, but if you’re clever you can still beat the rap; for instance, by knowing where the police hang out, by tailing some other speedster, or by souping up your car so the fuzz can’t catch you.

Stage Four: More cops patrol the highways, and now they have radar technology. Speeding becomes decidedly imprudent, especially on holiday weekends or if you’re driving past small rural villages that need to raise revenue.

At this point you can respond in one of three ways:

A) Fight fire with fire: equip your car with fuzz-busting anti-surveillance technology, and revert to your criminal ways.

B) Buy a car with cruise control and effortlessly avoid transgression;

C) Carry on as before, monitoring your speed continually and keeping an eye out at all times for likely police hiding spots. Those who choose this option are less likely than the cruise controllers to doze off, but they’ll find driving more stressful.

Stage Five: To outflank the fuzz-busters, police use cameras, and eventually satellite monitors, which become increasingly hard to evade. Detection and prosecution become automated, so speeding becomes just stupid. The majority now obey the law and drive more safely.

Stage Six: Cars are equipped by law with devices that read the speed limit on any stretch of road they’re on. The car’s computer then acts as a governor, preventing the car from exceeding the limit. Now virtually every driver is an upstanding law-abiding citizen. If you want to speed you have to really go out of your way and tamper with the mechanism – an action analogous to what Kant would call ‘radical evil’, which is where a person positively desires to do wrong.

It’s easy to see the advantages of each successive stage in this evolution of traffic surveillance. At the end of the process, there are no more tearaways or drunk drivers endangering innocent road users. Driving is more relaxing. There are fewer accidents, less pain, less grief, less guilt, reduced demands on the health care system, lower insurance premiums, fewer days lost at work, a surging stock market, and so on. A similar story could be told with respect to drunk driving, with breathalyzers performing the same function as speed radar, and the ideal conclusion being a world in which virtually every car is fitted with a lock that shuts the engine off if the driver’s blood alcohol concentration is above a certain limit. With technology taking over, surveillance becomes cheaper, and the police are freed up to catch crooked politicians and bankers running dubious schemes. Lawbreaking moves from being risky, to being foolish, to being almost inconceivable.

But there is another perspective – the one informed by Kantian ethics. On this view, increased surveillance may carry certain utilitarian benefits, but the price we pay is a diminution of our moral character. Yes, we do the wrong thing less often; in that sense, surveillance might seem to make us better. But it also stunts our growth as moral individuals.

From this point of view, moral growth involves moving closer to the saintly ideal of being someone who only ever wants to do what is right. Kant describes such an individual as having (or being) a ‘holy will’, suggesting thereby that this condition is not attainable for ordinary human beings. For us, the obligation to be moral always feels like a burden. Wordsworth captures this well when he describes moral duty as the “stern daughter of the voice of God.” Why morality feels like a burden is no mystery: there is always something we (or at least some part of us) would sooner be doing than being virtuous. We always have inclinations that conflict with what we know our duty to be. But the saintly ideal is still something we can and should aim at. Ubiquitous surveillance is like a magnetic force that changes the trajectory of our moral aspiration. We give up pursuing the holy grail of Kant’s ideal, and settle for a functional but uninspiring pewter mug. Since we rarely have to choose between what’s right and what’s in our self-interest, our moral selves become not so much worse as smaller, withered from lack of exercise. Our moral development is arrested, and we end up on moral autopilot.

Purity vs Pragmatism?

Now I expect many people’s response to this sort of anxiety about moral growth will be scathing. Here are four possible reasons for not losing sleep over it:

1) It is a merely abstract academic concern. Surely, no matter how extensive and intrusive surveillance becomes, everyday life will still yield plenty of occasions when we experience growth-promoting moral tension: for instance, in the choices we have to make over how to treat family, friends, and acquaintances.

2) The worry is perfectly foolish – analogous to Nietzsche’s complaint that long periods of peace and prosperity shrink the soul since they offer few opportunities for battlefield heroics and sacrifice. Our ideal should be a world in which people live pleasanter lives, and where the discomfort of moral tension is largely a thing of the past. We might draw an analogy with the religious experience of sinfulness. The sense of sin may have once helped deepen human self-awareness, but that doesn’t mean we should try to keep it alive today. The sense of sin has passed its sell-by date; and the same can be said of the saintly ideal.

3) The saintly ideal is and always was misguided anyway. What matters is not what people desire, but what they do. Excessive concern for people’s appetites and desires is a puritan hangover. Surveillance improves behaviour, period. That is all we need to concern ourselves with.

4) Kantians should welcome surveillance, since ultimately it leads to the achievement of the very ideal they posit: the more complete the surveillance, the more duty and self-interest coincide. Surveillance technology replaces the idea of an all-seeing God who doles out just rewards and punishments, and it is more effective, since its presence, and the bad consequences of ignoring it, are much more tangibly evident. Consequently, it fosters good habits, and these habits are internalized to the point where wrongdoing becomes almost inconceivable.

That is surely just what parents and teachers aim for much of the time. As I send my kids out into the world, I don’t say to myself, ‘I do hope they remember they have a duty not to kill, kidnap, rape, steal, torture animals or mug old ladies.’ I assume that for them, as for the great majority in a stable, prosperous society, such wrongdoings are inconceivable: they simply don’t appear on the horizon of possible actions; and that is what I want. This inconceivability of most kinds of wrongdoing is a platform we want to be able to take for granted, and surveillance is a legitimate and effective means of building it. So, far from undermining the saintly ideal, surveillance offers a fast track to it.

Scrutiny vs Probity?

This would be a nice place to end. A trend is identified, an anxiety is articulated, but in the end the doubts are convincingly put to rest. Hobbes and Kant link arms and head off to the bar to drink a toast to their newly-discovered common ground.

But matters are not that simple. Wittgenstein warns philosophers against feeding on a diet of one-sided examples, and we need to be wary of that danger here. Indeed, I think that some other examples indicate not just that Kant may have a point, but that most of us implicitly recognize this point.

For instance, imagine you are visiting two colleges. At Scrutiny College, the guide proudly points out that each examination room is equipped with several cameras, all linked to a central monitoring station. Electronic jammers can be activated to prevent examinees from using cell phones or Blackberries. The IT department writes its own cutting-edge plagiarism-detection software. And there is zero tolerance for academic dishonesty: one strike and you’re out on your ear. As a result, says the guide, there is less cheating at Scrutiny than on any other campus in the country. Students quickly see that cheating is a mug’s game, and after a while no-one even considers it.

By contrast, Probity College operates on a straightforward honour system. Students sign an integrity pledge at the beginning of each academic year. At Probity, professors commonly assign take-home exams, and leave rooms full of test takers unproctored. Nor does anyone bother with plagiarism-detecting software such as Turnitin.com. The default assumption is that students can be trusted not to cheat.

Which college would you prefer to attend? Which would you recommend to your own kids?

Or compare two workplaces. At Scrutiny Inc., all computer activity is monitored, with regular random audits to detect and discourage any inappropriate use of company time and equipment, such as playing games, emailing friends, listening to music, or visiting internet sites that cause blood to flow rapidly from the brain to other parts of the body. At Probity Inc., on the other hand, employees are simply trusted to get their work done. Scrutiny Inc. claims to have the lowest rate of time-theft and the highest productivity of any company in its field. But where would you choose to work?

One last example. In the age of cell phones and GPS technology, it is possible for a parent to monitor their child’s whereabouts at all times. They have cogent reasons for doing so. It slightly reduces certain kinds of risk to the teenager, and significantly reduces parental anxiety. It doesn’t scar the youngster’s psyche – after all, they were probably first placed under electronic surveillance in their crib when they were five days old! Most pertinently, it keeps them on the straight and narrow. If they go somewhere other than where they’ve said they’ll go, or if they lie afterwards about where they’ve been, they’ll be found out, and suffer the penalties – like, their cell phone plan will be downgraded from platinum to regular (assuming they have real hard-ass parents). But how many parents really think that this sort of surveillance of their teenage kids is a good idea?

Surveillance Suggestions

What do these examples tell us? I think they suggest a number of things.

First, the Kantian ideal still resonates with us. If we regarded the development of moral character as completely empty, misguided or irrelevant, we would be less troubled by the practices of Scrutiny College or Mom and Pop Surveillance.

Second, the fear that surveillance can actually become so extensive as to threaten an individual’s healthy moral development is reasonable, for the growth of surveillance is not confined to small, minor or contained areas of our lives: it seems to be irresistibly spreading everywhere, percolating into the nooks and crannies of everyday existence, which is where much of a person’s moral education occurs.

Third, our attitude to surveillance is obviously different in different settings, and this tells us something important about our hopes, fears, expectations and ideals regarding the relationship between scrutinizer and scrutinizee. The four relationships we have discussed are: state and citizen; employer and employee; teacher and student, and parent and child. In the first two cases, we don’t worry much about the psychological effect of surveillance. For instance, I expect most of us would readily support improved surveillance of income in order to reduce tax evasion. But we generally assume that government, like employers, should stay out of the moral edification business.

It is possible to regard colleges in the same way. On this view, college is essentially a place where students expand their knowledge and develop certain skills. As in the workplace, surveillance levels should be determined according to what best promotes these institutional goals. However, many people see colleges as having a broader mission – as not just a place to acquire some technical training and a diploma. This broader mission includes helping students achieve personal growth, a central part of which is moral development. Edification is then seen not just as a happy side-effect of the college experience, but as one of its important and legitimate purposes. This, I think, is the deeper reason why we are perturbed by the resemblance between Scrutiny College and a prison. Our concern is not just that learning will suffer in an atmosphere of distrust: it is also that the educational mission of the college has become disappointingly narrow.

Finally, most of us agree that the moral education of children is and should be one of the goods a family secures. If not there, then where? So one good reason for parents not to install a camera over the cookie jar is that children need to experience the struggle between obligation and inclination. They even need to experience what it feels like to break the rules and get away with it; to break the rules and get caught; to break the rules, lie about it and not get caught; and so on. To reference Wordsworth again, in his autobiographical poem ‘The Prelude’, the emergence of the young boy’s moral awareness is connected to an incident when Wordsworth stole a rowing boat one evening to go for the eighteenth century equivalent of a joy ride. No-one catches him, but he becomes aware that his choices have a moral dimension.

This is not the only reason to avoid cluttering up the house with disobedience detectors, of course. Another purpose served by the family is to establish mutually-satisfying loving relationships. Moreover, the family is not simply a means to this end; the goal is internal to the practice of family life. Healthy relationships are grounded on trust, yet surveillance often signifies a lack of trust. For this reason, its effect on any relationship is corrosive. And the closer the relationship, the more objectionable we find it. Imagine how you’d feel if your spouse wanted to monitor your every coming and going.

These two objections to surveillance within the family – it inhibits moral development, and it signifies distrust – are connected, since the network of reasonably healthy relationships provided by a reasonably functional family is a primary setting for most people’s moral education. The positive experience of trusting relationships, in which the default expectation is that everyone will fulfill their obligations to one another, is in itself edifying. It is surely more effective at fostering the internalization of cherished values than intimidation through surveillance. Everyone who strives to create such relationships within their family shows by their practice that they believe this to be so.

Conclusions

The upshot of these reflections is that the relation between surveillance and moral edification is complicated. In some contexts, surveillance helps keep us on track and thereby reinforces good habits that become second nature. In other contexts, it can hinder moral development by steering us away from or obscuring the saintly ideal of genuinely disinterested action. And that ideal is worth keeping alive.

Some will object that the saintly ideal is utopian. And it is. But utopian ideals are valuable. It’s true that they do not help us deal with specific, concrete, short-term problems, such as how to keep drunk drivers off the road, or how to ensure that people pay their taxes. Rather, like a distant star, they provide a fixed point that we can use to navigate by. Ideals help us to take stock every so often of where we are, of where we’re going, and of whether we really want to head further in that direction.


Ultimately, the ideal college is one in which every student is genuinely interested in learning and needs neither extrinsic motivators to encourage study, nor surveillance to deter cheating. Ultimately, the ideal society is one in which, if taxes are necessary, everyone pays them as freely and cheerfully as they pay their dues to some club of which they are devoted members – where citizen and state can trust each other perfectly. We know our present society is a long way from such ideals, yet we should be wary of practices that take us ever further from them. One of the goals of moral education is to cultivate a conscience – the little voice inside telling us that we should do what is right because it is right. As surveillance becomes increasingly ubiquitous, however, the chances are reduced that conscience will ever be anything more than the little voice inside telling us that someone, somewhere, may be watching.

Instrumentalism

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Dictionary of the Social Sciences, Edited by Craig Calhoun, Oxford University Press

Refers (especially following Max Weber) to action conceived as a means to a separate and distinct end, as opposed to action conceived as an end in itself. The difference between instrumental and noninstrumental action has been a recurring subject of philosophical interest and debate since Aristotle, who recognized it as fundamental to considerations of human action. It has consequently been defined and redefined in a number of ways, and enlisted in a variety of competing and sometimes incompatible contexts. In the twentieth century, the term itself is strongly associated with the pragmatism of John Dewey, who argued that ideas should be judged not on the basis of truth and falsehood, but rather in terms of the ends they serve. Even where Dewey is concerned, however, certain kinds of ideas escape instrumental reasoning—quintessentially art, the noninstrumental object par excellence of the Western philosophical tradition since Immanuel Kant. Certain activities straddle the instrumental–noninstrumental divide; Hannah Arendt's defense of the intrinsic value of democratic action over the various specific ends that it serves is a prominent example.


As an approach to science, instrumentalism contrasts with theories of knowledge that regard objects as possessing a true or intrinsic nature that science can qualify and categorize. Other users of the term, however, strongly associate it with the scientific and technical mastery of the world rooted in subject–object relations. Instrumentalism, in this context, is deeply embedded in the Western idea of self. The dominance of instrumental reason has consequently been a subject of profound concern for the critical theorists of the Frankfurt school and other critics of Western modernity, such as Martin Heidegger. Here, instrumental reason appears not as a liberatory alternative to static or metaphysical conceptions of truth, but as a pervasive logic of existence, linked to capitalism, the marketplace, and technology, which destroys other sources and forms of value.


Instrumentalism

A Dictionary of Human Geography, Noel Castree, Rob Kitchin, and Alisdair Rogers, Oxford University Press

An approach to any relationship, practice, or object that prioritizes ends over means. Instrumentalists will use whatever methods or resources are expedient in order to realize their goals. At best, they are pragmatists able to adapt to the opportunities and constraints of a situation. At worst, however, they can act immorally or with impunity to achieve their ends—hence the critics’ motto ‘The ends can never justify the means’. In human geography and many other social sciences, for example, modern capitalist society has been criticized for using nature as a mere means to the end of amassing more wealth and improving standards of living. The result has been both a failure to treat the non-human world as an end in itself and to respect its needs or rights.

In Praise of Failure

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Costica Bradatan
The New York Times, December 15, 2013

Costica Bradatan is an associate professor in the Honors College at Texas Tech University and the religion and comparative studies editor for The Los Angeles Review of Books. He is the author of the forthcoming Dying for Ideas. The Dangerous Lives of the Philosophers.”


If there was ever a time to think seriously about failure, it is now.

We are firmly in an era of accelerated progress. We are witness to advancements in science, the arts, technology, medicine and nearly all forms of human achievement at a rate never seen before. We know more about the workings of the human brain and of distant galaxies than our ancestors could imagine. The design of a superior kind of human being – healthier, stronger, smarter, more handsome, more enduring – seems to be in the works. Even immortality may now appear feasible, a possible outcome of better and better biological engineering.

Certainly the promise of continual human progress and improvement is alluring. But there is a danger there, too — that in this more perfect future, failure will become obsolete.

Why should we care? And more specifically, why should philosophy care about failure? Doesn’t it have better things to do? The answer is simple: Philosophy is in the best position to address failure because it knows it intimately. The history of Western philosophy at least is nothing but a long succession of failures, if productive and fascinating ones. Any major philosopher typically asserts herself by addressing the “failures,” “errors,” “fallacies” or “naiveties” of other philosophers, only to be, in turn, dismissed by others as yet another failure. Every new philosophical generation takes it as its duty to point out the failures of the previous one; it is as though, no matter what it does, philosophy is doomed to fail. Yet from failure to failure, it has thrived over the centuries. As Emmanuel Levinas memorably put it (in an interview with Richard Kearney), “the best thing about philosophy is that it fails.” Failure, it seems, is what philosophy feeds on, what keeps it alive. As it were, philosophy succeeds only in so far as it fails.

So, allow me to make a case for the importance of failure.

Failure is significant for several reasons. I’d like to discuss three of them.

Failure allows us to see our existence in its naked condition.

Whenever it occurs, failure reveals just how close our existence is to its opposite. Out of our survival instinct, or plain sightlessness, we tend to see the world as a solid, reliable, even indestructible place. And we find it extremely difficult to conceive of that world existing without us. “It is entirely impossible for a thinking being to think of its own non-existence, of the termination of its thinking and life,” observed Goethe. Self-deceived as we are, we forget how close to not being we always are. The failure of, say, a plane engine could be more than enough to put an end to everything; even a falling rock or a car’s faulty brakes can do the job. And while it may not be always fatal, failure always carries with it a certain degree of existential threat.

Failure is the sudden irruption of nothingness into the midst of existence. To experience failure is to start seeing the cracks in the fabric of being, and that’s precisely the moment when, properly digested, failure turns out to be a blessing in disguise. For it is this lurking, constant threat that should make us aware of the extraordinariness of our being: the miracle that we exist at all when there is no reason that we should. Knowing that gives us some dignity.

In this role, failure also possesses a distinct therapeutic function. Most of us (the most self-aware or enlightened excepted) suffer chronically from a poor adjustment to existence; we compulsively fancy ourselves much more important than we are and behave as though the world exists only for our sake; in our worst moments, we place ourselves like infants at the center of everything and expect the rest of the universe to be always at our service. We insatiably devour other species, denude the planet of life and fill it with trash. Failure could be a medicine against such arrogance and hubris, as it often brings humility.

Our capacity to fail is essential to what we are.

We need to preserve, cultivate, even treasure this capacity. It is crucial that we remain fundamentally imperfect, incomplete, erring creatures; in other words, that there is always a gap left between what we are and what we can be. Whatever human accomplishments there have been in history, they have been possible precisely because of this empty space. It is within this interval that people, individuals as well as communities, can accomplish anything. Not that we’ve turned suddenly into something better; we remain the same weak, faulty material. But the spectacle of our shortcomings can be so unbearable that sometimes it shames us into doing a little good. Ironically, it is the struggle with our own failings that may bring the best in us.

The gap between what we are and what we can be is also the space in which utopias are conceived. Utopian literature, at its best, may document in detail our struggle with personal and societal failure. While often constructed in worlds of excess and plenitude, utopias are a reaction to the deficits and precariousness of existence; they are the best expression of what we lack most. Thomas More’s book is not so much about some imaginary island, but about the England of his time. Utopias may look like celebrations of human perfection, but read in reverse they are just spectacular admissions of failure, imperfection and embarrassment.

And yet it is crucial that we keep dreaming and weaving utopias. If it weren’t for some dreamers, we would live in a much uglier world today. But above all, without dreams and utopias we would dry out as a species. Suppose one day science solves all our problems: We will be perfectly healthy, live indefinitely, and our brains, thanks to some enhancement, will work like a computer. On that day we may be something very interesting, but I am not sure we will have what to live for. We will be virtually perfect and essentially dead.

Ultimately, our capacity to fail makes us what we are; our being as essentially failing creatures lies at the root of any aspiration. Failure, fear of it and learning how to avoid it in the future are all part of a process through which the shape and destiny of humanity are decided. That’s why, as I hinted earlier, the capacity to fail is something that we should absolutely preserve, no matter what the professional optimists say. Such a thing is worth treasuring, even more so than artistic masterpieces, monuments or other accomplishments. For, in a sense, the capacity to fail is much more important than any individual human achievements: It is that which makes them possible.

We are designed to fail.

No matter how successful our lives turn out to be, how smart, industrious or diligent we are, the same end awaits us all: “biological failure.” The “existential threat” of that failure has been with us all along, though in order to survive in a state of relative contentment, most of us have pretended not to see it. Our pretense, however, has never stopped us from moving toward our destination; faster and faster, “in inverse ratio to the square of the distance from death,” as Tolstoy’s Ivan Ilyich expertly describes the process. Yet Tolstoy’s character is not of much help here. The more essential question is rather how to approach the grand failure, how to face it and embrace it and own it — something poor Ivan fails to do.

A better model may be Ingmar Bergman’s Antonius Block, from the film “The Seventh Seal.” A knight returning from the Crusades and plunged into crisis of faith, Block is faced with the grand failure in the form of a man. He does not hesitate to engage Death head-on. He doesn’t flee, doesn’t beg for mercy — he just challenges him to a game of chess. Needless to say, he cannot succeed in such a game — no one can — but victory is not the point. You play against the grand, final failure not to win, but to learn how to fail.


Bergman the philosopher teaches us a great lesson here. We will all end in failure, but that’s not the most important thing. What really matters is how we fail and what we gain in the process. During the brief time of his game with Death, Antonius Block must have experienced more than he did all his life; without that game he would have lived for nothing. In the end, of course, he loses, but accomplishes something rare. He not only turns failure into an art, but manages to make the art of failing an intimate part of the art of living.

Contextual Moral Vegetarianism

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By Deane Curtin

'Toward an Ecological Ethic of Care.' Hypathia, No. 6, spring 1991, pp. 68-71
 
In this [essay] I provide an example of a distinctively ecofeminist moral concern: our relations to what we are willing to count as food. Vegetarianism has been defended as a moral obligation that results from rights that nonhuman animals have in virtue of being sentient beings (Regan 1983, 330-53). However, a distinctively ecofeminist defense of moral vegetarianism is better expressed as a core concept in an ecofeminist ethic of care. One clear way of distinguishing the two approaches is that whereas the rights approach is not inherently contextual[1] (it is the response to the rights of all sentient beings), the caring-for approach responds to particular contexts and histories. It recognizes that the reasons for moral vegetarianism may differ by locale, by gender, as well as by class.

Moral vegetarianism is a fruitful issue for ecofeminists to explore in developing an ecological ethics because in judging the adequacy of an ethic by reference to its understanding of food one draws attention to precisely those aspects of daily experience that have often been regarded as "beneath" the interest of philosophy. Plato's remark in the Gorgias is typical of the dismissive attitude philosophers have usually had toward food. Pastry cooking, he says, is like rhetoric: both are mere "knacks" or "routines" designed to appeal to our bodily instincts rather than our intellects (Plato 1961, 245).

Plato's dismissive remark also points to something that feminists need to take very seriously, namely, that a distinctively feminist ethic, as Susan Bordo and others argue, should include the body as moral agent. Here too the experiences of women in patriarchal cultures are especially valuable because women, more then men, experience the effects of culturally sanctioned oppressive attitudes toward the appropriate shape of the body. Susan Bordo has argued that anorexia nervosa is a "psychopathology" made possible by Cartesian attitudes toward the body at a popular level. Anorexics typically feel alienation from their bodies and the hunger "it" feels. Bordo quotes one woman as saying she ate because "my stomach wanted it"; another dreamed of being "without a body." Anorexics want to achieve "absolute purity, hyperintellectuality and transcendence of the flesh" (Bordo 1988, 94, 95; also see Chernin 1981). These attitudes toward the body have served to distort the deep sense in which human beings are embodied creatures; they have therefore further distorted our being as animals. To be a person, as distinct from an "animal," is to be disembodied.

This dynamic is vividly exposed by Carol Adams in The Sexual Politics of Meat (Adams 1989, part 1). There are important connections through food between the oppression of women and the oppression of nonhuman animals. Typical of the wealth of evidence she presents are the following: the connection of women and animals through pornographic representations of women as "meat" ready to be carved up, for example in "snuff' films; the fact that language masks our true relationship with animals, making them "absent referents" by giving meat words positive connotations ("That's a meaty question;""Where's the beef?") while disparaging nonflesh foods ("Don't watch so much TV! You'll turn into a vegetable"); men, athletes and soldiers in particular, are associated with red meat and activity ("To have muscle you need to eat muscle"), whereas women are associated with vegetables and passivity ("ladies' luncheons" typically offer dainty sandwiches with no red meat).


As a "contextual moral vegetarian," I cannot refer to an absolute moral rule that prohibits meat eating under all circumstances. There may be some contexts in which another response is appropriate. Though I am committed to moral vegetarianism, I cannot say that I would never kill an animal for food. Would I not kill an animal to provide food for my son if he were starving? Would I not generally prefer the death of a bear to the death of a loved one? I am sure I would. The point of a contextualist ethic is that one need not treat all interests equally as if one had no relationship to any of the parties.

Beyond personal contextual relations, geographical contexts may sometimes be relevant. The Ihalmiut, for example, whose frigid domain makes the growing of food impossible, do not have the option of vegetarian cuisine. The economy of their food practices, however, and their tradition of "thanking" the deer for giving its life are reflective of a serious, focused, compassionate attitude toward the "gift" of a meal.

In some cultures violence against nonhuman life is ritualized in such a way that one is present to the reality of one's food. The Japanese have a Shinto ceremony that pays respect to the insects that are killed during rice planting. Tibetans, who as Buddhists have not generally been drawn to vegetarianism, nevertheless give their own bodies back to the animals in an ultimate act of thanks by having their corpses hacked into pieces as food for the birds.[2] Cultures such as these have ways of expressing spiritually the idea "we are what we eat," even if they are not vegetarian.

If there is any context, on the other hand, in which moral vegetarianism is completely compelling as an expression of an ecological ethic of care, it is for economically well-off persons in technologically advanced countries. First, these are persons who have a choice of what food they want to eat; they have a choice of what they will count as food. Morality and ontology are closely connected here. It is one thing to inflict pain on animals when geography offers no other choice. But in the case of killing animals for human consumption where there is a choice, this practice inflicts pain that is completely unnecessary and avoidable. The injunction to care, considered as an issue of moral and political development, should be understood to include the injunction to eliminate needless suffering wherever possible, and particularly the suffering of those whose suffering is conceptually connected to one's own. It should not be understood as an injunction that includes the imperative to rethink what it means to be a person connected with the imperative to rethink the status of nonhuman animals. An ecofeminist perspective emphasizes that one's body is oneself, and that by inflicting violence needlessly, one's bodily self becomes a context for violence. One becomes violent by taking part in violent food practices. The ontological implication of a feminist ethic of care is that nonhuman animals should no longer count as food.

Second, most of the meat and dairy products in these countries do not come from mom-and-pop farms with little red barns. Factory farms are responsible for most of the 6 billion animals killed for food every year in the United States (Adams 1989, 6). It is curious that steriods are considered dangerous to athletes, but animals that have been genetically engineered and chemically induced to grow faster and come to market sooner are considered to be an entirely different issue. One would have to be hardened to know the conditions factory-farm animals live in and not feel disgust concerning their treatment.[3]

Third, much of the effect of the eating practices of persons in industrialized countries is felt in oppressed countries. Land owned by the wealthy that was once used to grow inexpensive crops for local people has been converted to the production of expensive products (beef) for export. Increased trade of food products with these countries is consistently the cause of increased starvation. In cultures where food preparation is primarily understood as women's work, starvation is primarily a women's issue. Food expresses who we are politically just as much as bodily. One need not be aware of the fact that one's food practices oppress others in order to be an oppressor.

From a woman's perspective, in particular, it makes sense to ask whether one should become a vegan, a vegetarian who, in addition to refraining from meat and fish, also refrains from eating eggs and dairy products. Since the consumption of eggs and milk have in common that they exploit the reproductive capacities of the female, vegetarianism is not a gender neutral issue.[4] To choose one's diet in a patriarchal culture is one way of politicizing an ethic of care. It marks a daily, bodily commitment to resist ideological pressures to conform to patriarchal standards, and to establishing contexts in which caring for can be nonabusive. 

Just as there are gender-specific reasons for women's commitment to vegetarianism, for men in a patriarchal society moral vegetarianism can mark the decision to stand in solidarity with women. It also indicates a determination to resist ideological pressures to become a "real man." Real people do not need to eat "real food," as the American Beef Council would have us believe.

[1] Regan calls the animal's right not to be killed a prima facie right that may be overridden. Nevertheless, his theory is not inherently contextualized.

[2] This practice is also ecologically sound since it saves the enormous expense of firewood for cremation.

[3] See John Robbing (1987). It should be noted that in response to such knowledge some reflective nonvegetarians commit to eating range-grown chickens but not those grown in factory farms.

[4] I owe this point to a conversation with Colman McCarthy. 
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