Though I tend to favor the utilitarian viewpoint, there is something to be said for Kantian ethics. While utilitarianism offers a logical, calculating approach, the categorical imperative seems in its simplicity to cut right to the heart of the matter without need of a utility balance sheet. It asks us to consider whether a maxim could be acted on while at the same time it should be desirable for universal application. An individual may want to steal, but if stealing were universally accepted, he too would be liable to being stolen from, resulting in the contradiction of simultaneously approving of the concept of stealing while not approving of the real sense of loss resulting from being stolen from. The categorical imperative is an effective tool because it translates into a more logical approach something that happens normally on an emotional level. We empathize with others. This happens because our brains actually simulate our best estimate of the situation another person is in. When we see someone suffering, our brain actually “plays out” the scenario of the same kind of suffering the other person is experiencing. This in turn produces an emotional response, the same emotional response the person who is actually suffering undergoes (assuming our brain is not functioning abnormally, as with some mental disorders, or our ability to put ourselves in others “shoes” is not inhibited by learned cultural prejudices). We therefore deem the spectacle of the suffering person to be “bad” because of our negative emotional response to it. Rules like “do unto others” and the categorical imperative are ways of explicating abstractly what would happen emotionally in specific instances. In this sense, many of these deontological ethical systems do a better job of explaining how our common sense ethical judgement actually works. Does this mean that utilitarianism should be abandoned? I believe not. The problem with our ability to empathize is that it only works for one person (or animal, or even inanimate object, or a conglomerate representation of a large group of people, such as a nation or culture) at a time. It is possible to empathize with either the oppressor or the oppressed. Typically, we can better identify with people who are similar to us in sex, race, age, culture, or other qualities, and therefore we are more apt to empathize with them. True, as long as these prejudices to not slant our view inordinately, we tend to empathize more with the oppressed, probably because their degree of suffering is usually much more intense than the degree of happiness of the oppressor. However, pure empathy with one individual does not take into consideration the entire scope of a situation with moral weight. In cases where parties involved are not so clearly identifiable as cruel oppressor and suffering victim, a fair assessment of a moral dilemma requires more than simply taking one side or the other. In cases where one person is hurt substantially, while the happiness gained is spread among a large number of people, we naturally empathize with the single sufferer. Yet we probably do feel a sense that this individual should not trump a large group of people. This is why utilitarianism is a more objective, and I feel, better ethical system. While we may not be able to quantify and calculate gains and losses in happiness within each individual involved, this is in theory what should be done to determine the moral course of action. In a practical sense, utilitarianism asks us to examine and empathize with every individual involved, record our feelings about each, and with our best judgement come up with a rough estimate of total net gain or loss in happiness. Yes the estimate will often be very rough, but it considers all viewpoints, and forces us to try to empathize with those who may be very different from ourselves.
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Deontological rules generally work fine, but every now and then the unpredictable universe throws us a curveball. Particular situations may stretch the limits of such rules, and it is at this point that the categorical imperative and our natural emotional response part ways. We may condemn stealing as a rule, but what if a particular instance of stealing would in fact save lives or make more individuals happy? It seems here we would follow the “emotional imperative” instead. At another point, utilitarianism also departs from the emotional imperative, that is, when we empathize with only one or some of the parties involved in a dilemma. I would argue that logically it is better to “leave” the emotional imperative behind because in that instant our ability to empathize is limited. Unless we really can calculate the utility values, we do not so much leave empathy behind as expand it and apply it to everyone. In this sense, utilitarianism is an extended application of this natural judgement ability. Despite the strength and elegance of the categorical imperative, I still prefer the utility balance sheet.
A note on judgement—I also prefer the British spelling of judgment, instead of judgment. The ‘g’ in the middle without the ‘e’ as a partner makes me sad. So yeah, I like spelling it “wrong” despite the spell-checker’s attempts to change it.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Saturday, January 06, 2007
A Utilitarian Theory of Justice
Justice is a concept that often defies definition, and there are many conceptions of it. A libertarian view emphasizes freedom from coercion, while distributive or social justice seeks equality. Here I will use a strictly defined desert theory of justice and try to show how it fits in with a utilitarian ethical system. Justice, as I will define it, is centered on the idea of balance, not necessarily equality, of the distribution of goods. One can obtain something by putting forth the effort with that goal in mind, in which case the individual deserves to gain the intended benefit. Thus inequalities can result based on the behaviors of the individual agents while still maintaining justice. Injustice occurs when goods are not distributed according to desert. Injustice can be positive or negative. Positive injustice occurs when someone obtains a good without having put forth the effort to deserve it. An example of this would be finding a treasure in a field or accidentally striking oil on one’s land. Negative injustice occurs when someone does put forth the effort, but does not obtain the deserved benefit. An example of this is climatic crop failure after a year of working the land. An individual who does nothing deserves neither to gain nor lose, and his status should remain neutral. I believe this definition of justice captures the various intuitive feelings we have about the concept. We do indeed have a sense of social justice, in which we think it unfair that some are born into wealth, while others are born into poverty. In fact, for the world to be completely just, according to my definition, all agents should start out equal in every respect. Since we do not, we rightly have this sense of social injustice in the world. Yet we also have a sense that an individual who has earned a good through effort should not have it taken away to give to others who have not made the effort. When we consider justice to concern the starting conditions of all agents in the moral community, this definition of justice captures both intuitive senses of justice fairly well.
If justice is a desert-based system for distributing goods, then what constitutes these goods? Material wealth, knowledge, possibly certain virtues, or a number of things could be distributed along the lines of desert. Since I am working with a utilitarian theory of ethics, I will consider all these things to be merely incidental to the goal of achieving happiness. Therefore I will consider the ultimate good to be distributed justly to be happiness or utility itself. I will return to this in a moment. For now, I also want to distinguish justice from pure ethics. The goal of utilitarian ethics is to maximize happiness (or utility) for the most individuals. Whatever works to achieve this is considered to be moral. Utilitarianism disregards justice as an end in of itself. In fact, ideally, utility would be distributed along the lines of positive injustice as I described it earlier. Nevertheless, including a sense of justice with utilitarianism can better elucidate the realm of moral experience.
Every event with moral weight involves at least one agent. Such events will have consequences involving both utility and justice. An event with moral weight involving only one agent occurs when impersonal forces at play in the universe cause some change in utility to an individual. He may become more happy or less happy, and by that criterion we can judge the event to be good or bad. At the same time, that increase in happiness can be deserved or undeserved, and thus be unjust, either positively or negatively so. Events involving one or more agents acting on one or more other agents become more complex, as it is necessary to consider the changes in utility and justice status for both. In carrying out the action, the acting agent has an expectation of how it will change the level of utility in himself and in the agent that he is acting on. (Note: It has been suggested that all agents expect their actions to increase their own utility, that is, to want to do something means that one inherently believes doing so will make one happier. Since this theory is non-falsifiable, I will assume that it is at least theoretically possible for an agent to carry out an action that he believes will actually decrease his utility.) There are also to be considered the actual changes in utility in the acting agent and the affected agent. Sometimes there may also be a secondary event wherein the acting agent perceives the reaction of the affected agent, which in turn could change the level of his own utility. Let us consider each part individually.
When the acting agent derives utility from the event at an amount different than what he expected to derive from it, it is because he had imperfect knowledge of the situation. This imperfect knowledge can be attributed to a bundle of causal chains emanating from the beginning of the universe and snaking in an out of his being. I will better explain that statement later. For now, it is sufficient to say that the universe is responsible for the discrepancy. This difference is the level of injustice of utility that the acting agent now has with regard to the universe. It is positive injustice if he gained more utility than he expected, and negative injustice if he gained less than expected. Negative or positive injustice is also applicable if he expected to lose utility in carrying out the action (suppose carrying it out involved considerable physical strain, for instance). It can be said that he now owes the universe a measure of utility, or that the universe owes him, for this discrepancy.
As for the affected agent, the event may cause a change in utility within himself. If he gains utility, it can be said that he has incurred “utility debt” to the acting agent, since he was immediately responsible for the event. If he has instead suffered as a result, and therefore has lost utility, then the acting agent has incurred “utility debt”, which he now owes. I believe this concept of utility debt captures the spirit of the obligation an individual often feels to do something positive for another person who has benefited him. However, there is more to it. One criticism of utilitarianism is that it takes no consideration of intentions. By taking the concept of utility justice one step further, I believe it is possible to address this. One must remember that the acting agent may also have an expectation of the change in the level of utility of the affected agent. To expect that it will increase is to have good intentions, to expect it to decrease is to have bad intentions, and to have no expectations is to have no intention with regard to morals. When the affected agent’s utility is changed by the event, there may be a discrepancy between the expected effect and the actual effect. Because the acting agent sought to change the affected agent’s utility only to the level he expected, that is the level of desert the acting agent has as regards the actualization of the event, and therefore that is the amount of utility debt incurred. The difference between the expected level of utility and the actual level also represent a utility debt. However, this debt is incurred by the universe, since it was impersonal unforeseen forces in the universe that were responsible for the discrepancy. Perhaps breaking it down makes this clearer. Suppose an acting agent expects his action to cause and increase of three hedons (theoretical units of pleasure—as of yet we cannot truly quantify it) of utility in the affected agent, but the actual level of utility increases by five hedons. The affected agent now has a utility debt to the acting agent, but only as much as the acting agent anticipated the increase in utility to be. The remaining two hedons are the responsibility of the universe, and so those fall into the category of a sort of “karmic debt” owed by the affected agent to the universe. The formula is simply expected utility minus actual utility equal karmic debt (or credit). In this case, 3h – 5h = -2h. If the expected increase in utility was less than the actual, then the affected agent owes the expected amount to the acting agent, but the universe in turn owes the affected agent the difference (5h – 3h = 2h in karmic credit owed by the universe to the affected agent). If the actual change in utility was exactly what was expected, then nothing is owed the universe. Suppose the acting agent’s intent was actually to decrease the level of utility for the affected agent (bad intentions). In the case where the expectation was a large decrease in utility but the reality was a smaller decrease, the same formula applies, only now it is the acting agent who owes the affected agent, with the difference being owed the universe by the affected agent: (-5)h – (-3)h = -2h. If the utility in the affected agent decreased more than was expected, then the difference is owed by the universe to the affected agent: (-3)h – (-5)h = 2h in karmic credit.
I justify this hedonistic calculus because we do have a sense that intention matters in some way on ethical matters, yet in a purely utilitarian sense, it does not matter. We do not treat accidental manslaughter the same way as murder in a court of law, yet we recognize the very real suffering caused by a death in both cases. The idea of the universe owing utility debt to us or that we might somehow owe utility debt to the universe may at first sound absurd. Yet, we can feel angry at the world in general or at no one in particular because of unfortunate circumstances we happen to be in. Likewise, we have the idea of luck, that is, favorable circumstances that we cannot attribute to any particular person. Though it is only by luck that we could ever hope to be repaid by the universe and we can never actually repay the universe what we owe, the concept of the universe as a debtor or creditor captures the reality of our experience and helps clarify degrees of responsibility. I justify dividing responsibility for the gain or loss in utility between the acting agent and the universe at the point of expected change from a compatibilist view of determinism. All events, including those commonly attributed to free will by acting agents, are, in reality, determined by the laws of physics. Robust free will is an incoherent concept and could not exist in the world as we know it. However, it is difficult to build a system of ethics upon a deterministic universe. Therefore it is helpful to draw the line at some point where the chains of cause and effect are largely contained within an individual mind and attribute moral responsibility to actions originating primarily from within that mind. It is ultimately arbitrary where that line is drawn, since everything making up an individual’s mind eventually originates from causes outside his being. Genetics, environment, and upbringing are just a few of the groupings of billions of chains of cause and effect to which we often attribute the actions of an individual. There may be something we call a will, but it is not free. The brain is a decision-making machine, but can only make decisions based on the information that is available to it and its choices are limited by its own inherent ability and immediate circumstances. Nevertheless, it works the best it can using imperfect knowledge. I work with the assumption that if the acting agent had known all the forces at work in the event and had a perfectly rational mind, then the actual result of his actions would be exactly what he expected. Therefore any discrepancy between the two is the result of forces in the universe of which the acting agent had insufficient knowledge and/or preconditions in the mind to which we cannot hold the agent accountable, or, in short, the universe itself.
There are some consequences and caveats if we accept this view of justice and utility. One is that an acting agent also may or may not receive feedback from the affected agent as to his change in utility. The perception of a discrepancy between intended and actual change may itself cause changes in the utility of the acting agent. There may also be several related actions in quick succession. In order to determine by whom and to whom utility debt is owed, it may be necessary to break down the whole series of actions into individual actions to see where debt is incurred and where it is cancelled out. There are also implications in regard to the idea of punishment and reward. From a utilitarian standpoint, I think it is best to resist the urge to advocate any kind of punishment by converting lost hedons into dolors (units of pain). Repaying lost hedons with dolors, as in the case of punishing an acting agent may in a sense cancel his utility debt to the affected agent (thus eliminating injustice between the two agents), but only if no other agent is involved in carrying out the punishment. Punishment in of itself also does nothing to restore lost utility (utility has decreased in both parties, but equally), nor does it recognize whatever debt or credit the universe may have. In any case, it is the goal of utilitarianism to increase utility regardless of justice. It is only because recognition of injustice (a sense of unfairness in the world and in the deeds of others) incidentally has the effect of often decreasing utility that feel a need to place it somewhere in the realm of ethics. With the system I have described, we can recognize its role in ethics. Individuals who have earned utility credit from increasing the utility of others have a right or a just claim to more utility, while those who have done the opposite are ones on whom others have a just claim to demand that they increase their utility. It is only necessary from a purely ethical standpoint to recognize justice inasmuch as satisfying justice tends to lead to utility whereas injustice tends to lead to less utility.
There is one type of person who is best suited to live in the ethical realm. It is one who forgives any utility debt owed to him by others or by the universe, and who gains utility from increasing the utility of others. Such a saint would always try to increase the happiness of others and in doing so make himself happier, while at the same time never being saddened by things that would normally cause one to be unhappy. This altruistic stoic is one whom we should all strive to emulate.
If justice is a desert-based system for distributing goods, then what constitutes these goods? Material wealth, knowledge, possibly certain virtues, or a number of things could be distributed along the lines of desert. Since I am working with a utilitarian theory of ethics, I will consider all these things to be merely incidental to the goal of achieving happiness. Therefore I will consider the ultimate good to be distributed justly to be happiness or utility itself. I will return to this in a moment. For now, I also want to distinguish justice from pure ethics. The goal of utilitarian ethics is to maximize happiness (or utility) for the most individuals. Whatever works to achieve this is considered to be moral. Utilitarianism disregards justice as an end in of itself. In fact, ideally, utility would be distributed along the lines of positive injustice as I described it earlier. Nevertheless, including a sense of justice with utilitarianism can better elucidate the realm of moral experience.
Every event with moral weight involves at least one agent. Such events will have consequences involving both utility and justice. An event with moral weight involving only one agent occurs when impersonal forces at play in the universe cause some change in utility to an individual. He may become more happy or less happy, and by that criterion we can judge the event to be good or bad. At the same time, that increase in happiness can be deserved or undeserved, and thus be unjust, either positively or negatively so. Events involving one or more agents acting on one or more other agents become more complex, as it is necessary to consider the changes in utility and justice status for both. In carrying out the action, the acting agent has an expectation of how it will change the level of utility in himself and in the agent that he is acting on. (Note: It has been suggested that all agents expect their actions to increase their own utility, that is, to want to do something means that one inherently believes doing so will make one happier. Since this theory is non-falsifiable, I will assume that it is at least theoretically possible for an agent to carry out an action that he believes will actually decrease his utility.) There are also to be considered the actual changes in utility in the acting agent and the affected agent. Sometimes there may also be a secondary event wherein the acting agent perceives the reaction of the affected agent, which in turn could change the level of his own utility. Let us consider each part individually.
When the acting agent derives utility from the event at an amount different than what he expected to derive from it, it is because he had imperfect knowledge of the situation. This imperfect knowledge can be attributed to a bundle of causal chains emanating from the beginning of the universe and snaking in an out of his being. I will better explain that statement later. For now, it is sufficient to say that the universe is responsible for the discrepancy. This difference is the level of injustice of utility that the acting agent now has with regard to the universe. It is positive injustice if he gained more utility than he expected, and negative injustice if he gained less than expected. Negative or positive injustice is also applicable if he expected to lose utility in carrying out the action (suppose carrying it out involved considerable physical strain, for instance). It can be said that he now owes the universe a measure of utility, or that the universe owes him, for this discrepancy.
As for the affected agent, the event may cause a change in utility within himself. If he gains utility, it can be said that he has incurred “utility debt” to the acting agent, since he was immediately responsible for the event. If he has instead suffered as a result, and therefore has lost utility, then the acting agent has incurred “utility debt”, which he now owes. I believe this concept of utility debt captures the spirit of the obligation an individual often feels to do something positive for another person who has benefited him. However, there is more to it. One criticism of utilitarianism is that it takes no consideration of intentions. By taking the concept of utility justice one step further, I believe it is possible to address this. One must remember that the acting agent may also have an expectation of the change in the level of utility of the affected agent. To expect that it will increase is to have good intentions, to expect it to decrease is to have bad intentions, and to have no expectations is to have no intention with regard to morals. When the affected agent’s utility is changed by the event, there may be a discrepancy between the expected effect and the actual effect. Because the acting agent sought to change the affected agent’s utility only to the level he expected, that is the level of desert the acting agent has as regards the actualization of the event, and therefore that is the amount of utility debt incurred. The difference between the expected level of utility and the actual level also represent a utility debt. However, this debt is incurred by the universe, since it was impersonal unforeseen forces in the universe that were responsible for the discrepancy. Perhaps breaking it down makes this clearer. Suppose an acting agent expects his action to cause and increase of three hedons (theoretical units of pleasure—as of yet we cannot truly quantify it) of utility in the affected agent, but the actual level of utility increases by five hedons. The affected agent now has a utility debt to the acting agent, but only as much as the acting agent anticipated the increase in utility to be. The remaining two hedons are the responsibility of the universe, and so those fall into the category of a sort of “karmic debt” owed by the affected agent to the universe. The formula is simply expected utility minus actual utility equal karmic debt (or credit). In this case, 3h – 5h = -2h. If the expected increase in utility was less than the actual, then the affected agent owes the expected amount to the acting agent, but the universe in turn owes the affected agent the difference (5h – 3h = 2h in karmic credit owed by the universe to the affected agent). If the actual change in utility was exactly what was expected, then nothing is owed the universe. Suppose the acting agent’s intent was actually to decrease the level of utility for the affected agent (bad intentions). In the case where the expectation was a large decrease in utility but the reality was a smaller decrease, the same formula applies, only now it is the acting agent who owes the affected agent, with the difference being owed the universe by the affected agent: (-5)h – (-3)h = -2h. If the utility in the affected agent decreased more than was expected, then the difference is owed by the universe to the affected agent: (-3)h – (-5)h = 2h in karmic credit.
I justify this hedonistic calculus because we do have a sense that intention matters in some way on ethical matters, yet in a purely utilitarian sense, it does not matter. We do not treat accidental manslaughter the same way as murder in a court of law, yet we recognize the very real suffering caused by a death in both cases. The idea of the universe owing utility debt to us or that we might somehow owe utility debt to the universe may at first sound absurd. Yet, we can feel angry at the world in general or at no one in particular because of unfortunate circumstances we happen to be in. Likewise, we have the idea of luck, that is, favorable circumstances that we cannot attribute to any particular person. Though it is only by luck that we could ever hope to be repaid by the universe and we can never actually repay the universe what we owe, the concept of the universe as a debtor or creditor captures the reality of our experience and helps clarify degrees of responsibility. I justify dividing responsibility for the gain or loss in utility between the acting agent and the universe at the point of expected change from a compatibilist view of determinism. All events, including those commonly attributed to free will by acting agents, are, in reality, determined by the laws of physics. Robust free will is an incoherent concept and could not exist in the world as we know it. However, it is difficult to build a system of ethics upon a deterministic universe. Therefore it is helpful to draw the line at some point where the chains of cause and effect are largely contained within an individual mind and attribute moral responsibility to actions originating primarily from within that mind. It is ultimately arbitrary where that line is drawn, since everything making up an individual’s mind eventually originates from causes outside his being. Genetics, environment, and upbringing are just a few of the groupings of billions of chains of cause and effect to which we often attribute the actions of an individual. There may be something we call a will, but it is not free. The brain is a decision-making machine, but can only make decisions based on the information that is available to it and its choices are limited by its own inherent ability and immediate circumstances. Nevertheless, it works the best it can using imperfect knowledge. I work with the assumption that if the acting agent had known all the forces at work in the event and had a perfectly rational mind, then the actual result of his actions would be exactly what he expected. Therefore any discrepancy between the two is the result of forces in the universe of which the acting agent had insufficient knowledge and/or preconditions in the mind to which we cannot hold the agent accountable, or, in short, the universe itself.
There are some consequences and caveats if we accept this view of justice and utility. One is that an acting agent also may or may not receive feedback from the affected agent as to his change in utility. The perception of a discrepancy between intended and actual change may itself cause changes in the utility of the acting agent. There may also be several related actions in quick succession. In order to determine by whom and to whom utility debt is owed, it may be necessary to break down the whole series of actions into individual actions to see where debt is incurred and where it is cancelled out. There are also implications in regard to the idea of punishment and reward. From a utilitarian standpoint, I think it is best to resist the urge to advocate any kind of punishment by converting lost hedons into dolors (units of pain). Repaying lost hedons with dolors, as in the case of punishing an acting agent may in a sense cancel his utility debt to the affected agent (thus eliminating injustice between the two agents), but only if no other agent is involved in carrying out the punishment. Punishment in of itself also does nothing to restore lost utility (utility has decreased in both parties, but equally), nor does it recognize whatever debt or credit the universe may have. In any case, it is the goal of utilitarianism to increase utility regardless of justice. It is only because recognition of injustice (a sense of unfairness in the world and in the deeds of others) incidentally has the effect of often decreasing utility that feel a need to place it somewhere in the realm of ethics. With the system I have described, we can recognize its role in ethics. Individuals who have earned utility credit from increasing the utility of others have a right or a just claim to more utility, while those who have done the opposite are ones on whom others have a just claim to demand that they increase their utility. It is only necessary from a purely ethical standpoint to recognize justice inasmuch as satisfying justice tends to lead to utility whereas injustice tends to lead to less utility.
There is one type of person who is best suited to live in the ethical realm. It is one who forgives any utility debt owed to him by others or by the universe, and who gains utility from increasing the utility of others. Such a saint would always try to increase the happiness of others and in doing so make himself happier, while at the same time never being saddened by things that would normally cause one to be unhappy. This altruistic stoic is one whom we should all strive to emulate.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
States' Rights are Bullshit
Many Americans, particularly in the South, are quite found of the concept of “states’ rights.” For those living under unitary systems who are unfamiliar with the American federal system, here goes a quick bit of background. During the American Revolt, the various colonies tried to unite into a something like single political entity. With each colony having been accustomed to governing itself, many were reluctant to give up their local power to a higher level of government. After much debate, the 10th Amendment was added to clarify the relationship between the federal, or higher-level government, and the governments of the new 13 states. It says that “powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.” The concept makes sense in that different geographic regions will likely have different needs unique to the area and that legislative bodies within those regions would be best able to enact measure to handle those needs. It also means that the federal government does not always have to waste time micromanaging the various regions in the country. However, traditionally the 10th Amendment has served as an umbrella to all sorts of crazy state laws and state constitutional amendments that violate basic human rights. It has been used to try to do things like preserve slavery, protect institutional racism, avoid environmental protection regulations, and persecute homosexuals. To allow state legislatures free reign over broad, sweeping issues concerning basic human rights is to allow for the creation of a patchwork nation where some states violate human rights while others preserve them. While traveling across the nation, a racial minority may find that he suddenly isn’t granted equal protection under the law or a gay couple may find their marriage vows invalidated upon moving to a new state. While the federal government can get things wrong as well (such as in the case of many drug laws), the power of the state legislatures should be limited to the realm of fishing licenses and parking tickets, not fundamental human rights. A woman’s right over her own body or racial equality shouldn’t be concepts inimical to humanity everywhere in the universe except in Mississippi. Yet, as shown by the recent passage of several state constitutional amendments banning gay marriage, the danger still exists for crackpot bigots and religious extremists to use the 10th Amendment to impose their own disgusting value systems on others. If they cannot control the nation, they at least want to control their little racist fiefdom.
Ultimately (and here’s where I go off on a tangent, spouting off about radical idealistic utopias), the entire would should be governed by something like the federal system. Currently existing national governments should become something analogous to our state governments (and perhaps a few large countries should be broken up into several smaller oblasts or perhaps geographic regions), handling matters of local significance, but never being allowed to violate the principles of human equality and basic human rights we’ve so slowly and painfully come to recognize.
Ultimately (and here’s where I go off on a tangent, spouting off about radical idealistic utopias), the entire would should be governed by something like the federal system. Currently existing national governments should become something analogous to our state governments (and perhaps a few large countries should be broken up into several smaller oblasts or perhaps geographic regions), handling matters of local significance, but never being allowed to violate the principles of human equality and basic human rights we’ve so slowly and painfully come to recognize.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
Sunday, July 02, 2006
To Live is Art
Facing the probability that no afterlife exists to offer some preset purpose in life, it becomes the prerogative of the individual to give meaning to his own existence. Unfortunately, most lead unexamined lives that either rely on some text or religious figure to do that work for them or ignore the sublime entirely and find no greater use for themselves but the empty task of making money—mere subsistence in excess. To those who want something more, but do not adhere to any dogma, the task then becomes to craft a life as one would craft a work of art. Art offers profound aesthetic experiences and requires its audience to ask questions and think deeper. In life a man must take time to savor his emotions, both the good and the bad; in other words, to feel, to live in ones feelings. Too often I find myself looking back on my day or my week and realizing I didn’t feel a goddamned thing. I drove around in my air-conditioned car, easing on the breaks at the traffic lights, barely even feeling the inertia of the car. I worked without emotion. I sat in my climate-controlled room and stared blankly at a worthless television show. The entire week could’ve gone by completely without notice, save the discrepancy in the calendar. Dozens of forgettable weeks stacked together add up to a wasted life completely gone by before any actual living has been done. There must be genuine aesthetic and emotional experiences to punctuate the mundane—to read great literature, to hear great music, to enjoy nature, and most importantly to genuinely connect with others emotionally. This is aesthetic side of living life as art. Secondly, there is the task of doing something meaningful with one’s existence. If one cannot make a career out of something meaningful, something that is more than simply a job or a source of income, then one must lead a meaningful inner life. It is a tragedy to look back at the end of life and find nothing in it that has made the world a better place, made another person truly happy, or that nothing lasting has been accomplished. We all wish for immortality, but can only find it through leaving a legacy—a great deed to be remembered by, children raised that will live on to hopefully do great things, or some cause to have lived for. It may be that even these accomplishments may be wiped from existence in an entropic universe, but at least someone made a stand against the void—and nothing can change that. It is therefore my wish to be an artist, with my own life as my medium. To craft an existence filled with powerful experiences and imbued with some meaning that will hopefully outlive my body. When the final brushstroke is made, a thing of beauty will remain.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Fertility and Frida Kahlo
Few artists have put so much of themselves on canvas as Frida Kahlo. Her primary genre was the self-portrait, and her paintings read almost as a diary of her life. Several major themes appear in her work throughout her career, such as her identity as a Mexican, communist politics, her self and her relationship to Diego Rivera and most importantly, fertility. This last theme, which so pervades her work, is partially do to her inability to have children, the result of a bus accident in her youth. Her works are some of the most luscious representations of fertility and fecundity both in man and in nature.
Frida Kahlo was born July 6, 1907 in Coyoacán, a suburb of Mexico City. Her father was a German Jew and her mother a mestiza. She was a bright student and planned to go to medical school, until September 1925, when the bus she was riding on hit a trolley car. A metal handrail pierced her pelvis, her spinal column was cracked, her right leg was broken in several places, and her foot was crushed. Exactly one year later she produced her first painting. Between 1926 and her death in 1954, she painted over 55 self-portraits. In 1927, she joined the Young Communist League. In 1929, she married then 43 year-old Diego Rivera, another artist in the Communist Party. Rivera accepted a post as Director of the Academy of San Carlos, but due to the government’s right-wing leanings, he was expelled from the Communist Party. Frida spent almost three years in the US while Rivera was commissioned to do several murals there. In New York, she met other American artists, such as Imogen Cunningham, Alfred Stieglitz, and Georgia O’Keeffe. During this period she painted about a dozen works. Both Rivera and Frida had numerous affairs outside their marriage, yet she remained devoted to him. Rivera did divorce her in 1939, but they remarried in December 1940. She was constantly plagued by spinal problems, possibly due to her bout with polio as a girl, her accident, or, as some have suggested, scoliosis or spina bifida. She underwent extensive surgery in 1950 and spent nearly a year in the hospital because of an infection. In 1953, her right leg, infected with gangrene, was amputated. She died on July 13, 1954. Less than two weeks earlier she had participated in a protest against US intervention in Guatemala. Her death, reported as being caused by “pulmonary embolism,” may have been a suicide, as she had attempted it in the past. The last page of her journal read: “I hope the exit is joyful—and I hope I never come back—Frida.”
When Frida and Diego Rivera married, she was already pregnant. Frida’s injury in the bus accident had damaged her uterus such that she could conceive, but could not carry a baby to term. She had a miscarriage in 1930. She had very much wanted to have a child, and her inability to do so had a profound effect on her work. Partially as a result of that incident, her work would be pervaded by imagery suggestive of genitalia, sperm, and ova. She explicitly deals with her miscarriages in The Caesarean Operation and Henry Ford Hospital. In Henry Ford Hospital, a pregnant but bleeding Frida lays awkwardly on a hospital bed. In her hand she holds red ribbons tied to a model of a female torso, a fetus, a snail, a pelvis, a crushed orchid, and a machine used for sterilizing medical utensils. The work expresses her feeling of failure after miscarried pregnancies—the snail suggests the slowness of the whole process, the orchid, its shape suggestive of a uterus, represents her damaged reproductive organs, and the machine suggests sterility. The ribbons for her represent lifelines, which she had also made use of in her family portrait, My Grandparents, My Parents, and I, from 1936.
Another work dealing directly with her miscarriages is a lithograph simply titled Frida and the Miscarriage, from 1932. A nude Frida drips blood from her vagina to the soil below. From this blood, three plants take root in the soil. The shapes of the plants are vaguely similar to genitalia. This is a very early instance of the use of another prominent subject matter in her work—plants and fruit. She kept a garden with fruits and pet monkeys and other animals. For her these were substitutes for children she could not herself have. Indeed when children of other people visited, she pampered and doted after them.In her paintings, her exotic, lush fruits seem to be dripping with fecundity. Her Flower of Life from 1944 is a red flower similar in shape to a uterus, complete with fallopian tubes grasping for ovaries. Her near obsession with fertility began to include that of nature as well. From here her work moved into the realm of the spiritual.
Despite their stormy relationship, Diego and Frida loved and needed each other. Diego for her became not only beloved husband, but also a sort of baby for her to mother. In her later years, she often came to view his sexual escapades in the light of a sort of mischievous child. Thus he appears in The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Diego, Me, and Senior Xolotl as a baby in her arms, though he is nearly a full size adult. He has a large third eye in his forehead. He is Dieguito, her child, yet also her husband and spiritual partner. Both of them are being embraced by a green female figure suggestive of an Aztec goddess. Milk drips from her nipple. She is further being embraced by a larger, misty figure, along with a host of plants. This figure is part of the background, which is light green on the right and brown on the left. A moon hovers in the brown area and a fiery sun floats in the green area. In her diary, she includes a guide to colors and their personal meaning to her. Green is “good warm light” as well as “leaves, sadness, science”. Brown is the “color of mole, of leaves becoming earth”. Here the all embracing universe is made up of light and earth. It suggests the duality of pre-Columbian mythology; as such ideas began to appeal to Frida later in life. The world is summed up as a process of death which creates new life, and this process involves everyone. Even Frida’s pet dog appears within the arms of Earth’s embrace.
Frida’s health began to deteriorate in the mid-1940s. She had to wear a steel corset for her back. She depicted her plight in The Broken Column, which shows a nude Frida split open and held together with white straps. Instead of a spinal column, she has a broken Ionic column. As her health problem mounted, she began to lose hope, even painting herself with a cornucopia of gore emerging from her mouth in a work entitled Without Hope. She seems to have become more optimistic when she painted Tree of Hope, in which she in a vibrant red dress watches over herself laying nude on an operating table with slashes in her back. Nevertheless her health declined. In her last years, she returned to the theme of fruit. Her color palette is restricted and she uses less subtle color mixtures. One of her doctors said, “The style of her last paintings shows anxiety with states of excitation of the type that comes from drug addiction.” She was constantly on painkillers. The fruit in her Fruit of Life from 1954 is more shallow in depth and simplified in shape and colors. Behind it the background is divided between night and day. A pale yellow moon hangs in the right corner and a blazing orange sun with a face on it presides over the left. Erratic, orange lightning bolts emanate from the sun and reach out across the painting in a jagged web. In her last year, her thoughts turned to politics. A reverent Marxist, she attended a protest despite her condition and leg amputation. She even painted a work entitled Marxism Will Give Health to the Sick. In it she wears a medical corset and a dress. She is throwing off her crutches as a dove of peace flies above her and a portrait of Marx watches over in the background. In her last few weeks she seemed to have resolved to leave behind a positive difference in the world through political activism and her paintings. Her last painting, a still life of sliced open watermelons has written on it: “Viva la vida, Frida Kahlo,. Coyoacan 1954 Mexico.” She died eight days later, some say by suicide. Perhaps it was a farewell message.
Frida Kahlo’s work is some of the best and most personal of any artist in Latin America and even the world. She was admired by the likes of Alfred Stieglitz and Andre Breton, and especially by her husband Diego Rivera. Her personal tragedy became the starting point for one of the principle themes of her work—fertility. From there she moved beyond her own situation to an exploration of the fertility and creative power of nature, and from there into the realm of spirituality. In her paintings she reflected her own inner life in a manner that carried all the psychological work of the surrealists with an expressiveness and depth of emotion that were all her own.
Bibliography
Billeter, Erika, ed. The World of Frida Kahlo. Schirn Kunsthalle Frankfurt and VG
Bildkunst, Bonn. 1993
Herrera, Hayden. Frida Kahlo: The Paintings. HarperCollins Publishers: New York.
1991
Sarah M. Lowe, ed. The Diary of Frida Kahlo. Harry M. Abrams, Inc: New
York. 1995
Frida Kahlo was born July 6, 1907 in Coyoacán, a suburb of Mexico City. Her father was a German Jew and her mother a mestiza. She was a bright student and planned to go to medical school, until September 1925, when the bus she was riding on hit a trolley car. A metal handrail pierced her pelvis, her spinal column was cracked, her right leg was broken in several places, and her foot was crushed. Exactly one year later she produced her first painting. Between 1926 and her death in 1954, she painted over 55 self-portraits. In 1927, she joined the Young Communist League. In 1929, she married then 43 year-old Diego Rivera, another artist in the Communist Party. Rivera accepted a post as Director of the Academy of San Carlos, but due to the government’s right-wing leanings, he was expelled from the Communist Party. Frida spent almost three years in the US while Rivera was commissioned to do several murals there. In New York, she met other American artists, such as Imogen Cunningham, Alfred Stieglitz, and Georgia O’Keeffe. During this period she painted about a dozen works. Both Rivera and Frida had numerous affairs outside their marriage, yet she remained devoted to him. Rivera did divorce her in 1939, but they remarried in December 1940. She was constantly plagued by spinal problems, possibly due to her bout with polio as a girl, her accident, or, as some have suggested, scoliosis or spina bifida. She underwent extensive surgery in 1950 and spent nearly a year in the hospital because of an infection. In 1953, her right leg, infected with gangrene, was amputated. She died on July 13, 1954. Less than two weeks earlier she had participated in a protest against US intervention in Guatemala. Her death, reported as being caused by “pulmonary embolism,” may have been a suicide, as she had attempted it in the past. The last page of her journal read: “I hope the exit is joyful—and I hope I never come back—Frida.”
When Frida and Diego Rivera married, she was already pregnant. Frida’s injury in the bus accident had damaged her uterus such that she could conceive, but could not carry a baby to term. She had a miscarriage in 1930. She had very much wanted to have a child, and her inability to do so had a profound effect on her work. Partially as a result of that incident, her work would be pervaded by imagery suggestive of genitalia, sperm, and ova. She explicitly deals with her miscarriages in The Caesarean Operation and Henry Ford Hospital. In Henry Ford Hospital, a pregnant but bleeding Frida lays awkwardly on a hospital bed. In her hand she holds red ribbons tied to a model of a female torso, a fetus, a snail, a pelvis, a crushed orchid, and a machine used for sterilizing medical utensils. The work expresses her feeling of failure after miscarried pregnancies—the snail suggests the slowness of the whole process, the orchid, its shape suggestive of a uterus, represents her damaged reproductive organs, and the machine suggests sterility. The ribbons for her represent lifelines, which she had also made use of in her family portrait, My Grandparents, My Parents, and I, from 1936.
Another work dealing directly with her miscarriages is a lithograph simply titled Frida and the Miscarriage, from 1932. A nude Frida drips blood from her vagina to the soil below. From this blood, three plants take root in the soil. The shapes of the plants are vaguely similar to genitalia. This is a very early instance of the use of another prominent subject matter in her work—plants and fruit. She kept a garden with fruits and pet monkeys and other animals. For her these were substitutes for children she could not herself have. Indeed when children of other people visited, she pampered and doted after them.In her paintings, her exotic, lush fruits seem to be dripping with fecundity. Her Flower of Life from 1944 is a red flower similar in shape to a uterus, complete with fallopian tubes grasping for ovaries. Her near obsession with fertility began to include that of nature as well. From here her work moved into the realm of the spiritual.
Despite their stormy relationship, Diego and Frida loved and needed each other. Diego for her became not only beloved husband, but also a sort of baby for her to mother. In her later years, she often came to view his sexual escapades in the light of a sort of mischievous child. Thus he appears in The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Diego, Me, and Senior Xolotl as a baby in her arms, though he is nearly a full size adult. He has a large third eye in his forehead. He is Dieguito, her child, yet also her husband and spiritual partner. Both of them are being embraced by a green female figure suggestive of an Aztec goddess. Milk drips from her nipple. She is further being embraced by a larger, misty figure, along with a host of plants. This figure is part of the background, which is light green on the right and brown on the left. A moon hovers in the brown area and a fiery sun floats in the green area. In her diary, she includes a guide to colors and their personal meaning to her. Green is “good warm light” as well as “leaves, sadness, science”. Brown is the “color of mole, of leaves becoming earth”. Here the all embracing universe is made up of light and earth. It suggests the duality of pre-Columbian mythology; as such ideas began to appeal to Frida later in life. The world is summed up as a process of death which creates new life, and this process involves everyone. Even Frida’s pet dog appears within the arms of Earth’s embrace.
Frida’s health began to deteriorate in the mid-1940s. She had to wear a steel corset for her back. She depicted her plight in The Broken Column, which shows a nude Frida split open and held together with white straps. Instead of a spinal column, she has a broken Ionic column. As her health problem mounted, she began to lose hope, even painting herself with a cornucopia of gore emerging from her mouth in a work entitled Without Hope. She seems to have become more optimistic when she painted Tree of Hope, in which she in a vibrant red dress watches over herself laying nude on an operating table with slashes in her back. Nevertheless her health declined. In her last years, she returned to the theme of fruit. Her color palette is restricted and she uses less subtle color mixtures. One of her doctors said, “The style of her last paintings shows anxiety with states of excitation of the type that comes from drug addiction.” She was constantly on painkillers. The fruit in her Fruit of Life from 1954 is more shallow in depth and simplified in shape and colors. Behind it the background is divided between night and day. A pale yellow moon hangs in the right corner and a blazing orange sun with a face on it presides over the left. Erratic, orange lightning bolts emanate from the sun and reach out across the painting in a jagged web. In her last year, her thoughts turned to politics. A reverent Marxist, she attended a protest despite her condition and leg amputation. She even painted a work entitled Marxism Will Give Health to the Sick. In it she wears a medical corset and a dress. She is throwing off her crutches as a dove of peace flies above her and a portrait of Marx watches over in the background. In her last few weeks she seemed to have resolved to leave behind a positive difference in the world through political activism and her paintings. Her last painting, a still life of sliced open watermelons has written on it: “Viva la vida, Frida Kahlo,. Coyoacan 1954 Mexico.” She died eight days later, some say by suicide. Perhaps it was a farewell message.
Frida Kahlo’s work is some of the best and most personal of any artist in Latin America and even the world. She was admired by the likes of Alfred Stieglitz and Andre Breton, and especially by her husband Diego Rivera. Her personal tragedy became the starting point for one of the principle themes of her work—fertility. From there she moved beyond her own situation to an exploration of the fertility and creative power of nature, and from there into the realm of spirituality. In her paintings she reflected her own inner life in a manner that carried all the psychological work of the surrealists with an expressiveness and depth of emotion that were all her own.
Bibliography
Billeter, Erika, ed. The World of Frida Kahlo. Schirn Kunsthalle Frankfurt and VG
Bildkunst, Bonn. 1993
Herrera, Hayden. Frida Kahlo: The Paintings. HarperCollins Publishers: New York.
1991
Sarah M. Lowe, ed. The Diary of Frida Kahlo. Harry M. Abrams, Inc: New
York. 1995
Saturday, January 21, 2006
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